Another Paul Dale Anderson essay, because this is my blog and I get to write it. Even if I repeat myself. I get to do that, too, because I am 66 years old and have earned that privilege.
This book has a great amount of personal significance to me,
because it marks the beginning of my friendship with Paul Dale Anderson. In
1989, when Claw Hammer first came
out, a co-worker at Rockford Public Library told me about it and I was
immediately intrigued. I've always been a horror fan, and I was impressed that
a local author had published what promised to be the type of read that was
right up my alley. I got hold of the book and I was not disappointed - I
devoured it, and I decided that I had to meet this Paul Anderson. At the time,
I was running the Northern Illinois Writers Conference, so I immediately hired
him to present a workshop, which he did - and I had the pleasure of meeting him
and his lovely wife, Gretta. Paul and I connected immediately and were to go on
to become great friends. That same year, I performed on my fretted dulcimer at
an event sponsored by Rock River Friends of Folk Music, and Paul and Gretta
were in the audience. I again had a chance to talk with them and it just
reinforced to me what intelligent, interesting people they were. Paul got a job
at the Library soon thereafter, and our friendship clicked; we went on to share
grisly stories and try to outdo one another with demented humor and the sharing
of our love for language. We co-wrote a stage production to commemorate the
retirement of Joel Rosenfeld, our director; I wrote parodies on four show tunes
and Paul did the script. I have pictures of us from that era, posing with Mr.
Rosenfeld - me sporting a dreadful spiral perm and Paul with his signature
beard, bushy black hair, and evil yet charming smile. We spoke often about Claw Hammer, and Paul encouraged me in
2008 when I wrote my own novel, The Five Notebooks.
Paul left the library at some point but came back; both of
us had been through enormous life changes. The connection had survived; I
remember rolling my desk chair up to his cubicle and pouring out my heart. I
imagine I was ranting about work, or maybe just the state of things at large;
in any case, he listened. We'd often see one another in the staff lounge, each
in a corner with a book, and that twinkle in his eye continued to make me
smile. Remember---at this point, we were friends. Co-workers and kindred spirits.
Nothing even vaguely romantic crossed my mind in my interactions with Paul; he
was a happily married man, devoted to his wife.
I retired from the library in 2010 and Paul retired the
following year to devote his time to Gretta, whose health was failing. When he
posted on Facebook of her death in January of 2012, I broke down and cried for
this kind man who would have done anything under heaven for her to live. I sent
him a letter immediately, expressing my condolences, and I attended Gretta's memorial
service. That winter, I thought often about my dear friend Paul, now so broken
and bewildered. He would come into the Friends of the Library shop were I
volunteered, and we'd talk frankly about his loss, and I noticed in these
conversations that he spoke freely to me as if I were family. I was honored by
that. I still considered him a dear friend and I wondered what life had in
store for him.
Months later, Paul sent me a message on Facebook - basically
a greeting. What started as banter turned into a deep conversation that went on
for quite some time. Through the written word, we mutually decided to meet.
AGAIN - for me, it was to touch base with my dear friend, share a bottle of
wine and some memories, and give him a chance to talk his heart out with someone
who knew him and would listen to what he needed so express. Both of us were
blindsided by what transpired that night—we fell in love.
We didn't expect to fall in love. Love is sneaky and
capricious and I think love has a sense of humor as demented as the twisted
plays on words that Paul and I have always shared. Love calmly sailed in that
evening and tapped both of us on the shoulder, stunning me. (I can only speak
for my own reaction.) For him, it meant more than just beeing moonstruck; he
had to cope with the well-meaning but intrusive comments that inevitably came
his way, most not complimentary to me. For me, it involved a 180 degree change
in the way I chose to love, along with equally snide comments from others who
thought I was temporarily insane. It could have disrupted my household, but it
did not. Love was the joker, but the joker wasn't wild; love was sensible and
compassionate. For almost five years now, Paul and I have continued to love one
another deeply while choosing not to marry and not to share a home. My mooring
points are intact, and he is doing his dream; he followed his heart and gave up
his hypnosis practice to return to his true calling: writing. My challenge is
to remember to give him the personal, physical, mental and emotional space he
needs so he can do this work.
Why do I share all this? Because it was through Claw Hammer that we met, and now Claw Hammer is born anew - this time
updated and presented in trade paperback with a gorgeous cover that calls out
"Buy me!" I reread it, of course, as soon as I got my autographed
copy, and I found that even then, the Paul Dale Anderson of 1989 had the chops
and the talent and the gift for plotting and creating memorable characters that
is the trademark of the Paul Dale Anderson of today. I watch him now, with joy,
as he has begun editing the sequel to Spilled
Milk, and I relish in his Instruments
of Death series. His Winds series
took me to a different level; he combined personal catharsis with his deep
knowledge of everything from military strategy to Eastern spiritual practices
to the history of our beloved city; weaving a series of genre-bending,
gorgeously written books - well worth reading. In addition, his short stories
are masterpieces.
So, Paul---you and I have walked through this forest apart
and together--marveling at trees, sitting on stumps, tripping on vines,
laughing into the sun and crying in the rain. I am honored to call you beloved
friend and now loved one as well. And I celebrate this by seeing Claw Hammer come full circle. I know
that even though Gretta is on the other side, she's still right beside you,
feeling pleased that you are happy and that you’re back in the world of
writing. I’m proud to be by you side now, and I couldn't be prouder of you, Paul
Dale Anderson. as I hold in my hand my copy of Claw Hammer, which is still a perfectly-paced, intelligently
written and terrifying read. I love you, Paul, and I love your writing. All
your books. But this one will forever be special. ----Lizza
