Darkness and Crudeness

There’s a fine line between being dark and being crude. As someone who’s tried to experiment with the dark style all my life, I’ve crossed the blurred line several times in my career. No matter how many times I try to avoid it, somehow I keep crossing that border whenever I’m pumping out first drafts. And then I end up feeling horrible about it since there’s a slim chance I may have unintentionally offended someone. Offending people is good, but not when it’s unintentional. Here’s an example. There’s a short story in Foe vs. Blade called Choice, where an MMA fighter named Rachel Gustafson has an abortion so that she can continue to compete. When she finally has her next fight, her pro-life opponent Violet Smith compares her to Phil Garrido since abortion is allegedly the same as child abuse. Before publishing Foe vs. Blade, I removed that crude and unnecessary comment and replaced it with both fighters instead electing to go back to their corners. The DeviantART and Facebook versions of Choice still have the Phil Garrido remark, but that’s only because nobody pays attention to first drafts anyways. You can apply the darkness-crudeness continuum to your own work as well. For example, let’s say you’re going to make a joke about Cleopatra’s menstrual cycle. A calm and sensible person who still wished to be dark and offensive would phrase the joke like this: “Q: Why did Cleopatra use tampons? A: Because she was on her pyramid.” A crude and tacky person would phrase the seemingly innocent joke like this: “Q: Why did Cleopatra shove tube steaks up her fucking twat? A: Because the bitch was on her pyramid, yo!” The lesson learned here is that swearing is not always a good way to enhance your material. If all you have is swearing and no substance, you’re not going to survive the creative world. That’s why whenever I’m walking the streets of downtown Bremerton and I hear a random guy rapping about a woman “sucking a dick in less than a minute”, I cringe and try to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. The only purpose swearing and other forms of darkness serve is to make the story realistic. There are people out there who use crude language, but when writing, try to capture it in such a way that it doesn’t completely make your audience’s stomachs turn. A good example of darkness used to perfection would be Tales From the Hood. Yes, the characters love to cuss, but whenever Bulldog yells, “Where’s the shit?!” your stomach is sore not from nausea, but from laughing. Leave the nausea up to Crazy K as he gets spun around several times on a torture table while watching black people getting killed, which is apparently what he’s been doing all of his life according to Dr. Cushing. Peace! I’m out!

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“One of the side effects for these diet pills is anal seepage. If you take this pill, I don’t care how much weight you’ve lost, you ain’t looking good in them jeans.”

-Jeff Foxworthy-

Book Burnings

There are some zealous people out there who love a good book burning ceremony. Terry Jones, that idiot priest in Florida, was going to burn several copies of the Quran on the anniversary of 9/11. I don’t know if he actually got around to it, but there’s something Mr. Jones needs to be aware of for the next time he plans a book burning ritual. In order to obtain copies of a book, you have to, surprise, surprise, buy them. Every time you buy a book from somewhere, whether it’s $20 at Barnes and Noble or one cent plus shipping and handling on Amazon.com, you’re giving your patronage and your money to the original author along with their publishing company. I hate to burst your bubble, Mr. Jones, but in the end, it doesn’t matter why you buy multiple copies of a book, because a sale is a sale regardless of the reason. You can say whatever you want about the Twilight series, but if you’re buying a hundred copies just so you can rip them up or use them as toilet paper, you’re still giving Stephanie Meyer a shit load of money. And if you think you’re being slick by going on an author’s page and giving him a negative review, sorry, but that’s another way of attracting attention to that author. More attention (good or bad) means more sales, more sales means more money for the author, and more money for the author means that he won’t have to go on welfare and REALLY make you shit your pants. Going back to the original example of that loser Terry Jones, he may have pissed off a bunch of extremists by attempting a Quran burning, but thanks to his ass-load of cash, some publishers are going to be eating a chicken dinner for a long, long time. Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Wakey, wakey, eggs and bacey! Rise and shine, it’s breakfast time! And of course, this blog wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t use myself as an example to further my point. This past Friday, I visited Lulu.com and put together yet another self-published book under the name Garrison Kelly called Foe vs. Blade. It’s another anthology just like Red Blood, White Knuckles, Blue Heart, but Foe vs. Blade is much darker and much more offensive. I may be hypersensitive to criticism, but business will go on as usual whether you’re with me or against me. But in hindsight, I’ve only sold one copy of either of these two books in the past few weeks and that was to my best friend Kenny on Facebook. Either way, that one sale is going to multiply into many sales and I will become well-fed and well-paid whether you want to set fire to my books or recommend them to friends. You’ve got a lighter? Flame on!

