Dennis Michaels

My mind may be a raging ocean all the time, but Dennis Michaels never saw his moment in the sun. He was originally supposed to be a part of a third act in Brawl Mart. That third act never materialized and Brawl Mart only had Occupy Wrestling and Filter Feeder to account for. That would-be third act was supposed to be called Debt of Pain and it centered around a panicky debtor named Lillian Floyd. Lillian got calls every half hour about how worthless she was and how she was going to jail if she didn’t pay what she owed. She tried calling the police on these people, but that went south in a hurry when the two detectives got their asses kicked. Instead of relying on people who waited forever to get approval from a corrupt judge, Lillian called the one man who could deliver beatings and assassinations like he was the UPS of murder. His name was Dennis Michaels and he was at one point an Army Ranger. The original plan was to have Dennis perform his duties and then at the end rip up his paycheck from Lillian before falling in love with her. Somewhere along the way, the storyline got scrambled and I couldn’t justify a lot of the action that was going on in the story. That should have been the end of Debt of Pain, but it wasn’t. I pitched this idea to Good Reads and they helped me make the modifications I needed to start anew. Starting anew meant new characters, something Dennis Michaels was not. You may see Debt of Pain on my Smash Words account someday, but not right away, and not with Dennis Michaels. The mercenary in this new idea is named Bryan Grant. The difference between Dennis and Bryan is that Dennis is a legitimate mercenary who will lay the smack down on any rude collection agent, while Bryan is a scam artist who sits around and collects paychecks from desperate debtors, who think he’s actually going to assassinate somebody rather than work for the agency himself. Bryan Grant will get his due justice somewhere down the road, but somebody else who needs justice is Dennis Michaels. Mr. Michaels had all the promise in the world to be a kick-ass character. He would have been a beefy warrior and a romantic Romeo all rolled into one. He would have used his rifle (which was for fighting) and his gun (which was for fun) over the course of one day. How exactly is he supposed to do that if he doesn’t have a story to be a part of? Ruthless mercenaries and hard lovers aren’t easy to come by. The only example I know of who fits this profile is Cloud Strife from Final Fantasy VII. Then again, Final Fantasy games always have a romantic element in them. Will Dennis Michaels be the next Cloud Strife? Hopefully, yes, but without all the emo bullcrap Mr. Strife displayed in the movie Advent Children.

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“That badge better be real or else my friend’s going to kick you in the FBI-balls.”

-Marty Deeks from “NCIS: Los Angeles”-

Categories

Garrison’s Library has been up and running since the summer of 2012 and it’s not slowing down anytime soon. Over the years, blogging has become more fun for me creatively than writing short stories or novels. That’s not to say I won’t write short stories or novels anymore, because I will. It’s just that blogging allows me more freedom to do certain things. I’m allowed to publish material about other media without fear of copyright lawsuits. I can show or tell as much as I want to (because I’m technically not telling a story). I only have to write one page worth of material for each post, as opposed to short stories which are generally three.

I originally started this blog with the idea of touting fast-paced books that I’ve read throughout my life. It was supposed to be an internet mecca for Brett Battles’ “The Cleaner” and Sherman Alexie’s “The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian”. When I ran out of books to talk about, I began writing posts dealing with creative writing tropes. Only occasionally did I talk about a piece of media other than a book I already blogged about.

As of today, I’ve divided my posts into multiple categories. They are…

　

1. Fast-Paced Book Touting. I could always do this on Good Reads, but if I did that, I this blog wouldn’t have been born.

2. Creative Writing Tropes. This was my way of sharing my knowledge of the writing game with my readers. I think of the relationship between myself and the audience as a teacher and my students. You know, without the forced extroversion, detention notices, and heartbreaking grades.

3. Unemployed Characters. These are characters I’ve used in past works or haven’t used at all who no longer have a story to call home. Deus Shadowheart was constantly “losing work” and needed a new “job”, if we can use economic lingo for a moment. First he was a videogame character, then he was a movie star, then he was a pro-wrestler, and now I’m planning on using him as a forest-dwelling barbarian. If he loses this job, he just might have to file for unemployment benefits or food stamps. No, I don’t know what that means either.

4. Songs for Creative Fuel. It’s no secret that I’m a music lover. I love a good heavy metal riff as well as the complete opposite of that, which would be a gentle piano lullaby. But sometimes I don’t want a shallow relationship with my music. The songs I choose to blog about have affected me so deeply over the years that if I don’t use them as creative fodder for my stories, it would be a wasted opportunity for me.

