Now on Amazon!
Oh, my stars. This
started out as a brief Facebook post, and has become not only my celebration of
a major event in Paul Dale Anderson’s life as a writer - the reissue of his
bestselling novel, Claw Hammer, in
trade paperback; but my passionate love letter
to him. I received my copy (and his autograph) yesterday, and I cherish this prize
as I feel cherished by him. Paul deserves this—the chance to revise Claw Hammer and see it in a new format
that will bring him even more devoted readers. He has always been a masterful horror/suspense
author, and revisiting this novel has made me see, anew, what a talent Paul has
nurtured all his life--and how even though his craft has matured, he already had
"It" - that special touch, back in 1989 when I read his work for the
first time.
Paul and I both have a
physical love affair with books. There is something about a trade paperback
that always takes my breath away. The creamy, matte paper, the cover artwork,
the font faces, the drop caps, the professional presentation, the crisp
newness. What a piece of work I hold in my hands! Claw Hammer has extra-special meaning to me, because it was that
gritty 1989 mass-market paperback that made 39-year-old Elizabeth Flygare
decide that she simply HAD to meet this "Paul Anderson" from
Rockford, Illinois. Little did I know what how what was to unfold over the
coming decades. We began as professionals, each in our own realm; first, I
hired him as a guest presenter at the Northern Illinois Writers Conference,
which I headed when I worked at the Library. That same year, he and his lovely
wife Gretta came to a Rockford Friends of Folk Music event where I performed on
fretted dulcimer. It was only after then that Paul Dale Anderson came back to
work at Rockford Public Library, becoming my colleague and my instant friend.
Our mutual love of horror along with our appreciation of literature,
psychology, good music and snappy conversation made us kindred spirits. Paul
was always there for me, to laugh with me and to listen to my stories, as I
listened to his. It doesn’t surprise me that when I go through old photographs,
I find pictures of us together in the workplace.
Paul wove in and out
of my life for the next two decades. At each meeting, we found our friendship intact.
It was Paul Dale Anderson who grasped the profound impact on my life and the
depth of my grief, even as I couldn’t do so myself, when my father died in
1997. It was Paul Dale Anderson who shared my demented sense of humor and
co-wrote, with me, the stage production which was performed by Library staff in
2000 to bid Joel Rosenfeld bon voyage upon his retirement. It was Paul Dale
Anderson who would come into the staff lounge with that twinkle in his eye, and
his pipe, with his "Hi, Elizabeth," and that devilish grin back in
the day—even when I didn’t want to talk. We’d sit in our corners with our
books, neither of us knowing that our great minds were probably thinking alike.
And later, it was Paul Dale Anderson, back at RPL part-time, who didn't mind
when I rolled my chair up to his desk in the Adult Services office and poured
out my vents about the traumatic changes in our workplace. Paul, in his astute
way, perceived what troubled me, but wisely withheld unsolicited advice,
instead lending me his patient listening ear. When I left the Main Library to
work at a branch and subsequently retired, I didn’t realize until later that he
might have missed me as much as I missed him, with his newly-minted library
degree and successful hypnosis practice. And finally - when the shock of the
loss of his beautiful wife Gretta in January 2012 shattered his world, it was I
who sat in my living room chair and wept, unable to find the words that would
give him grace. To me, he was more than friend; he was tribe – he was brother
to me. When he hurt, I hurt. But the love I had for him then was purely agape
love, and vice versa.
And here I am now, blessed
as I find myself by his side – it will be five years this April. Who can explain
how and when a love like this can blossom and bring two hearts together? In the
great scheme of things, I believe both Paul and I needed to live the lives we lived,
and that it was pure grace that we recognized in one another the promise of a new
surprising turn in our road that April. Then came that day in May, at our first
WisCon together, when Paul told me of his decision to retire from his career as
a hypnotist and return to the world of writing. I was honored to be there by
his side, and challenged to respect his need for solitude as he climbed back up
on the horse and resumed the ride. I haven’t always succeeded, but I’ve tried
to give him the quiet space he needs as he builds his fine reputation in the
changing arena of the writing world. And now, we're seeing it together - the
harvest of his dream realized - many books published, his name now known, and
the celebration today of the book I hold in my hands that first drew me to become
his friend.
We can and do love
many people, and in many different ways. I respect and revere the memory of his
beloved Gretta, as I delight in the gift of becoming his loving companion now
as we lean into our senior years. Paul Dale Anderson has taught me what love
is, and what love is not. We cherish our times, learning from each other’s ways; we know we don’t need to marry nor share a home to be together. When
apart, other friends and other experiences enrich our days, so when we come
together, we meet refreshed, having had our own space to learn new things,
which we share with each other. I want to think that somehow dear Gretta is at
peace that he is happy.
And now I look at him,
amazed. Paul Dale Anderson, who has taught me the concept of unconditional
positive regard - tough love at times, but steadfast love just the same. Paul
Dale Anderson, whose words inspired me to get sober three years ago. Paul Dale
Anderson, who helps me remember, every day, that love is not needy, and love is
not rescuing. Paul Dale Anderson, who appreciates and shares my deranged sense
of humor, recognizes that we’re both incurable romantics, and knows exactly
when to hold my hand. Paul Dale Anderson, the only other person I know who
watches all the credits after a movie. Lover of cats, father, professional
writer, scientist, scholar, elegant gentleman, generous friend, sweet lover. The
paradox is that while perplexing and
maddening at times, as well as numinous and multifaceted, ours really is a simple love. Yes - pared down to
its purity - it is uncomplicated. It is, after all, the most elemental force: love.
So – you who haven't yet read a Paul Dale Anderson novel, (and all of you who have had the pleasure), know that when you hold this new edition of Claw Hammer in your hands, you can look forward to a brilliant,
well-crafted read full of surprising turns, vibrant characters and impeccable
timing. Then, after you have finished it, go on and read his other books! The
world is a richer place because Paul Dale Anderson is in it. I love him.