　

***PARODY DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

DR. CUSHING: Our tests show that you have a weak stomach. Have you ever been strapped to a torture table and spun around several hundred times until you puked your guts out?

CRAZY K: Yeah, I saw a few rollercoasters in my day.

-Tales From the Hood-

　

***POST-SCRIPT***

Anybody who says Tales From the Hood’s fourth story is like A Clockwork Orange is secretly looking for a way to make everybody look away from his massive hard-on. Did Alex De Large walk around in his underwear? Did Alex De Large have stimulators on his nipples? Did Alex De Large have a spring-loaded clamp on the base of his dick? And finally, did Alex De Large have a ball gag in his mouth? The answer to all of these questions is not just no, but a definitive hell no. If you’re going to masturbate to that torture scene in Tales From the Hood, at least be honest about it.

"The George Carlin Letters" by Sally Wade

After watching George Carlin perform on one of his crazy HBO specials, would you have guessed that he was a loving family man who constantly wrote love notes to his second wife Sally Wade? Take your time in digesting this information. Cycle through all of the times he said that he enjoys car crashes and hurricanes before picking up a copy of “The George Carlin Letters” by Sally Wade. The book is described as a romantic comedy and justifiably so. Throughout the love notes that George wrote to his wife is one with a drawing of a bald woman that said, “If you shaved your head I would still love you (note the hard nipples)”. That’s one of my favorites and that’s just getting to the back cover. Other love notes include references that Sally and George are from Jupiter since their romance transcends earth’s boundaries and rules. Notice how he didn’t say Saturn, because people from Saturn are assholes. Then again, I’d be an asshole too if I had a bunch of space junk circling my planet. Martians and Venusians are alright, though. In fact, there’s a slim chance that Sally and George’s longtime doggy-wog Spot might be a Venusian. There are tons of references to Spot throughout the book. And why not? He’s such a little cutie pie! Plus, that’s all life ever was to George: a series of dogs. Does any of this sound giggly and romantic to you? It should. It’s a heartwarming love story that makes you glad that it’s nonfiction. Sally even describes being married to George as the best ten years of her life. But all good things must come to an end eventually. In 2008, two days before George and Sally’s tenth anniversary, George passed away and left the world a darker place than it already was. Sally could have made this near-end of the book into a somber funeral if she wanted to. But instead, she maintained the giggly spirit of the book and made references to George making contact with her from the other side alongside Spot, who also died during the marriage. Sally says that George still visits her whenever she takes a shower. Not just because she needs reassurance, but also because she happens to be naked. That’s our George! We’re all going to miss him dearly. Even though he said otherwise during his 2008 HBO special It’s Bad For Ya, he probably is smiling down from heaven. He’s probably not running the heavenly branch of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, so don’t count on any favors. If you want true romance, don’t buy a cheesy Harlequin book. Buy “The George Carlin Letters” by Sally Wade!

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I’ve got an idea for an abortion pill that works only half the time. It’s called Baby Maybe!”