5. Dreams. I don’t always remember my dreams by the time I wake up. There are even some that aren’t really noteworthy. For the ones that are, I try to analyze them as best as I can so that they too can be used for creative inspiration. I’ve been trying to access my subconscious for a long, long time now. If it takes a sensory deprivation tank or a good night’s sleep to do it, then let’s dive right in.

6. Couples. I’m writing this blog entry to introduce this one as a new category. I didn’t grow up with much of a romantic life. I’ve had an online girlfriend and I have a current girlfriend who I’m very shy around. Living vicariously through other couples, real or fictional, is another source of creative fuel for me. Whenever I’m not writing about orcs and elves kicking the shit out of each other, I’m usually writing about the love between people and how much they care about each other.

　

Garrison’s Library is coming up on its second anniversary pretty soon. So now I’m pouring a glass of fruity beer and toasting to that. Goodnight, everybody! Sweet dreams! And if you do have sweet dreams, don’t forget to use them as creative fodder!

　

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

“The Lego Movie proves once again that Master Building is a natural function.”

-Me-

"Every Breath You Take" by The Police

Whenever the song “Every Breath You Take” comes on the radio, I always make it a point to say I can relate to it because, like Sting, I’m willing to go that extra mile just to see how my honeys are doing. And yes, I can see the irony of a band called The Police performing a song about stalking, which is against the law. I like to kid and joke, but in all reality, I don’t have the means to be a stalker. I’ve had lots of crushes throughout my life, but no means to track them. My very first crush was a girl in high school named Shona. I had another one in my advanced computer applications class named Autumn. Two crushes in the days where Face Book and My Space weren’t even big deals yet. So how exactly would I have access to them? Oh sure, I could do the “manly” thing and actually ask them on dates. Not only was I too shy in those old days, but there was a reason for it. I somehow had it in me that if I get slapped in the face or laughed at as a result of asking a girl out, I deserved it. There was a separate girl I wanted absolutely no attention from, but got it anyways, named Julia. I felt like I had the right to turn her down the hard way if she tried to make advances on me (because let’s face it, when you’ve had PTSD before, anything can seem traumatic). This “human right” of being allowed to use rough means to turn down a date was one of the most harmful beliefs I could have had (even more harmful than the ones brought on by schizophrenia). From that point on, I kept my distance from the girls I liked because I didn’t want to offend them with traumatizing behavior. There were small moments in which I did flirt with girls, but the flirting was somehow interpreted as inappropriate and then I sank further into my shell. Now that I actually do have a girlfriend (her name is Brianna), I can’t come out of my passive shell long enough to make any major moves. There were even times when she was puzzled as to why I didn’t kiss her back when she kissed me first. Now that I’m this far in my life and haven’t participated in most of it, I feel like I can relate to “Every Breath You Take” even more. No, I don’t think of it as a stalking anthem, so don’t get any ideas of me being creepy. Notice how Sting says, “I’ll be watching you.” There’s a huge difference between watching and participating. In all of my relationships with girls, I’ve been a part of the audience instead of the main attraction. Whenever I tried to climb the audience barrier, security came and threw me out of the arena. What does any of this have to do with writing? It’s simple. If I can’t be the main attraction, I might as well start my own show with the romantic short stories and novels I write. There’s no point in denying my characters the love they deserve. Then again, as Stephen Chbosky once said, we get the love we think we deserve.

　

***HIGH SCHOOL DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

STUDENT: I think that girl likes you.

ME: I don’t blame her.

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You need to stop acting like Larry Flynt.”

-Todd Chrisley from “Chrisley Knows Best”-

You Might Be a Sociopath

If you’ve ever drawn a picture of Spongebob Squarepants giving a blowjob, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever complained about WWE programming not having enough man on woman violence, you might be a sociopath.

If you can see the irony in finding a coat hanger in a catholic church, you might be a sociopath.

If you constantly refer to Nickelodeon as “The Foot Fetish Channel”, you might be a sociopath.

If you actually know there’s a website called Wiki Feet, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever been kicked out of the mafia for being too violent, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever ripped the wings off of a fly and then poured hot bacon grease over it, you might be a sociopath.

If the spinning table scene from Tales From the Hood gives you an erection, you might be a sociopath.

If a Soulfly song has ever changed your life, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever cracked your knuckles during a moment of silence for 9/11 victims, you might be a sociopath.

If you go to a grocery store and buy duct tape and adult diapers at the same time, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever refused medical treatment because you like to watch yourself bleed, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever spanked a baby for being too loud, you might be a sociopath.

If the only reason you buy stuffed animals is to make them have sex with each other, you might be a sociopath.

