Heroes and Influences

I’d like to think that there’s a huge difference between liking somebody and making somebody your own personal hero. When you like someone, you merely enjoy their aesthetically pleasing presence. When someone is your hero, you change your behavior to emulate that person. Today’s blog entry is about the latter of those two archetypes: heroes and influences. These are a few of my own personal heroes:

Susan Cain. I’ve talked about her extensively when I reviewed “Quiet”. She’s highly introverted and has no problem sticking up for other introverts in a world that doesn’t want to shut the fuck up. I’m an introvert myself, so I enjoy it when Susan Cain speaks on my behalf. Thanks, Ms. Cain. You’re awesome. And pretty too!

Pink Floyd. When I was a kid going to middle school and high school in the conservative hotbed known as Chehalis, Washington, I cherished it every time Roger Waters stuck his mouth against the mike and said, “We don’t need no education!” Come to think of it, I can still hear his voice calling out to me even after I’ve graduated from the extroverted hellhole that was college.

Daniel Bryan. Whenever I watch him on WWE TV, I always make it a point to leap to my feet as the match is going on. This past Monday night, he did something that I never thought I’d see him do: he beat three guys in one sitting in a gauntlet match. He submitted Jack Swagger, pinned Antonio Cesaro, and got Ryback disqualified (it seems hollow, but it’s still a victory over a third wrestler). There may be hope for this technical wizard after all.

Brett Battles. Even after going to college in 2009, I never really considered myself an avid bookworm, which was ironic knowing that my major was in creative writing. Instead of being a mediocre writer for the rest of my career, I picked up a book by Brett Battles called “The Cleaner” and the rest is history. I have a book blog and I’m a better writer because of that first step.

George Carlin. Not only did this guy make me laugh my ass off every time I watched him, but he spoke the truth while he did it. He was an anti-conformist who had no respect for authority whether it was from government, corporations, religion, the police, or any other power that enjoys beating people over the head with a club and telling them what to believe. When he died in 2008, I fell into a depression. That’s how much this guy meant to me.

This may not be the entire list, but it’s all I can think of at the moment. I’m open to listening to your list of heroes and influences as well. We’ve got ears, say cheers! Come to think of it, Mickey Mouse can be my hero as well!

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If you think a fetus is more important than a woman, try getting a fetus to wash the shit stains out of your underwear for no pay and no pension.”

-George Carlin-

"Quiet" by Susan Cain

From the very moment I started reading this book, Susan Cain became my instant hero. Like her, I too am introverted and always appreciate it when somebody recognizes it instead of dismisses it for weirdness. Introverts are not weird people. Enjoying peaceful moments to yourself doesn’t make you antisocial or awkward. It simply means that the world is too noisy for you and you prefer to be alone so that you can actually get things done. Extroverts, you don’t need to worry about a thing, because Susan Cain is not striking against you in this book. She’s not suggesting that introverts are better people than extroverts. She’s suggesting that there should be a balance between them and that these differences need to be accommodated for, whether it’s in the workplace or in a college classroom. I wish someone like Susan Cain spoke to my teachers in college about this subject. In pretty much every class I attended, the students were graded on class participation. One of my theater teachers was one of the worst offenders when it came to singling out introverts since class participation accounted for 30% of the overall grade. You can imagine what emotional pain I was in by the time the class was over after having exhausted every resource in my brain just to make academic small talk. Because of the fact that western world schools force their students to speak up, I may never attend another college class again for the rest of my life. My privacy and solitude mean that much to me. But seeing as how teachers aren’t going to readily change their minds, then I have a suggestion for them that Susan Cain would wholeheartedly agree with. In lieu of class participation, the shy students should be able to post their thoughts on an internet message board. With that kind of wall between the introvert and the rest of the class, solitude and privacy are maintained due to the fact that internet conversations aren’t physically imposing. I’ll even settle for a one-on-one conversation with my teacher over Skype. The point that this book is trying to make is that if someone wants to be left alone or be cerebral, don’t take it personally when he shuts you out. It’s never personal. We’re not misanthropes or antisocial. We’re just peace lovers. Thank you, Susan Cain, for standing up for the quiet types like me and many others out there who are being blocked out by the American noise.