-George Carlin-

Nasal Science

Despite the title of this blog entry, it’s not about boogers and snot, so you can put the Kleenex away. It’s also not about masturbation, so that’s even more reason for you to stow away the tissues. It’s about people who have become so nosy toward authors and other celebrities that they’ve got it down to a science, hence the title Nasal Science. They ask the most ridiculous questions and put the “valuable information” on Wikipedia pages. For instance, someone actually got MMA champion Ronda Rousey to say that having sex before a fight is good for a female competitor since it increases their testosterone levels. I swear to god, that’s what’s on her Wikipedia biography right now. You know who else has a ridiculous Wikipedia entry? Former WWE diva Eve Torres. Somewhere in the personal information, it says that she’s afraid of clowns. Who gives a flying fuck?! And WWE superstar Daniel Bryan? Somewhere in his personal life section it says that he’s no longer a vegan because he developed an allergy to soy products. Oh, that’s so fascinating! I really needed to know about his allergies! That’s so fun! Look, I’m not saying that asking questions of celebrities is a bad thing. I’m just saying there’s such a thing as taking it to the extreme. Brock Lesnar and Jack White both have the right idea: if it’s not important, you don’t need to know about it. You don’t need to know The Great Khali’s penis size, you don’t need to know that Jacob Volkmann is a part-time back-snapper, and you REALLY don’t need to know how bad of a childhood Ivan Moody had. The latter of the three is what really disturbs me. People hear the songs “Remember Everything” and “The Devil’s Own” by Five Finger Death Punch, the band that Mr. Moody comes from, and they all of the sudden want to know all about his childhood. Are the lyrics not enough of an indication? “Slap on the wrist, smack in the face, the family tree gave me a name and nothing more!” What else do you want? Triggering a celebrity’s trauma is not fan service. Going back to Ronda Rousey for a moment, if you really want to know about her dead father, Google it. Don’t try to get her to open up to you. The last time that happened, she was in tears. We don’t like it when Ronda Rousey is in tears, except for when she just won a match. If you want to satisfy a minor curiosity, do it without making a science out of it. You don’t need a lab coat and scrubs. You’re just a geeky kid sitting in a computer chair. You want to know how you can pay fan service? Leave them the fuck alone!

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If there is a God, he’s got a shit-load of explaining to do.”

-Tommy Gavin from “Rescue Me”-

Artistic Democracy

An artistic democrat is much different from a political democrat. An artistic democrat is someone who cares so much about what his audience thinks of his work that he’s willing to sacrifice his own personal tastes just to please them. In high school, I would commonly refer to such people as “conformist bastards”. While I do realize that the audience will determine an author’s success due to sales, they shouldn’t control him completely. People get into the artistic business for the same reasons as everyone else: to satisfy their own creative urges. I can’t speak for everybody, but I’m pretty sure that Bentley Little doesn’t write horror stories because his audience forms a line outside his door and begs him to do so. In order for that to work, you have to find Bentley Little (he’s a little bit difficult to locate these days, even with a GPS signal). The same could be said about WWE superstars. Sure, they love to say that they do it for the people in their cute little promos (because that’s what heroic characters do: they pander to the crowd), but come on. Really? You don’t get more of a rush out of flying against the ropes and winning championship after championship? Truth is, if the public decided your fate, you wouldn’t be a fucking artist of any kind. You’d most likely be a lawyer, an accountant, a doctor, a data clerk, or any other lame ass job that although drains you dry does satisfy society’s needs. The people who do this kind of work like to brag about “contributing to society” and I just say, “Fuuuuuuuuuck you!” Do you really want to give gifts to the people who don’t give a shit about you? I’m pretty sure that if you’re a police officer who gets injured in the line of duty, going on social security indefinitely is not what society likes. It may be what keeps you from starving everyday, but it’s not what they want. And now I’m going to incorporate my own creative life into this blog like I normally do. I’m happy to write entertaining books about bloody action sequences and raunchy sex for you. If you enjoy my stories, good for you. If not, then that’s okay too, because nobody’s putting a gun to your head and forcing you to be a member of my audience. Unless you’re an editor with a genuine interest in furthering my career, don’t expect me to change my style for you. Either you love me or you leave me. Unlike our current governmental system, my creative life is not a democracy. On the contrary, I’m an autocrat and I rule with an iron fist. It’s the same iron fist my characters use to punch each other’s lights out with. The only way this will ever be a G-rated affair is if I’m playing the guitar and I break a G string while fingering A minor.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Conservatives need to find a channel for their anger and that channel is not Fox News.”

