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I started writing Conversation Blue in Jackson, Mississippi in early 1994, straight out of my December graduation from college. By 1996, I had rewritten the main draft, after working with a hired literary editor who cried during our meeting in Eugene, Oregon (where I lived at the time) while rewriting the book. She told me she was touched that I wasn't so eager to see my name in print or that the book wasn't mainly about me, but was mainly about a friend of mine. Neither of us knew then that the person I based Harms McCrag (whom read the book and said it made him feel like a foul-up, not his exact words) would take his own life in early 1998. People did not understand why I took his death so hard, openly crying in a bar on the other side of the country (where I then lived) in Charleston, South Carolina. I felt partly responsible. I now know it was not my fault and that he had far deeper troubles than I may have ever known or would write about in Conversation Blue (first titled Conversation with a Killer). This book, though I did not realize when writing the original draft, is an in-depth study in dealing with depression.
Much of the story came from my friendship with Todd Magee during the early 1990's, specifically, late 1992. What makes this book a work of fiction is the twining of the story of the murders of John Steckler and Tiffany Miller (a girl with whom I high schooled) and the college-age adventures Todd and I chased apparently battling depression, all within the same town at the same time. I always saw Todd as a sort of Rock of Gibraltar for his friend's to lean on, if need be, and I saw me as the weaker one, the follower. Things turned out differently. Over what was unknowingly left of his short time, our friendship fell apart. His last words to me were something like he was "tired of this life as I know it," and I told him that that was "just plain weak". He said it was not, and I said that it was, and I left. A friend was driving me home and he ran out and rode with us. The only thing Todd said in the car was, "something in my head is not right." That was the last thing I ever heard him say. In less than two months he would be gone.
How ironic it is to me that in Conversation, I portrayed the positive side of Todd whom I knew, and that I left out many of the negative things I had witnessed in our friendship. If my book had made him feel like a fuck-up, his words, what could the untold and unknown stories have made him feel like? Now I know it was all something more unbearable than he could ever handle.
Another ironic twist to the book is within the story, Harms lives to a ripe old age, and my character, Jacob, is murdered, although, it appeared that Jacob was well on his way to an early death. Yet, in real life, it has, so far, turned out quite the other way around. I suppose this is what makes the novel so special to me. I could have never guessed what our lives would have turned out to be, but to me, in actuality, the near exact opposite outcome is just head-shaking. How prophetic to read in my writing how Harms called the 20th century, "his century", and how the Noxubee Refuge was his favorite place to unwind and find serenity. His ashes were buried there beneath a newly planted tree near one of the great overlooks. An amusing story from the day of his funeral (and O so fitting for Todd) was that after the service at the Chapel of Memories on the campus of Mississippi State, everyone was to meet at the Overlook in the Refuge for the placing of his remains and I was asked to read a passage from Conversation to the gathering. The humor was half the people went to the right overlook, and the other half (being most of his close friends and other locals) went to another overlook. By the time we figured out we were at the wrong place, once we arrived to the right place, the service was done and people were leaving, some still crying, some smiling and hugging and catching up on old times.
His dog Charley died sometime later. Charley was buried next to Todd near the overlook.
Harry Marshall Day – March - 2010
cover art - top photo - Todd Magee self portrait in Oregon, 1995 ... bottom photo by Hiram Creekmore of Todd Magee and Harry Day in Oregon, 1995
Much of the story came from my friendship with Todd Magee during the early 1990's, specifically, late 1992. What makes this book a work of fiction is the twining of the story of the murders of John Steckler and Tiffany Miller (a girl with whom I high schooled) and the college-age adventures Todd and I chased apparently battling depression, all within the same town at the same time. I always saw Todd as a sort of Rock of Gibraltar for his friend's to lean on, if need be, and I saw me as the weaker one, the follower. Things turned out differently. Over what was unknowingly left of his short time, our friendship fell apart. His last words to me were something like he was "tired of this life as I know it," and I told him that that was "just plain weak". He said it was not, and I said that it was, and I left. A friend was driving me home and he ran out and rode with us. The only thing Todd said in the car was, "something in my head is not right." That was the last thing I ever heard him say. In less than two months he would be gone.
How ironic it is to me that in Conversation, I portrayed the positive side of Todd whom I knew, and that I left out many of the negative things I had witnessed in our friendship. If my book had made him feel like a fuck-up, his words, what could the untold and unknown stories have made him feel like? Now I know it was all something more unbearable than he could ever handle.
Another ironic twist to the book is within the story, Harms lives to a ripe old age, and my character, Jacob, is murdered, although, it appeared that Jacob was well on his way to an early death. Yet, in real life, it has, so far, turned out quite the other way around. I suppose this is what makes the novel so special to me. I could have never guessed what our lives would have turned out to be, but to me, in actuality, the near exact opposite outcome is just head-shaking. How prophetic to read in my writing how Harms called the 20th century, "his century", and how the Noxubee Refuge was his favorite place to unwind and find serenity. His ashes were buried there beneath a newly planted tree near one of the great overlooks. An amusing story from the day of his funeral (and O so fitting for Todd) was that after the service at the Chapel of Memories on the campus of Mississippi State, everyone was to meet at the Overlook in the Refuge for the placing of his remains and I was asked to read a passage from Conversation to the gathering. The humor was half the people went to the right overlook, and the other half (being most of his close friends and other locals) went to another overlook. By the time we figured out we were at the wrong place, once we arrived to the right place, the service was done and people were leaving, some still crying, some smiling and hugging and catching up on old times.
His dog Charley died sometime later. Charley was buried next to Todd near the overlook.
Harry Marshall Day – March - 2010
cover art - top photo - Todd Magee self portrait in Oregon, 1995 ... bottom photo by Hiram Creekmore of Todd Magee and Harry Day in Oregon, 1995