If you have a crush on Casey Anthony, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever photo-shopped a ball gag in Nelson Mandela’s mouth, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever been hungry for human jerky, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever smacked a child and claimed it was self-defense, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever told a pregnant woman to staple her vagina shut, you might be a sociopath.

If your best strategy in a political debate is to burn an American flag, you might be a sociopath.

If you’ve ever wanted to scalp somebody for not liking your art, you might be a sociopath.

Jeff Foxworthy never though of this shit, did he! Jeff Foxworthy, eat your heart out! Actually, don’t do that. Otherwise, you might be a sociopath.

Crystal Math

If Danica McKellar can write a book called “Kiss My Math”, then I can write one called “Crystal Math” and use the blurb “There’s never been a better time to get high…grades in school.” Let’s face it, you just might have to be high on drugs in order to understand some of these “laws”, especially if you’re taking physics. For me, math was a hit and miss subject. Whenever I took a class, I was either really good or really bad. I either got A’s and B’s or I got C’s and D’s. I remember one point in my scholastic career in which algebra came naturally to me. It was ironically enough during my freshman year of high school, where as many of you know I’ve had a lot of PTSD problems floating in my head. I was so good at math at the time that I would be happy to tell you what the cube root of 27 was. It’s 3, by the way. But math class was also the birthplace of where all this psychological torment began. Who would’ve guessed that simply standing next to an unattractive woman would spark a firestorm of rumors about how the two of us were in love (even though it was nowhere near true).  This all happened in 2000. A little under a decade and a half later, I have a dream about writing a book for my math class called “Crystal Math”. I wake up from that same dream without ever knowing what in the world would make me qualified to write a book about math. Realistically, I could write a book where math puzzles are used as obstacles for my characters. But a how-to guide on math? Not with a D+ in physics and a W in advanced computer science. So what exactly could this dream be telling me? That there was a time when I was good at math despite the hardships I went through, but I’m not anymore? If that’s the case, my subconscious is either telling me that the war is over or I’m a has-been. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. Maybe it’s trying to tell me that after everything I’ve been through, I can’t salvage the remains, because there are no remains. If it’s all the same to my innermost thoughts, then I don’t need remains to build a future. The past is something to be left behind. The present and the future are all that remains. The dream could be creative fuel, but the memories are not. My emotional makeup may be a byproduct of my memories, but if I let a whole bunch of crappy memories rule my life, I wouldn’t be here in Port Orchard telling you about it. I’d be locked away in a mental institution, most likely. The lesson of the day is, let the past be the past. If you can’t forget the past, seek professional help until you can. Nothing is worth agonizing over. If you let trauma rule your life, how exactly are you going to find the concentration to read “Crystal Math”? It won’t be on the shelves for a long time, but hopefully you understand my point.

　

***ANIME QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Every boy has the right to dream. Every man has the means to make those dreams come true.”

-Outlaw Star-

The Krause Sisters (Bailey and Devon)

Sexism has always been an ugly part of today’s world whether it’s women being stoned to death in the Middle East or the existence of rape insurance here in America. The men who perpetuate this kind of hatred and bigotry need a swift kick in the testicles. That’s where The Krause Sisters come into play. As of today, I have no idea how these two young women will be used in one of my stories, but rest assured they won’t be the ones who need health insurance at the end of an encounter. In order to survive a battle with these two lethal ladies, you can’t just be a good fighter. You can’t even have an army by your side. You have to be part of an army of motherfucking assassins and murderers. Actually, that might not help you either, you’d still get your ass kicked. They know every martial art in the book, they’ve used every weapon ever invented, and they’re so hot that men wouldn’t be able to concentrate long enough to finish a fight with them. I know, I know, these two women sound like Mary-Sues already. They’re so perfect that nobody can stop them and everybody around them is going to die. If I absolutely have to make these women sound indestructible, it’ll be in legend only. The Sisters Brothers were said to have been the most lethal pair in all of western fiction, but they got their comeuppance by the story’s end. Perhaps the same fate could take over The Krause Sisters. Maybe in some way, Bailey and Devon could be separated from each other. We know they kick ass together, let’s see how they do on their own. Let’s see how they do against a 30-foot tall giant. Or the devil himself. Or god himself. Or maybe all three of these beings at once. Surely, there has to be some kind of limit when using The Krause Sisters. The limit may not be readily available at the very beginning of the story, but it’ll be there eventually. Maybe Bailey will get killed and Devon will have the face the world alone without a sister, or vice versa. The possibilities are as endless as the writer’s imagination. If you need a way to derail the momentum of two badass sisters, you’ll find one. Consider this a lesson in keeping your characters from becoming too perfect. I don’t care how many bombs Bailey and Devon drop or how many people they kill: if they’re too perfect, the story will be extremely boring and predictable. I won’t do that to my own characters. Bailey and Devon are in good hands, and no, those hands aren’t being used to fondle their bodies. For your information, I like my own body exactly the way it is: all in one piece.