-Bill Maher-

Relatable Characters

I was surfing DeviantART’s daily deviation section one day and I found a gem in the form of a critique of typical internet stories. The premise was that every story he came across on the internet had the same basic plotline: the main character was a victim and every bad thing imaginable was happening to him or her. He went on to say that bad happenings were not enough to get the reader to give a damn about the main character. Harsh tone aside, the guy who wrote this editorial actually made a good point there. The question now is, how does an author make likable characters? To my understanding, a main character, no matter what the alignment, should NOT be perfect in every way and should have qualities that the reader would find interesting such as witty dialogue, an indomitable will, or even a sweet disposition. Suppose you had a big beefy barbarian who had a special place in his heart for puppies. That would make him more interesting. What if you had a super villain who made dark jokes that actually tickled funny bones more often than offended people. That might also be a reason to care. But in order to have these things in a main character, there has to be enough narration in the prose to develop him beyond the guy who has a lot of bad shit happen to him. Short stories, particularly in the flash fiction genre, don’t always allow the space for such development. So then what, Mr. Snappy Pants? Do short story authors just fuck off from the face of the internet? Bzzt! Wrong! They do what UFC commentator Joe Rogan likes to call “fighting in a phone booth”, which means make the most of the space you’re granted. Perhaps that would mean expanding a short story beyond the 2000 or 5000 word limit. But you could get the job done. Your sanity depends on it. Judging from the aggression in the daily deviation author’s voice, you can’t afford to make huge mistakes. In that case, do as much horrible shit to your main character as possible. It may be your only chance despite going against Mr. Drill Instructor’s advice. If you need help editing your story afterwards, seek the council of someone with the disposition of a baby bunny. I’ll bet you anything that the editor you seek out will give you a set of questions to answer within the space of your prose and once you have those questions emphatically answered, everything will work out right and you may get published. While this may not have been the most entertaining blog post I’ve done, I hope it was one of the more helpful ones. In the end, that’s pretty much all that counts.

　

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You get me slapped with a fine, you argue with the customers and I have to patch everything up, you get us thrown out of a funeral home for violating a corpse, and to top it all off, you ruin my relationship! What is your encore?! Do you anally rape my mother while pouring sugar in my gas tank?!”

-Dante Hicks from “Clerks”-

Fantasy and Reality

I’m a peace-loving liberal who loves action movies and violent literature. Like the Scottish Koreans in the Starburst commercials, I’m a walking contradiction and I don’t make a wee bit of sense. How exactly is this possible? It’s because I know how to do something that I wish everybody would learn to do: distinguish fantasy from reality. In the fantasy world, violence is dazzling and fun to watch, as evidenced in movies like First Blood and TV shows like the WWE. Even the UFC has a level of fantasy in it, probably because it’s heavily regulated. In the real world, violence is a disgusting thing to watch. There’s a huge difference between watching First Blood and watching a war documentary on MSNBC. That’s why I wish everybody could distinguish fantasy from reality, because people play videogames like Halo and Gears of War and automatically assume that they too can become ass-kicking soldiers who go undefeated throughout their military careers. Bzzt! Wrong! If you join the military and somehow make it back to civilian life with your body intact, no matter what the outcome of the war you’re fighting, you will never be the same again. You might return home missing a few limbs. You might wake up in the middle of the night and not know where you are. You might burst into tears when you hear someone popping balloons because it sounds like gunfire. In the world of mixed-martial arts, the same thing is true. Just because you went undefeated in a game of Tekken Tag Tournament or Super Street Fighter II, doesn’t mean you’re going to excel in the UFC. The fighters who work for that company? They’re super athletes who spend anywhere from eight to twelve hours a day training in the gym and even then they get injured from time to time. If you have the body of a god and that god happens to be Buddha, stay away from the cage (unless of course your name is Roy Nelson, in which case, you’ll do just fine). Do you know why they call it a fantasy? Because it exists in the mind and nowhere else except for in artistic expression. If The Hobbit was a documentary instead of an action-adventure movie, we would be seriously fucked as human beings. Or elves. Or dwarves. Or even fire-breathing dragons and walking rock people. Just to be on the safe side, whenever I self-publish one of my books, I put a disclaimer at the beginning that reminds my readers never to copy anything they read. They will die a miserable, slow death if they do. I don’t just do it to get a laugh out of people. I do it for their own good. That and I don’t want to get sued. Are you paying attention, Stephanie Meyer? Maybe you should tell your own audience to stop biting each other’s necks. I’ve bitten people when I got into fights at school. It’s not fun. So please, Twilight fans, stop biting each other’s necks! Got that? Good! I don’t think there’s anything more that needs to be said, except…

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Pro-wrestling is real. People are fake.”

