Gutbucket Quest (29 page)

Author's Afterword

RON LEMING

It's been a hard life. I sit here now, a few years after this book was written, an ill, broken man. A completely different man than the one who wrote this book. I've lived one of those lives that leads some people to wonder why I'm still alive, and others to wish I wasn't. It's been one misfortune after another, ending up, at the present moment, with me suffering from chronic fatigue syndrome, extreme poverty, crushing loneliness and wondering if I'll still be alive by this time next year. I'm rich only in one thing. I have the best friends in this world. Piers once called me a Sad Sack, after the comic strip character, saying that no matter how good my intentions, things always went wrong for me. He was accurate in that assessment.

My life has been called a tragedy, a disaster and a great crying in your beer song. I've gained and lost weight, been in accidents, done drugs, quit doing drugs, been drunk and been abused. I've laughed sometimes, cried most times, beaten my head against the wall and had my head bashed by others. I've seen oceans, mountains, forests, deserts, watched a shitload of TV and made friends with hawks and squirrels. I converted to computers only to discover I was a born computer geek. I've attempted suicide, had homicide attempted against me, had gall stones and kidney stones and driven on sharp stones that shredded my tires. If anyone has a right to sing the blues, it's me.

I've loved some wonderful, horrible women. Annette, the love of my life, whose insanity led her down paths with dark tolls and even darker nightmares and who is unable to love or be loved. To this day I wish she was still speaking to me. I miss her friendship and advice.

Donna Gail, who taught me that tomboys had hidden charms and how abusive and hateful drinkers can be. Sweet Michelle, who abused the living hell out of me while at the same time opening my mind and imagination up to things I had never considered before. Sammi, whose father was an old riding bud of mine and whose need for love was almost as deep as mine. Her body betrayed her and she died before we even had a chance. And Jenn, my little Jenn, my present love, who is the only human being I've ever met who's been abused more than I have, and whose mind and soul and hunger are fully equal to mine. We wait on new beginnings, hoping to change the ending.

I recently reviewed a pre-release of Carlos Santana's
Supernatural
album. I predicted it would go straight to the top, and it has. I mention that because it's inspiring for me to see things and people I love rise to the top despite any odds, while I can only wish to have that same luck. Music is a big part of my life. I create. I don't just write, though that's my first love, I CREATE. Whether it's art, writing, music or building furniture, the act of creation is the central anchor of my life. Though it's evolved from paper to the computer screen, it's still creation, and it's all I have. It's what I get up for in the mornings, when I can get up. It's what I live for. My life is a piece of art. It may be sad or tragic art, it may not be a piece of art you like, or admire, but it's a creation, just the same. It's only regretful that love, the greatest act of creation, has always been the one thing that was denied me.

I am Native American, and my people have a belief that we are born as animals, and that life, if lived rightly, is the process of becoming a human being. Piers Anthony is the most human of all the beings I've ever known. He is an unfailingly honest, deeply caring, thoughtful man whose life, mind and talent have been vastly underestimated by those whom he frightens with his life and work. It's been said that what we don't understand, we fear. If I may change that slightly, I would say that what critics don't understand, they criticize. Piers has saved my life more than once, and perhaps saved my soul as well.

Though his work always has something to say, if one is willing to listen, he is a creator who understands that the act of entertaining people, taking them out of themselves and away from their problems can be one of life's greatest callings and hardest jobs. He has been a mentor, a friend and a hero to me.

I could not create a work about the blues without mentioning some of my other heroes. First and foremost, there is always Carlos Santana, who in a different world, at a different time, would be a spiritual leader of great power and compassion. He put three words together which I adopted into my own philosophy of life; Love, Devotion and Surrender. ZZ Top, the voice of Texas and the state's best ambassadors, whose music inspired much of this book. Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn, who both died before they could truly create the music that burned in their souls. John Lee Hooker, the shaman of the blues, who understands the magic and power of the music. Buddy Guy, whose every note is like a chisel, chipping away from the stone everything that isn't the sculpture. Climax Blues Band, who in a fair world, would have been kings. Eric Clapton, whose song “Tears in Heaven” taught a cold world how the blues could touch hearts and souls. Cab Calloway, the clown prince of blues, who engendered laughter and dancing wherever he went. Roy Buchanan, who taught me everything a bluesman needs to know, whose lessons still sneak up on me unawares when I'm working on a midi and find myself inserting a grace note into moments of silence. And last, but certainly not least, my greatest hero, Muhammed Ali, whose life taught me that, no matter what the consequences might be, you must stand up for what you believe, and stand up proudly and honestly.

Life has been hard. I have never expected life to be easy, or fair. It's neither. But I have never expected to reach a point where simply surviving, staying alive is a struggle. Suffering from an incurable illness that isn't even well understood is a daily war that you don't even have the energy to wage. I spent a large portion of my life caring for the
handicapped, but it wasn't until now that I understood what it's like, facing the spectre of death and knowing that it's never going to go away, that it's permanent, and there's not a thing you can do about it. It does not do good things for either your attitude or mental stability. It's been said that that which does not kill us makes us stronger. Those who say such things never seem to mention that, quite often, though things don't kill us, they make us wish we were dead.

I would fail in my duty to myself if I didn't ask you to visit my Web sites.
Rosewort,
a magazine of horror and dark fantasy, at http://www.geocities.com/Soho/Den/3712;
Dragonglass,
a magazine of science fiction and fantasy at http://www.50megs.com/users2/bone; Niversa Films at http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Park/1287; and Silly Ole Bear Web design at http://sillyolebear.freeservers.com. These sites all contain parts of my life and soul and heart.

Ron Leming

Amarillo, TX

October 29,1999

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2000 by Piers Anthony Jacob and Ron Leming

ISBN: 978-1-4976-5750-2

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