J.D. Cunegan

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the world is kinda shit these days.

Course, it’s always been shit to some degree. Difference is, we haven’t always had 24-7 connectivity via social media and what passes for news to constantly remind us how shit everything is. Not to mention all the ways things are worse shit than usual.

To that end, the subtitle for this post is sort of my unofficial slogan. After all, it’s on the masthead of my website. It’s in the bio for just about all my social media pages.

It’s even in my author bio.

There aren’t many things I can do about the state of the world. Frankly, that really bothers me. I hate problems I can’t solve. I hate not being able to fix things. I’ve always been the way; my empathy and my desire to do something has left me frustrated and demoralized in ways I’m not sure many can understand, and the last nine years have been particularly difficult.

One thing I can do, though? Write.

The Pen is Mightier… in Theory
As demoralizing as the ills of the world are, my inability to affect them is truly bothersome. It’s an existential quandary; I feel this almost primal need to fix all the evil in the world, yet I understand on an intellectual level how I can’t do that. No one person can. Any efforts on that front have to be collective, communal.

The plights of the individual are almost always systemic in nature. Which means we’d need just about all of us to tackle them.

Which… yeah, that’s not happening.

I don’t like the anger I’m left with. I hate how it makes me feel, I hate the pit that constantly sits in the pit of my stomach. I hate that I can’t address the root cause of everything. I hate that I’m left to go through my days, living my life with the understanding that so much of what I learned about the world as a child just isn’t true.

The virtues I was taught to strive for aren’t what makes the world go. The wicked and the selfish and the cruel are the ones who get ahead in this world; they’re the ones who ascend into power and influence, seemingly in spite of themselves, and the rest of us are left to… what, exactly?

Powerlessness is what the worst feelings I know. Partly because I’m no longer content with incremental progress. Maybe it’s my age. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m naturally impatient. Maybe it’s the fact that even in the face of progress, the suffering remains. The hate remains.

So, what can I do?

I can write.

Will my books affect change? Highly doubtful. But the stories I tell are very much rooted in the sort of world I want to see. The kinds of people I want to be more visible than the villains we’re stuck with every time we open our eyes or turn on the television.

But there is something to be said for looking at the world around me, standing up, and saying, “No. This will not do. We can, and should, do better.”

Sometimes, that’s marching in the streets. Sometimes, that’s a speech in front of millions.

Sometimes, it’s just a silly book about lesbian assassins.

No wonder I’ve been drawn to superheroes for almost my entire life.

The Futility of Mortality
I’ve been struggling lately with the notion that one day, I’ll be dead.

It’s not necessarily because I’m 43 years old. Or the fact that my goatee now has a few grays in it. Or the bald spot on top of my head. Or the fact that every trip to the doctor’s office seems to bring with it new prescriptions.

The idea of my own mortality often hits hardest when I look at the world around me and I don’t like what I see. My time on this floating rock is but a blip on existence – if even that. Am I really supposed to spend that time surrounded by such bitterness and hatred and cruelty?

I think back to last month, when Jimmy Carter passed away. The consensus seems to be that Carter was a great man – the sort of man we should all aspire to be – yet he was a bad president. Which I think is an indictment of the presidency. Look at how we’ve historically treated the good men who held that office.

Look at some of the outright buffoons who have sat in the Oval Office.

Present company very much included.

In fact, human history is rife with people who were everything we say we should be. They’re kind. Selfless. They motivate others to be the same. They shine a light on our societal ills and show us the way to be better.

And almost every time, we lash out. We hate. We torture. We kill. Dating back to Jesus, we have this nasty habit of preaching the virtues of humanity yet lashing out at those who actually embody them and implore others to do the same.

To paraphrase a certain universally beloved actor, I’m tired of living in a world where kindness is seen as a weakness. I refuse to believe we’re put on this world to be mean. I’m sick of seeing the intentionally cruel and the dastardly getting ahead. I’m tired of seeing the bullies win. I’m over the notion that some people deserve to be shat on for what little time they have on this cosmic speck.

That can’t be what life’s about. Can it?

Is that really what we’re here for? To beat each other up, to crush each other’s spirits, to step on everyone as we climb the artificial mountain of materialism until we croak?

Where Do I Go From Here?
I wish there was an uplifting message to close out this post. Really, I do.

But what is there? Other than my own creativity, other than what I feel and know in my heart? But that’s of little comfort, when I realize what’s in my heart doesn’t match a lot of what’s going on in the world. There’s a loneliness in realizing the world is cold and indifferent; I sometimes wish empathy came with an off switch.

I don’t know how to get through the next four years. More to the point, I still don’t know what to do with the knowledge that I’m surrounded by people who take pride in ignorance and selfishness. I sometimes wonder if I’m the only one who learned kindness and virtue as a kid.

The written word is pretty much the only thing I do know.

Well, the only thing I know I have any control over.

So that’s where I’ll be. That’s where I make my stand. Will it make a damn bit of difference? Probably not. The world will probably suck just as much the day I die as it does now (if it’s not somehow even worse). Try as I might to make lives better, I don’t know that I do.

At least, not in any lasting way.

But hey, at least I have my stories. That has to mean something. I don’t know if I can live in a world where it doesn’t.

About J.D. Cunegan
J.D. Cunegan is known for his unique writing style, a mixture of murder mystery and superhero epic that introduces the reader to his comic book-inspired storytelling and fast-paced prose. A 2006 graduate of Old Dominion University, Cunegan has an extensive background in journalism, a lengthy career in media relations, and a lifelong love for writing. Cunegan lives in Hampton, Virginia, and next to books and art, his big passion in life in auto racing. When not hunched in front of a keyboard or with his nose stuck in a book, Cunegan can probably be found at a race track or watching a race on TV.

Follow J.D. on Facebook, Instagram, Threads, Substack, and Goodreads.