-Mr. Anderson-

Scary Nonfiction

Expanding my repertoire beyond the Carl Hiaasen thrillers and the Lilian Jackson Braun mysteries is something I should probably be doing when book shopping. Having said that, there are also certain books on the market that I simply will not touch. It’s not because I don’t support the authors, it’s because their stories would disturb me for days. Maybe even weeks or months. Imagine that: a guy who promotes violence in his fiction is complaining about books being too disturbing. In this case, the books I’m talking about are what I like to call “scary nonfiction”. It’s bad enough that they’re riddled with child molestation, false imprisonment, beatings, rapes, and a general lack of justice. They also have to be true stories. That makes them even more gag-worthy. Now that all of my worst fears are on the table, it’s time to cite two examples of scary nonfiction that come to mind: “Waiting To Be Heard” by Amanda Knox and “A Stolen Life” by Jaycee Dugard. Both of these books involve news stories that pissed me off to no end. I would always go for my morning walks with stomps instead of strides, my teeth would be constantly clinched, and my eyebrows shot downward into steep inclines. That’s how mad I was about these stories. In case you’re in the dark, let me refresh your memory. With Amanda Knox, she went over to Italy to study and was falsely accused of murder and sentenced to life in prison. It’s bad enough that they discriminated against her American heritage, but the abusive cop interrogating her was suing her and her parents for slander when Miss Knox claimed she was beaten. Amanda Knox was eventually set free five years after her original incarceration after the jury found out that she, surprise, surprise, didn’t commit the murder. But when it comes to pissing me off, Amanda Knox’s story of a kangaroo court system can’t even hold a candle to Jaycee Dugard’s story of being molested and raped for 18 years straight by a sick-ass sociopath named Phil Garrido. Imagine that: 18 years of misery and torture from ages 11 to 29. In that lengthy period of time, Phil Garrido stole her sanity, her virginity, her education, and her life. When Jaycee Dugard was rescued in 2009, her captor received over 400 years in prison time, which means he doesn’t stand a chance of being released again like he was before. As I write the summaries of Amanda Knox and Jaycee Dugard’s, my blood is boiling like volcanic magma and my head is splitting open like a coconut. If I feel that pissed off about writing their stories, imagine what I would be like if I read them. I think I would suffer a myocardial infarction after the first page…of the forwards! In short, don’t ask me to add scary nonfiction to my blog or my bookshelf. It’s simply never going to happen. Ever.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You think you know, but you’re horribly blind. You think you know how this story’s defined. You think you know that your heart has gone cold inside. Fine. You think you know, but it’s all in your mind. You think you know just whose fate has been signed. You think you know just whose heart has gone cold this time. Mine.”

-Device singing “You Think You Know”-

"100 Bullets: Samurai" by Brian Azzarello & Eduardo Risso

I once made a journal post on DeviantART about how the prison system in America is a fucking joke since criminals leave in a worse state of mind than when they entered. After reading “100 Bullets: Samurai”, I don’t feel any better about the prison system being fixed anytime soon. In this graphic novel, you’ve got prisoners beating on each other like war drums, prison guards beating them with even more sickening violence, “fresh fish” being treated like animals, and that’s just the first half of the book. The second half deals with the back story of a cop killer named Jack who was introduced to a “zoo” where wild tigers are butchered for meat and trophies. From beginning to end, this graphic novel is a violent assault that takes over your senses and makes you feel like there’s not one ounce of hope left in this world. If nothing else, it’s a wakeup call to the reader to stay out of prison and stay even further away from the life of a degenerate criminal. Once you enter the criminal underworld, there’s very little chance that you will escape with your bones intact or your sanity preserved. But let’s not forget that this story is called “100 Bullets”, which means of course that there are, hello, 100 bullets somewhere in this long narrative. The title of this series refers to a special kind of bullet that isn’t traceable by any crime lab or medical examiner. No matter who gets shot or who’s doing the shooting, the user of these bullets will get off Scott free if there aren’t any other witnesses who can corroborate his murderous actions. While these bullets won’t do any good to a guy behind bars (where surprise searches with latex gloves are quite frequent), it’ll do that same guy wonders when trying to foil the tiger slaughtering business funded by a corrupt cop. But here’s where the story gets interesting. If the bullets are untraceable, how did Jack end up behind bars? Take note that this particular graphic novel is part of a larger series and takes place in the lower 40 issues. If you want to know the whole story, you’ve got a lot of comic books to collect, buddy. If you’re ready for a violent thrill ride with sex, drugs, and murder written all over it, you’d better get started on that collection. It may cost you a shit ton of money since there are a lot of graphic novels in the “100 Bullets” series, but I guarantee it’ll be worth it. You don’t even have to read them in order, this one is almost standalone in nature. Almost. Do yourself a favor and grab this graphic novel from your local bookstore or library. You may be sick to your stomach or paranoid out of your mind afterwards, but such is the way of a novel that packs a stiff punch.