　

***CLASSROOM DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

ME: It’s actually easier to suspend your disbelief with nonfiction than it is with fiction.

LEE: You think?

-Nonfiction Seminar at WWU-

"Make Yourself" by Incubus

When summer vacation came in the year 2000, I was happy to be out of school just like any other videogame-playing kid. I had different reasons for wanting to escape from the hellhole known as WF West High in Chehalis, Washington: bullying. So if I get out of that environment at least for a little while, then I should be able to recover from the mental trauma, right? Wrong! The thing about psychological trauma is that it doesn’t go away when the event is over. It keeps tormenting you until you space out and become a vegetative mental patient. For all the times that I wasn’t spacing out and wishing death upon myself, I heard a little bit of rock and roll playing in the background. That piece of rock and roll was an album called “Make Yourself” by Incubus. Seeing as how I was dead inside and emotionally numb, I shouldn’t have been able to feel any kind of music flowing through my veins. But the thing about Brandon Boyd’s lyrics is that they speak to trauma victims in a way that’s completely relatable. Listen to these lyrics from the song “The Warmth”. “So don’t let the world bring you down. Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold. Remember why you came and while you’re alive, experience the warmth before you grow old.” Brandon Boyd made me want to believe in life again with those words alone. And in case that wasn’t enough incentive, here are some lyrics from “When It Comes”. “Just when you thought it was safe to think, in comes mental piracy. You know what I’m looking for cannot be sold to me. I wish they all would stop trying. ‘Cause what I want and what I need is and will always be free.” Still not enough incentive? How about “Pardon Me”? “So pardon me while I burst into flames. I’ve had enough of the world and its people’s mindless games. So pardon me while I burn and rise above the flames. Pardon me, pardon me. I’ll never be the same.” At this point, this shit was too much to bear. It was either reach out to my family and friends or suffer alone in a vegetative deep fry. Instead of choosing suicide, I chose life. After a few sessions of EMDR and some bottles of Paxil, I was back on my feet again. Those feet would be best used during a summer retreat where I got to dance with two different girls to slow, romantic songs. Being that close to those women was enough to convince me to actually want to have the company of a girlfriend. So in a sense, I guess you could say that Incubus saved my life. And don’t you worry about me posting in a book blog about a music CD. Lyrics count as literature too, you know. Thanks, Incubus, for showing me that there’s life beyond Chehalis.

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“They make a low dosage version of antidepressants. It’s for babies!”

-Pat Cashman from “The 206”-

Pink Floyd the Wall

Allow me to paint a picture for you. It’s the mid-90’s and I’m still extremely young. My dad plays a video cassette of various music videos he recorded off of VH1. The ones I’m waiting for particularly are those of The Police. Before that, I get a music video that could easily be defined as the most frightening I’ve ever seen. It’s a sequence from the movie Pink Floyd the Wall, particularly from Goodbye Blue Sky to Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2. It all begins with the Union Jack turning into a bloody cross, which is horrifying enough. But then they had to have a sequence where putty-faced children march through an abandoned cookie factory only to end up getting ground into sausage near the end. The very next day, I ordered a meatball marinara sandwich at Subway and I’m barely able to eat the fucking thing because the meatballs look like ground up children and the marinara sauce looks like blood from the Union Jack. Fast forward several years later, namely to my sophomore year of high school. I finally get to watch Pink Floyd the Wall from beginning to end. After the first time, I became an instant fan of the imagery that scared the shit out of me as a child. And then I would watch the movie over and over again as a means of escapism. That and I loved the music of Pink Floyd. Eventually, I began to call this movie my own personal bible, which might not have gone over so well in a town full of Christian conservatives such as Chehalis. The lesson I took away from this movie was not the obvious one of taking responsibility for your actions, but instead one of resisting everybody’s attempts to change who I am. During the sequence for The Happiest Days of Our Lives, Pink’s teacher reads one of his poems in a sarcastic and insulting manner before smacking Pink’s hand with his own pencil. That’s one way people try to change who you are: by insulting you and making you ashamed of your creativity. Folks, I’m here to tell you that no matter how many times someone insults your creative ways, never trade them for mundane conformity. Don’t put on a suit and tie when you can easily write poetry in your pajamas. Don’t put on a hardhat and overalls when you can write a movie script in your underwear. Ever since considering Pink Floyd the Wall my own personal bible, every insult I had ever taken in my life was construed as an attempt to make me a boring person. When a random kid started calling me a crackhead for instance, I took that as an insult of my character. So I did the one thing that every emotional, testosterone-pumped teenager did in those days: I ran up to him one day, kicked him in the ass, grabbed him around the neck, and wrestled him to the floor. I would have rained punches down on him, but I think he got the message. I never heard from him again. Thanks, Pink Floyd the Wall, for reminding me to continue writing offensive literature no matter what criticism it took in the past!

