You remember Taz? That animated Tasmanian Devil. A Looney Tune. A whirlwind of flurried movement punctuated with unintelligible screeches and raspberries. Then, surprisingly, he’d stop and elucidate demonstrating the ability to read, write and reason.

That’s your Neal Bailey, that is.

Several years ago I read Madly to escape the social niceties of vacationing on Conesus Lake in Upstate New York. I might be forgiven for being withdrawn as it did not last for long once I started reading. I finished the book in one sitting, cover to cover, with barely a meal in between. On the endpaper was a message from the author suggesting he’d welcome some feedback from his readers.

When I returned to Tacoma I called the number I found on his website. A woman’s voice, Kristen, answered politely. I explained that I’d bought this book, read a message about contacting the author if one has an opinion about it, and needed to talk to Mr. Bailey about it. She called out.

“WHAT!?” A voice bellows in the background.

“There someone here who wants to speak to you about one of your books. He’s got an accent.”

“WHY?” The voice yells back.

“Because he bought your book and saw your message in the back about contacting you.”

“HE BOUGHT MY FUCKING BOOK! FUCK ME SIDEWAYS WITH BASEBALL BAT!” A clatter of boots running down stairs.

The phone changes hands.

“Hi. Err… is this the author, Neal Bailey?” I ask.

“This is he” comes the guarded response.

“Well”, I start, “I know you don’t know me and I really hope you don’t mind my calling you but your note at the back of your novel did say to contact you if I had an opinion…” I hesitate.

“…”  Silence

“… If you’ll forgive me for being so honest but I really disliked your book. I hated it, in fact. I hated the book so much I could not but help read it cover to cover in one sitting. The principal character has absolutely no redeeming qualities at all and I just feel dirty having finished reading it. I can’t recall ever having such a feeling of distaste from reading a novel so I wanted to let you know that I think your writing is brilliant, it’s raw and uncompromisingly brutal, and if nothing else it is honest. It shows life and human nature as it really is, pitiless, hurtful and driven by desire. I think you should know that I find this exceptional for me to call someone, such as yourself, to let you know that I am impressed. If you are not pissed with me for saying this then I really would like to meet up for coffee, I’ll buy, and talk some more about writing.”

I drew a deep breath expecting a tirade.

“Thank you. I really do appreciate that you had the guts to call me”, came Neal’s calm and reasonable response. “We’d love to meet you soon, tomorrow… now… YEAH!” I met Neal and Kristen a couple of days later, we drank coffee and talked about writing, about life, about any kind of shit that comes to mind. We still do all these years later.

I’m not sure I’ll ever completely know Neal which makes for one of those valued, life-long friendships. I could tell you what he would tell anyone of his life and background. Born and raised in Tacoma, Washington State, fostering the identity of one who comes from the industrialized port that it is, sandwiched between Seattle and Olympia, surrounded by military bases. Working class and proud of it. Dismayed with the weak education of local schools he worked to pay his own tuition for four years at Bellarmine Preparatory private school. During this time working as paper boy, a bus boy, a host, a waiter, a cook and a janitor to further his education he also became deeply cynical of organized religion and of the affluent rich.

Neal then attended college in Bellingham for five years, once again paying his education as a caregiver. Academically brilliant yet argumentative he quit one week before he graduating to work construction for five more years. During that time he moved back to Tacoma to purchase and repair houses to support his writing. Between 1998 and 2008 he wrote five novels, over two thousand poems, two screenplays, about seven hundred pop culture articles, and some ten thousands of letters seeking publishers.

Neal now lives in Vancouver with Kristen. They have two cats and their dog. Kristen remembers to feed and water Neal regularly so he thrives despite being in front of the computer screen some fourteen hours a day, each day, writing. At 29, Neal is finally being recognized widely for his work in Smallville Magazine, the very popular Toyfare magazine, and as the writer for Bluewater Productions’ Female Force series which has recently been lauded in the mainstream media here in the United States and in Britain.

He has started drafting his sixth novel as his last novel, Renegades, is about to be published.

Neal Bailey has one of those singularly accepting personalities. Forgiving of human faults yet very little shocks him as he exists passionately within the moment and within his principals. Uncompromisingly so. Like Taz, Neal strides into the room like an infectious and energetic whirlwind of enthusiasm. One cannot but help be swept up into that maelstrom of spinning chains of ideas and trains of thought, the loose debris of paper and books spinning momentarily into view, laughter and tears, legs and arms trying to escape the blurred movement then pulled back in again, all the while ranting and railing against the world, and against pain, and for life in all it’s misery, and against death in all it’s cold reality, and yet always, always, and always experiencing it to the fullest through his writing. That is where you can know Neal Bailey. In his writing. And he’ll spin to a halt right in front of you as you hold the covers open. His hair spiked into devils horns, glare wickedly into your face and blow a long, loud, fat raspberry full of spittle and glee.

TTTTHPBT!

That’s your Neal Bailey, that is.

- Síon Heaney, March 2009

Neal Bailey and Síon Heaney are working on a collaborative project of poetry and art to be published in 2010. Learn more about it at synaptikal.com