　

***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Homeland security is a governmental phrase that is as oxymoronic and crazy as saying military intelligence or the US Department of Justice.”

-Mumia Abu Jamal-

Magnum Opuses

A magnum opus is not a candy bar or an ice cream treat. It’s a singular work that defines an author’s entire career. Musicians, directors, and other artists can have magnum opuses as well. For Anthony Burgess, his magnum opus was A Clockwork Orange, much to his chagrin. The only reason why he wrote it (in such a short time span, no less) was to pay a bill. That’s it. That’s all A Clockwork Orange was supposed to be. My first thought upon hearing this was, “If he can write this good of a story when he’s rushing it, imagine what he’s like when he slows down and plans everything.” Mr. Burgess should be proud of himself. Actually, he can’t since he’s dead, but you get the picture. Then again, there are times when I can sympathize with this magnum opus phenomenon being a bad thing. I have a DeviantART account (in case you didn’t know) and from time to time I’ll post memes of my top ten favorite things or top 100 or god knows what else. When my memes get more views and favorites than my pieces of literature, which I genuinely worked hard on, that’s when I become disappointed with the internet community. It makes me upset that they can identify with a meme more often than a piece of art that actually means something. I don’t know if this is a mark of the smart phone generation or what, but it does piss me off from time to time. But then there are times when a magnum opus can work in the author’s favor like it did with Anthony Burgess (even though he didn’t know it just yet). You know the nu metal band Limp Bizkit? Their magnum opus is a tossup between the songs “Rollin’” and “Counterfeit”. What about Pink Floyd? Theirs is a tossup between the albums The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon. Imagine having to choose between a colorful prism and a hideous screaming face. What if you tried playing a word association game with the name JK Rowling? Harry Potter will always be the first thing to come to mind. The point I’m trying to make here is to be proud of your magnum opus regardless of how ashamed it made you feel previously. In hindsight, a bunch of people faving my memes could lead to those same people being interested in other things of mine as well. That’s normally how it works with drawings, photos, and such. Just try and stay positive about the things you’re famous for. For me personally, I’m glad that my characters Deus Shadowheart (charismatic barbarian) and Dr. Scott Cain (corrupt rapist) have a profound influence on how people see me. That’s why I recycled them from an old videogame idea called Final Fantasy Hardcore into a better-written story known as Hardcore Hate 1. If you’re famous for good things, embrace it.

　

***MY FIRST SALE***

After months of agonizing over success and failure, I finally sold my first copy of “Red Blood, White Knuckles, Blue Heart”. I’m confident that the one sale will spiral into a hundred. Or a thousand. Or a million. Whoever bought this book is going to spread the word for sure. For that, I’m thankful.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“It don’t bother me if people think I’m funny, ‘cause I’m a big rock star and I make a lot of money!”

