CL: What advice can you share with
other local aspiring authors?
AH: Be natural. Don’t confine yourself in
the box of what you think the reader
wants to read. Arrive every day without
expectation. Work to cultivate an
understanding within yourself that the
immediate gratification of “success” or
completion is not the end goal of the
process. The simple, consistent act of
showing up is enough.
The world is full of cheerleaders like
friends and family who tell you that your
work is excellent and award-worthy. Your
work is probably superb, and your “Rah!
Rah!” support system is fantastic. Still, to
truly excel at your medium, you must
surround yourself with professionals who
can challenge you in a constructive and
non-judgemental way. Learning to
receive feedback from people who
understand the medium and industry can
go a long way to helping you sharpen
your tool as a writer.
CL: How has your environment
influenced your work?
AH: I spend a lot of time walking in the
woods to percolate and collect my
thoughts before each writing session. I
believe having a dedicated writing space
is imperative. Having time and space is
integral to my success.
CL: What’s your favorite part about
writing? Your least favorite?
AH: I don’t particularly appreciate
reading what I write. I’m my own
harshest critic. I enjoy using the
protagonists I create in my stories to
explore the possibilities of new
directions, dialogues, or thought
processes in my own life similarly, as an
actor uses a character in a movie or play.
CL: Who are you currently reading?
AH: No Time To Lose – Pema Chodron
CL: Why did you start writing? What
made you take the plunge?
AH: Synchronicity. The story presented
itself when I was emotionally and
intellectually prepared to articulate it. My
partner Sujata encouraged me from the
start. Without her support and faith in
me, the story would have never made it
to the page.
CL: What/who is your favorite book/
author of all time? Why?
AH: There are so many for so many
dierent reasons.
Siddartha - Hermann Hesse
Ask the Dust – John Fante
The Stranger – Albert Camus
Death on Credit - Louis-Ferdinand Céline
Growth of the Soil - Knut Hamsun
Black Rain – Masuji Ibuse
The Ring of the Way – Taisen Deshimaru
CL: What makes your work stand out
from other authors in the same
genre?
AH: The unfiltered access to the
protagonist Ian’s simultaneously
introspective, snarky and heartbreaking
voice is unique to the genre of
spiritualism. The reader can connect to
his thoughts, interactions and
metamorphosis in real-time. I’ve found
that rarely in literature is the male voice
so vulnerable and relatable. Societal
stereotypes tell us that men can’t be
reflective, sensitive or display emotions.
We’re fed rubbish that we must push the
feelings down, rub some dirt on it and
suck it up.
THE FOLLOWING IS AN EXCERPT OF
ANDREW HOUSLEY’S LATEST BOOK
“WAITING IMPATIENTLY.”
…I stop to ponder the beauty before me. I climb the
thick trunk of an ancient tree shaped like a hand.
Sitting in the palm of this proud giant oak, its five
large fingers extend upwards protectively, surrounding
me. I can see further past the scattered clumps
of sleeping dogwoods over the sliver of a creek that
trickles water down the hill’s narrow serpentine
spine to the river that waits in the distance. Twenty
yards away stands the dead remains of a tree like
the one I sit on. Its hollow limbs gripped in the heavy chains of thick green vines, slowly overtaking,
dismantling and pulling it back to the Earth. An immense sadness overcomes me.
I think about the two trees; what they had witnessed in their 100 years of existence. Against
all odds, they accidentally caught hold of life at the same time. They struggled through periods
of drought, pollution, heavy rains, high winds and more than one inconsiderate dog together.
They most likely suered but somehow kept going through this time, becoming more resilient in
the supporting shade of each other’s growth. At some point, whether from lightning or disease, a
companion in life gave way to die. Leaving the other alone in this beautiful place cursed to watch
its partner gradually disintegrate. I cry tears of despair; the nature of time can be so cruel.
Protected inside the healing hand, I fight for stillness but quickly resign my attack. With my
eyes shut tight, I gradually give myself to the power and energy of the place. My mind floods with
koans.
“Am I like this mighty oak? What is my true nature when I think of this tree?”
“Will I pass through this time of uncertainty and continue to thrive?”
“Will I adapt and grow?”
“Am I doomed to live this life alone?”
“Will I arrive dierently on the other side?”
“Yes, I’ll be unable to hide the twists, knots and broken limbs that come with this change. Wear
them like a badge of honor.”
My heart swells with compassion. Without eort, I connect with that feeling, wrap my arms
around it, feel the warmth of its grip. In that caress, I am lifted. Like the wind through the trees,
my soul screams to be free, and thoughts of my father, his painful dance with the nature of time,
crowd the vacant lot of my mind.
A text from my father. “I’m dying.” Simple, direct, devoid of emotion, and a matter of fact—the
only way he knew how to communicate. He never texted or called, for that matter. We hadn’t
spoken in years. Some things were better left unsaid.
SUMMER 2022 | COBB LIFE 47