the unspooling continues... pt. 7: under the shadow of a pale moon

why i nearly abandoned this crazy little dream of mine

***Proceed with caution: this post contains major spoilers for Sinister (2012).***

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let me tell you a little story…

Ellison Oswalt is a down-on-his-luck true-crime writer obsessed with recapturing the breakaway success of his first book, Kentucky Blood. The fame evaporated long ago—and the money is now close behind.

After two successive commercial flops, Ellison is down to his last strike and growing increasingly desperate. With single-minded determination, he is hellbent on tasting the sweet, sweet elixir of fame yet again; and yes, also providing for his family. But let it never be doubted that Ellison is primarily concerned with himself. As a result, his relationships with his wife, Tracy, and children, Trevor (12) and Ashley (7), have become as strained as the family’s fiscal resources.

When we, the viewer, catch up with Ellison and the Oswalts in 2012’s Sinister, it’s obvious that something is... a bit off about their family dynamic—a bit sinister, if you will.

In the film’s opening scene, we witness the Oswalts moving into a new home; an impressively ordinary-looking bungalow, in an impressively ordinary-looking middle-class suburb.

All this “normal” got me feelin’ a bit abnormal, if you know what I mean.

A fresh start this is not, however, since buried just beneath the surface of all that mundanity, lurks an ominous threat that promises to upset the domestic bliss the Oswalts so crave.

The tension begins to bubble when Tracy (played by Juliet Rylance) spies various neighbours pointing at their house from a more-than-respectful distance.

Immediately suspicious that her husband has been less-than-forthcoming about the bona fides of their new abode, she asks Ellison (played by Ethan Hawke), “Why was he pointing at the house? Ellison, we didn’t move in a few houses down from a crime scene again, did we?”

Feigning exasperation, Ellison responds, “Tracy…”

And while this clever bit of gaslighting works wonders, causing Tracy to quickly backpedal, we, the viewer, have already begun to suspect the sinister truth…

“No, just don’t say anything. If we did, I don’t wanna know about it,” she relents.

“We didn’t,” Ellison persists, bolder now that he’s been given an opportunity to tell the worst kind of true lie.

“You promise?” Tracy implores, a hint of relief evident in her face and voice.

“I promise,” he reassures.

And he isn’t lying. (Well, he is, but you know what I mean.)

Because it’s true, they aren’t moving in a few doors down from a former crime scene…

… they’re moving into one.

My face, when it’s 2am and there’s nothing good to snack on in the fridge.

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What a brilliant exchange of dialogue! It tells us so much about these characters, while also foreshadowing the story to come.

In just one conversation, we learn that Ellison will go to virtually any length in pursuit of a story, of success. We discover that he is willing to move his entire family, and uproot his young children at a fragile time in their lives, on a wing and a prayer. We see him subject his family to a life lived in the shadow of extreme darkness, with negligible concern for the consequence of such pervasive and proximate exposure to evil. We find that he expects unwavering support from Tracy, but is unwilling to be transparent and forthcoming with her, in return. And perhaps most importantly, we learn that Ellison has done all of this before, that deceitfully pursuing his ambition at the expense of his family’s wellbeing constitutes a repeated pattern of behaviour for him. In a sense, we learn everything that we need to know about Ellison as a character from this scene alone. It’s an almost perfect portrait of who Ellison is, at his core.

So, when he responds to Tracy in the negative, assuring her that, no, they aren’t living a few houses down from a former crime scene, we can recognize that he’s just being selfish and self-serving. And this is simply who he is. In Ellison’s hierarchy of needs, inflating his leaky ego is of paramount importance.

In one masterfully composed scene, we see his tragic flaw in full, radiant psychedelia, lit up like a neon sign at midnight.

Ellison may (or may not, as the two flops suggest) be a good writer, but he’s clearly not a great person; husband; or father.

I hate how much of myself I see in Ellison. I am ashamed to say that I can relate to his struggle for validation and share his sense of desperation. For I, too, have carried an impossible burden of my own making.

“So be careful what you wish for, ‘cause you just might get it/and if you get it, then you just might not know what to do with it/‘cause it might just come back on you tenfold.”

- Eminem

You see, Ellison eventually finds what he’s looking for.

He reveals a spectacular story and uncovers an unsolved mystery, fulfilling the goal he establishes for himself at the start of the film. He stumbles upon a trail of breadcrumbs and even manages to discover the horrible truth that lies at the end. (That, by moving into the former crime scene, he has exposed his daughter to the depredations of an ancient demon who uses children to murder their families in particularly heinous ways—yes, I am aware of how much plot I am breezing past at this point, sorry! Watch the movie, it’s surprisingly good!) He even cements his legacy, ensuring that his name will go down in true crime history, an achievement inextricably tied to his literary efforts.

So, in a sense, Ellison gets exactly what he asks for—even if it costs him everything.

Ultimately, he becomes a victim of his own vainglorious crusade.

The very quest he hoped might feed and nourish his soul, consumes him, in the end.

I take that as a poignant lesson in being careful what you wish for.

The film concludes with Ellison, Tracy, and Trevor brutally murdered by Ashley, whose soul is now in the possession of the demon, Bughuul, for eternity.

Sinister.

A fitting title, huh?

If maybe a bit on the nose.

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… about why i walked away

I took a step back from unspooling a few weeks ago.

I didn’t want to—I really didn’t want to. But I’ve learned to trust that little voice inside, and this time, that little voice was telling me that I had to let go, that I would be crushed if I continued to cling against the will of the current.

So I did. I let go.