　

***FACE BOOK MEME OF THE DAY***

Porn gives young people an unrealistic idea of how quickly a plumber will come to your house.

"The Silence Remains" by 3 Doors Down

“This world asks for so much. Despite what you give, it’s just never enough.” Those two sentences set the tone not only for this 3 Doors Down song, but also for the lives of a lot of people like me who are trying to make it in this world. We’re artists and the world looks down on us. It seems as though no matter how many books we write, how many times we edit those books, or how many times we show those books to our peers, the profits won’t buy us the happiness we need. So much untapped potential going to waste in the far reaches of the world where the least number of people reside. Let me ask you this question, people: who are the ones that matter to you? Better yet, who matters more to you: the best friend who wants to see you improve and grow or the editor at large of a major publishing company who looks his nose down on everybody who comes groveling at his feet for work? While the latter of those two people may be your meal ticket in an economy where they rarely exist, the former will be the only one who will tell you to “Lay down and rest here in peace in my arms now.” Editors and agents can’t provide you with peace and happiness. They don’t love you. They may love your talent and potential some of the time, but they don’t love you as a human being. Is all the apathy in the world worth it if your book happens to sell to a vast sea of people? Books can be splintered into paper pulp, but memories last a lifetime. The publishing company provides the books and the critics provide the awards, but those are just pieces of paper. The ones you love provide you the smiles, the tears, and the undying support that every artist needs in order to thrive in this world. Without love and friendship, this world is just one big money laundering scheme. Living paycheck to paycheck is not living at all. It’s an existence. Living your life means you can share it with the ones who matter most. Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind. You have to go out of your way sometimes to find these kindred souls, but in the end, you’ll be happy you found them. And when you find them, keep them for as long as you can. Because you never really know what you’ve got until it’s gone. Fame can disappear as soon as the next trend comes along. But when love disappears, it really begins to hurt. That is what “The Silence Remains” by 3 Doors Down means to me. Brad Arnold and I couldn’t be more different. He’s a southerner, I’m a northerner. He’s a republican, I’m a democrat. He’s alternative, I’m metal. One thing Mr. Arnold and I can agree upon is our love for the emotional texture that music and art bring about. Without emotions, art is just a part of the word “artificial”.

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Kensi, wait. I thought you should know that the place I went to in my head to stop the pain was you. I just kept thinking about your smile. Your laugh. Everything. It’s the only thing that got me through it all, for whatever it’s worth.”

-Marty Deeks from “NCIS: Los Angeles”-

Rash Barder

When there’s something strange in your neighborhood, who’re you gonna call?! Actually, it’s probably not a good idea to call The Ghostbusters, because they’ll probably exterminate Rash Barder with those nuclear guns of theirs. You see, Rash Barder is a lich. I admittedly know very little about liches except that they’re evil ghosts who will eat you alive like a Taco Bell five buck box. Add to his lich heritage his occupation of bounty hunter and he instantly becomes a mind fuck and nightmare fuel all rolled into one. Can you imagine a creepy looking ghost staring you in the eyes asking questions about where the world’s most dangerous criminal is? At that point, I don’t know who you should fear most, the wanted criminal or Rash. It’s like the cure being worse than the disease, which is the medical equivalent of Cialis causing your dick to hemorrhage blood and your eyes to pop out of your head. As frightening of a bounty hunter as Rash Barder is, he actually comes from very humble roots. He first made his debut in an RPG I was a part of in 2002 with an old friend named Justin and my first girlfriend Jesse. In this RPG, Jesse’s character, Makoto Tribal, was looking for her husband, another character I created named Sharry Seran. The only thing that remained of Sharry was a final love letter before he officially went off the grid. Makoto hired Rash Barder to help her look for the love of her life and Rash was more than happy to accommodate her. The scene between Makoto and Rash was very tender, almost in a best friend relationship sort of way. Justin was confused by all the tenderness going on, because according to him, people are apparently very bigoted towards the undead. I assigned the lich species to Rash Barder without knowing the full depth of how racist the non-player characters could be. Unfortunately, the RPG didn’t last very long and was inactive within the first few weeks. Rash didn’t have the appropriate amount of time to experience prejudice from his humanoid peers. At this point, I didn’t know if it was better to put my characters in compromising situations like racism or try to build them up as much as possible without unnecessary obstacles. Throughout my role-playing career, I’ve done things to my characters to purposefully put them in harm’s way. As I grew older, I realized it was better to do that when writing a book as opposed to playing an RPG. The G in RPG stands for game and games are meant to be won (even though the role-playing variety has no pre-determined goal). But in books, the idea is to create a story and the best way to do that is to create obstacles for your main characters. Can I do such a thing with Rash Barder? Can there really be a civil rights movement for liches? I could call the book Stuck Rotting Baby! (Groan)