-Korn singing “Earache”-

Flash Fiction

In the same way that writing doorstoppers doesn’t necessarily mean that the author has a gigantic penis, writing flash fiction doesn’t necessarily mean the author has a small penis either. In fact, it just might be the other way around. If you don’t know what flash fiction is, here’s the deal. It’s just like any other story, but the general consensus is that it can be anywhere from 400 words to 1000. It’s not a hard and fast rule, but it’s enough to get the inspirational dynamo going. No matter what word limit is imposed on the author, the whole point of flash fiction is that it’s extremely short. To be able to pop off a fully functional story in such a tight space takes a lot of talent. There are so many things you have to remember while writing a story and with flash fiction you have to work within a tight focus. The rule of “show, don’t tell” still applies, characters going through personal transformations by the story’s end still carries water, and the ending has to stay within the story’s universe (in other words, Deus Ex Machina is still a no-no). Doing all of this in 400 words or less should be worthy of publication. In fact, I’m hoping that somewhere in the bibliosphere (I know, it’s a made up word), someone has published an entire anthology of flash fiction stories. I can’t imagine any doorstopper material coming from such an anthology, but that’s only because flash fiction is a highly underappreciated form of art. The only forums I know of that ask for such submissions are literary magazines and DeviantART. I could be limited in my scope of where flash fiction is published and if I am, I’d be grateful if someone showed me where the remaining sources are. I know of one other source which has a great amount of appreciation: newspapers and internet articles. It’s basically flash nonfiction because each article is only supposed to be 400 words or less, with as little elaboration on minor details as possible. Every Wednesday I volunteer my time at the Kitsap Historical Society and so far I’ve submitted two flash nonfiction articles to their newsletter. I hope they get accepted, because that would be a huge feather in the cap of someone who wants to write for a living but has limited outlets for doing so. In a way, these blog entries are like flash nonfiction since they’re only one page long. I’m hoping that this blog gets enough views so that I can start earning revenue for advertising banners. Now that I think about it, maybe flash fiction isn’t as undervalued as I previously thought. Hey, we all have to start somewhere, right?

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“For a corporate sponsor, you get one of those companies that loves to smear its logo feces all over the landscape. Budweiser will jump at this shit in half a minute.”

-George Carlin-

"Cody's Army" by Jim Case

The reason I purchased this book to begin with was because the author (real name Stephen Mertz) critiqued one of my short stories and I wanted to thank him for his sensitive and honest service. And I thought, “Well, buying a white-knuckle military thriller, that should let him know I care!” It was worth every penny. Cody’s Army follows the story of John Cody and his three brothers-in-arms as they storm their way through the Arab desert in search of hostages taken from an airline flight to Tel Aviv. John Cody is a Vietnam war veteran who can beat the living piss out of anybody if given an Uzi machinegun, a garrote wire, a knife, grenades, or just his bare knuckles. Richard Caine is an explosives expert who can blow pretty much anything or anybody so high up in the air that they can personally say hello to their deity (feel free to take that any way you want). Rufe Murphy is a helicopter pilot who also happens to be a gigantic monster of a black guy who can snap the necks of smaller men with his thumb and forefinger. Hawkeye Hawkins, well, he’s just a badass Texan with a hair-trigger temper and a switchblade for a tongue. Okay, I may have stolen that last line from a Five Finger Death Punch song, but you get the idea. Individually, these four Vietnam vets are rough, tough motherfuckers who can kill at a moment’s notice. Together? Oh, you’d better bring every last soldier you’ve got and even then it may never be enough. They’re not just toe-to-toe brawlers, they’re intelligent tacticians who can work their way around any opposition. If you’re looking for a fast-paced action thriller, pick up a copy of Cody’s Army. By now you’re probably asking yourself why a peace-loving liberal like me is promoting a military-style novel. I already told you the first reason, because I want to support the guy who critiqued my work and made me a better writer. The other reason is because I know the difference between fantasy and reality. In Cody’s Army, the action is high-octane, brutal, and as dazzling to read as the Rambo movies are to watch. In real life, it would still be brutal, but there would be a lot of PTSD and vomiting in reaction to such horrible violence. Relax and enjoy the thrill ride from a safe distance. Buy Cody’s Army!

　

***JOKES OF THE DAY***

Q: What’s it called when a female soldier is getting emotional?
A: War-mones.

Q: What does a soldier get after he has sex?
A: War-gasms.