　

***SONG DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

“Oh my god, what a fabulous room! Are all these your guitars?! God, this place is bigger than our apartment! Uh, can I get a drink of water? You want some? Huh? Oh wow, look at this tub! Want to take a bath?! What’re you watching? Hello? Are you feeling okay?”

-The groupie from “One of My Turns” by Pink Floyd-

Rap Roots

While I didn’t say “Yo, yo, yo!” or the N-word a lot from 2005-2007, rap music was still very important to me in those times. It all began in early 2005, only a few months removed from George W. Bush’s electoral victory over John Kerry. Just when the republican junk was getting too much to bear, my brother James puts a CD in the stereo from a guy named Immortal Technique. My first Immortal Technique song was “Freedom of Speech” from the album Revolutionary, Vol. 2. When the words were flowing from his mouth like a raging river of lava and angst, I was immediately enthralled. I wanted to get the entire CD and hear more of this wise sage’s words. It didn’t stop there. I eventually started digging into the music of A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, and Busta Rhymes as well. Just like Technique, these bands didn’t disappoint. They were my go-to rappers whenever the world became a colder place than it used to be. What do these rappers have to do with writing? Well, it’s because of these people that I started to get into poetry more often than I used to. Actually, my first poem came in the autumn of 2004, months before listening to my first Immortal Technique song. In a way, though, this first poem could be interpreted as a battle rap of sorts. I was taking a creative writing class at Olympic College and there was a student who was a huge asshole critic to the other authors. So I wrote a poem about him that insulted him, his mother, and pretty much every other family member he held dear to him. This poem, then called “Ode to Patrick”, gave me the confidence I needed to continue with the battle rap genre. Listening to Immortal Technique and other rappers gave me even more confidence to continue with poetry. I had a good base in 2004, but listening to rap music kept the ball rolling in the right direction. Ever since then, the ball rolled over my victims like a massive snowball filled with sharp crystals. But this was in 2005-2007. After that period in my life, I was strictly a heavy metal fanatic with bands like Nightwish and Soulfly assaulting my senses. I’m still a heavy metal fanatic to this day with bands like All That Remains, Disturbed, and Five Finger Death Punch doing even more for my fucked up brain. As far as the battle raps are concerned, I’ve stopped doing them since 2010, but I still write poetry of other kinds to once again keep the ball rolling. So I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you, Immortal Technique, for fighting the good fight and standing up for the little guy. Keep putting out those records of yours, because I’ll keep buying them!

　

***SKIT TRACK OF THE DAY***

“There’s more to life than how many women you have sex with. There’s more to life than how many girls you have on the side. There’s more to life than all that stupid shit. In the end, honestly, what matters most is the love between people and how much somebody cares about you.”