Photo by Jeremy Perkins on Unsplash

If I hadn’t, I think I might have ended up like Ellison: destroyed by my determination to assert my will over the chaotic randomness of the universe.

I might have died a death worse than death, blinded by ambition, and consumed by stubborn pride and arrogance.

Because, the reality was, it just wasn’t working.

I mean, I was a full-time writer!

True, I wasn’t making a living doing it; but I was at least walking the Path of my destiny. And, really, how many people can say they even get that far? (Judging from the general state of misery in the world, not many.) And yet, there I was, quite literally living my dream, growing more and more diabolical by the second.

As this state of affairs dragged on, I became impossible to be around. Any intrusion into what I deemed to be my working space was viewed as a hostile act (and as a writer, my main working space is my mind, so if you’re within the bounds of my sensory perception, technically, you’re in my working space—note: this is not a workable situation). Any distraction from the work, whether real or imagined, struck me as either a threat to be put down or an annoyance to be avoided.

Yes, this even included my fiancé and our fur-babies (and, yes, I’m a millennial who just referred to my cats as “fur babies;” get over it, or get out).

Yes, there is a lot of cat snot on those windows, thank you for noticing.

Somehow, living the life I’d always dreamed of—a writer’s life—was killing me. Exquisitely. Painfully.

And the work, which had always come so naturally to me, was becoming harder and harder to do. After awhile, it too became impossible to be around.

I shudder when I ponder what might have happened, what I might have become, had I not walked away.

What elaborate death trap might I have sleep-walked into?

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Photo by Stormseeker on Unsplash

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My expectations for myself and my work were far too great—impossible, in fact.

I see that now.

At the time, though, I thought I was merely being suitably ambitious; rising to the occasion, as it were. For, so I told myself, with great privilege, comes great expectation. And thus, if I am to be a writer worthy of the title, then I must produce great work, and much of it.

Anything less, would be a tragic, awful failure.

Of course, none of this was or is true, but it’s a shockingly simple burden to place on yourself when your fundamental belief is that you “aren’t enough”—whatever the hell that nebulous rejection of self-worth is supposed to mean.

I allowed the burden of perfection to twist me into a cruel, frustrated menace. A poltergeist willing to attack anyone unfortunate enough to encroach upon his sacred space and calling.

Had I continued on in that way, I probably would have eventually driven myself to ruin, just like Ellison.

And, like, that sucks, y’know?—that’s not how I want to show up.

But: I’m human.

I’ve made mistakes; and will continue to make mistakes.

All I can do now is be willing to learn and grow and do a bit better next time.

And if I can be okay with all of that—a state of acceptance which I hope this piece speaks to—then I think I’ll be okay, too.

Because recognition and acceptance are the first steps on the path to positive growth. I’ve seen this pattern before, and have gained immeasurably by responding with thoughtful adjustments to life’s feedback.

With each step forward, I know that I need to keep working on boosting my self-love. With every footfall, I know that I must dismantle yet another edifice of self-loathing.

There is no panacea that will untangle my self-love problem instantly. I’ll just have to put in the work.

This will be a war with many battles.

But with determination, acceptance, and, yes, quite a lot of love, I will succeed. It’s just a matter of time.

Because, unlike Ellison, I know that I don’t have to do this alone—I am powerfully supported by so many of you, my dear readers, who have extended to me the love and care that I have been unable to supply myself.

Furthermore, I know that this isn’t an all-or-nothing game. I don’t need my next piece to be perfect. I don’t need to write the most brilliant treatise on the human condition to be a writer worthy of the title. I just need to write, to the best of my abilities, every time I sit down before these keys and accept that that is enough—and will always be enough.

So, in a sense, I guess this is an apology too, dear reader.

For not believing in myself as much as you seem to.

For neglecting work that needed to be done.

For falling into resentment and despair.

For telling myself a story that emphasized all of my worst traits, while neglecting to mention any of my glowing qualities.

I owe you more than I have been giving. And, let’s be honest: I owe myself that, too.

So, I’m sorry for flirting with walking away.

I was scared and hurt and didn’t know what to do or where to turn.

Fortunately, I survived life in a former crime scene... Ellison wasn’t so lucky.

Better yet, I’ve returned from the nightmare realm with a story to tell and a lesson learned. That’s enough because I am enough.

Which is as it should be.

Y’know… I think, sometimes, life waits for us to hit our most delicate moment, just to teach us a crucial lesson that will make us more resolute and powerful, than ever.

So, yes, I walked away—but now I’m back. And better than ever.

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say it with me now

In closing, dear reader, I invite you to reflect on something you love about yourself.

I don’t care what it is or how small and insignificant that thing might feel. If you’re anything like me, you’ll have to start small. But that’s okay, that’s just the first step on a long journey. So find something—anything—that you can point to and say, “Yep, you know what? That’s not so bad.”

For me, I love that I allowed myself to approach this piece without worrying that I might come off insane, whinging, or horrifically self-obsessed.

I love that I put in the work—the proof is right here! you can see it with your own two eyes!!—and that it’s enough.

Just saying that already makes me feel a bit better, just a bit stronger, than I felt before.

And isn’t that a magical thing, in this crazy little world of ours?

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onto the next…

Next week (or thereabouts—never underestimate my ability to throw myself into a tangent if one presents itself), when the unspooling continues, I will tell you the story of why I’ve returned, and why I’m feeling different (in a good way) about my fate as a writer.

Thank you for walking this Path with me. I hope you are as excited as I am, to discover what lies around the next bend…

Until then,

Be well and stay on the Path, my friends.

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Just in case you missed these exciting instalments of the unspooling continues… :

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