Believability in Nonfiction

Currently sitting on my “to-read” shelf is “A Million Little Pieces” by James Frey. I haven’t even started it yet and already it intrigues me, mainly because of the media shit-storm that Mr. Frey had to endure due to allegations of his nonfiction work being a sham. Whether or not this is true is irrelevant to me. You know why? Because I don’t give a shit if a story is real or true, as long as it’s entertaining. If you want to know how ridiculous this media circus is, then know this. Whenever any nonfiction book gets published, there are actually “detectives” out there who fact check every little part of the story. Right down to the last detail. If you had chicken fried steak for lunch one day and wrote down that you had a double bacon cheeseburger instead, prepare to be crucified. They can be that extreme sometimes. I think to myself, “Hey, Dick Tracy, shut the fuck up, will you? You’re full of more shit than the author you’re persecuting! Your breath is so bad, I don’t know if you need a breath mint or toilet paper!” Granted, the book is placed in nonfiction for a reason, but I’m not exactly getting my underwear in a knot over it and either should Dick Tracy. If on the other hand we’re talking about things like slander and libel, then I could actually see the other side of this argument a lot clearer. I will admit that most libel cases are complete bullshit since people will sue over someone expressing a negative opinion about them. But if it’s legitimate libel, then that means the negativity was played as a fact and the victim’s life could actually be ruined as a result of that. In which case, go ahead and sue the motherfucker for all he’s worth. But don’t give me this speech about how a nonfiction book has the potential to be a bunch of hallow lies. It’s like people who say they hate professional wrestling because it’s fake. You know what I say to those people? “Oh yeah? Well, Harry Potter’s fake and I don’t hear you crying about that!” Every time I have this conversation with my mother, she seems somewhat upset that Harry Potter is not real. That’s some serious devotion right there, though I don’t know if it’s aimed at Harry Potter being real or pro-wrestling being fake. The lesson of the day? Stop caring if a piece of literature really happened or not. It doesn’t fucking matter. If you read the book and liked it, isn’t that all that counts in the end? Now if it was a newspaper or a textbook that was considered fiction, then I’d actually have the energy to worry about it. But until then, just read your novel and enjoy it!

　

***COMMERCIAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You can’t believe everything you read on the internet. Otherwise, I’d be a Nigerian millionaire by now.”

-Kevin Butler advertising the Playstation 3-

Work Ethic

On my Facebook page, I follow a group called “The Writer’s Circle”, which posts quotes from various authors about their work ethic when it comes to piecing together a novel. They love to use words like “creative spark” and “white heat” while driving home the point of never taking a vacation from writing. These are all very inspirational and true quotes, but here’s where I’ve got a problem. There used to be a time in my life where I would write every single day like an endless dynamo of creativity. There used to be times when the words “white heat” meant something. Those days are over, though I hope they return soon. The reason those days are over is because my schizophrenic brain began to grind so slowly and painfully on me to the point where I’m always mentally exhausted. I’m exhausted when I wake up in the morning and I’m still seeking answers on how to get out of that hazy state. The things I do to try and wake my brain up include going for long distance walks to the grocery store, drinking caffeinated diet sodas, eating meaty foods to get by blood sugar up, etc. Even then, there’s no guarantee that when I get on my computer to write something I won’t be stuck sitting there like a complete idiot while I stare at my screen. Some say it’s writer’s block, but I blame it on my overly exhausted schizophrenic brain. Instead of getting everything down on the computer screen in one epic fiery flow, I have to pace myself to the point where it’s several days before I write anything again. Mind you that this only applies to three-page chapters of Hardcore Hate 2 and not to blog entries and DeviantART journals. Knowing that I’m not a mental or creative superman, when I see these quotes about work ethic on my Facebook page, I always think that they’re secretly implying that I’m a lazy bum because I don’t pump something out every single day. Let me ask you this, Writer’s Circle: do lazy bums have multiple first draft novels to their name? How about double digit short stories? Didn’t think so. My work ethic is unquestionable. My desire is even less questionable. My mental endurance, on the other hand, is extremely doubtable. There’s a difference between desire and endurance. If you don’t have the endurance, desire means nothing. That’s why I’m always giggling through my nose whenever I hear about a pro-wrestler or MMA fighter who is “struggling through the pain”. Eventually, the pain will be too much to bear and there will be no choice but to either tap out or lie down. It has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with science. Get it? Good. I’m out of here.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Bobby’s parents don’t understand why he can’t hold a job, because in school he was always on the honor roll. What Bobby’s parents don’t realize is that in today’s schools, everybody’s on the honor roll, because in order to be on the honor roll, all you really have to do is maintain a body temperature roughly in the 90’s.”

-George Carlin-