-Immortal Technique’s ex-girlfriend reciting “Truth’s Razors”-

Theatre Roots

Before deciding to go through college as a creative writing major and a theatre arts minor, I originally wanted to double major in psychology and cinema. By the time I was accepted into Western Washington University, I found out that they didn’t have a cinema degree available, so I had to minor in the next best thing: theatre arts. As for psychology, I decided that solving other people’s problems was too exhausting and impossible, so I chose to major in something that I was actually good at: creative writing. Back to the theatre arts major for a moment. The reason I wanted that as part of my educational pedigree was because I liked writing movie scripts and I hoped to make it into Hollywood as a screenwriter. Movie scripts differ from traditional prose because it’s quicker and doesn’t require a great deal of description. Plus, whenever a character talks, it’s as simple as putting his or her name down and writing the dialogue underneath it. When I write traditional prose, it takes me up to half an hour to write three full pages. But when I wrote screenplays, I could get through five pages in almost a third of the time. The process was so quick and painless that I actually wrote a Dungeons & Dragons-style screenplay called Tree Party Nation in a matter of two days. Granted, it’s only about 60 pages, but I still consider it one of my finer moments as a screenwriter. It wasn’t until after I graduated from WWU that I decided traditional prose was more interesting to me. At the time of this discovery, I was playing Dungeons & Dragons with friends of mine over the internet. One of the characters I was using was a level eight human barbarian named Brutus Warcry. I got my start in traditional prose by writing Brutus’ character sketch, detailing his time as a kid in a barbaric tribe to his present day life as an MMA icon. At the time, I firmly believed that it was okay to use hyperbolic descriptions in every other sentence. It made sense at the time because it was so well received by my friends. Two years later in 2012, it dawned on me that it was slowing my writing speed down and most of the descriptions didn’t make sense. So now in the present day of my life, I write using simple descriptions such as one-word adjectives and describing literally everything that’s going on within the prose. I haven’t had any complaints yet. In fact, people seem to like what I do. This is quite the journey to go from a non-reading screenwriter to a bookworm novelist. If it wasn’t for my roots in theatre, I wouldn’t have had the material for my proses. So thank you, theatre roots, for keeping it interesting. Now let’s all do the hotdog dance!

　

***ADVICE OF THE DAY***

If you’re writing a story and you need to use the contraction of “who” and “are“, don’t forget the apostrophe. I can’t stress it enough.

Obnoxious Characters

Obnoxious characters are not always fun to read about, but they are the most necessary. While it would be nice to have every single character in a story be relatable and charming, it’s not true to the real world. These obnoxious characters can be anybody from a screaming street preacher to a psychopathic child molester. The world certainly has no shortage of people who fit these archetypes. When we’re their victims, we don’t see any need to relate to them on a personal level. When bank robbers are holding victims hostage, the victims’ first thought isn’t going to be, “I wish they were more charming” or “They must be hurting on the inside.” Their first thoughts are probably going to be something like, “Please get us out of here!” or “Will someone shoot these assholes in the head?!” But then you have something called Stockholm Syndrome, where a captive learns to depend on his kidnapper in a relationship akin to romance or family. Even then, when the victim is free, they’re going to be doing summersaults and back flips when they finally return to their original families. It’s a harsh reality that we have to live with sociopaths, but it still is reality. Of course, there’s also the argument that when someone reads a book or goes to a movie, they’re engaging in escapism. People like to go to The Hobbit in order to visit a world of dragons and fantasy, something they wouldn’t otherwise get in their current reality. But even then, there will still be characters that you root for and characters you’re rooting against. In the case of The Hobbit, you cheer for Bilbo Baggins and against that one-armed orc warrior whose name escapes me. But what if you have a story where everybody is capable of being a villain? Then who do you root for? It wouldn’t be completely out of line to wish that a meteor would come crashing down from the heavens and shatter the bones of everybody in the story. It’ll never happen, but sometimes the bad guys get away with whatever they’re doing. In the Saw series, the Jigsaw Killer gets away with murder every single time. And yet, it still counts as escapism because there’s an element of fantasy in these gory movies. In the end, it comes down to which side of the fantasy-reality spectrum you’re on. If you don’t care who wins in the end, then you’re siding with reality. If you always want the good guys to win, then you’re a little closer toward fantasy. But no matter which side you find yourself on, obnoxious characters will always exist whether you want them to or not. Lord knows I’ve had to put up with Ari from NCIS for a long, long time. And the heel version of Michael Cole from the WWE? He got jammed down our throats every night one of those shows was on the air. If you expect justice in every single story you immerse yourself in, you’re going to be sorely disappointed sometimes.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“And the world spreads its legs for another fucking star! ‘Cause I am the all-American antichrist! I was made in America and America hates me for what I am! I am your shit! You should be ashamed of what you have eaten!”

-Intro to “Rock n’ Roll Nigger” by Marilyn Manson-