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Ever seen the Lord smile? All the care for the world made beautiful a sad man? Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks? Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is. All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground. I see all those empty cradles and wonder if man will never change. I too wish to be a decent man-boy, but all I am is smoke and mirrors. Still given everything, may I be deserving. And there forever remains the change from G to E minor.”

-Dialogue from “Song of Myself” by Nightwish-

"Irish Squeeze" by Marie Krepps

If you’re suffering from erectile dysfunction, ask your doctor if “Irish Squeeze” by Marie Krepps is right for you. Side effects are generally moderate and may include fatigue, muscle tension, and frequent sweating. Okay, so asking a doctor about this book isn’t sound medical advice, but I’d take a copy of this steamy piece of fiction over a bottle of Viagra any day of the week. Viagra can give you nasty side effects such as bleeding from the eyes and a higher risk of stroke. But “Irish Squeeze”? The only stroke you’re going to suffer from reading this is the kind that requires a big bottle of lotion and an even bigger box of tissues. The sex scenes in this book are long enough to enjoy and intense enough to fantasize about. But this book is more than just Larry Flynt’s dream come true. It’s a real story. The further along you get, the more real the characters become. The protagonist, Melissa, starts off just wanting a fuck buddy to take her away from her life of energetic children and corporate drudgery. She gets one in the form of an Irish stud muffin she aptly calls Irish. They have some of the most mind-blowing sex throughout this story. But the more times they meet, the more intimate and loving Irish becomes. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem like a nameless screw. He seems more like a boyfriend, maybe even a husband. Melissa doesn’t want romance because of the many times she’s been betrayed by the men in her life. These conflicted feelings boiling within Melissa forces her to make a decision: advance the relationship or push Irish away completely. When it comes down to these details, this modern day erotic tale becomes less about shallowness and more about depth and emotion. Any two people can fuck like animals, but it takes a real human being to show love and compassion at the end of the day. Taking full advantage of such passion is something we all need to do somewhere down the road. But until that moment of clarity comes, you’ll be coming a lot sooner. Happy reading!

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I didn’t know that it was over ‘til it was too late. But if I ever needed you, would you be there?”

-The Streets singing “It’s Too Late”-

"Love Hate Tragedy" by Papa Roach

“Tragedy strikes when you least expect it.” If Papa Roach sang these lyrics to you, wouldn’t you want to find some kind of justification for being tragically sad? While it is true that the lyrics are about 9/11 and the upcoming wars that stemmed from it, when I was listening to this song on 2003, I wasn’t thinking about 9/11. In fact, I didn’t invest my heart and soul into liberal politics until 2004 when John Kerry lost to George W. Bush in the presidential race. In 2003, the height of my schizophrenic symptoms, “Love Hate Tragedy” became special to me as an anthem for the depressed…because I forgot my money to buy a cap and gown for graduation. That’s all it was. I was sad and lonely because I couldn’t afford a goddamn cap and gown on that particular day. The next day, on the other hand, when I could actually remember to take the check with me, everything was back to normal in my own little world. Did I just say normal and my own little world in the same sentence? I’m full of unbelievable tropes tonight. But that’s okay, because after I graduated from high school in 2003, I had plenty of reasons throughout the 2000’s to be sad about something. The schizophrenic symptoms were the tip of the iceberg. The loneliness of home and college life were much deeper. My suspension from college, well, that could have set off emotional triggers like a detonator on a suicide bomb vest. If you want to take away a lesson from my story about how much “Love Hate Tragedy” means to me, just remember that tragedy can strike at any time. Even the little negativities in life can have the biggest impact. You might be fine after almost being run over with a car one minute, but if someone calls you a doo-doo head the next, you’re mind is spiraling out of control. It’s not just true for schizophrenics like me. It’s true for a lot of sensitive people. Writers are the most sensitive people in the world when it comes to their craft (unless your name is Ann Coulter, in which case, you have the biggest mean streak when it comes to “literature”). But when you’re feeling down in the dumps over a minor (or major) setback in life, remember the words of my good friend Gracie Jones. She said that there may never be one big thing in life that makes you permanently happy, but there are lots of little things that can take you from day to day. If you focus on those little pieces of happiness, depression will seem so far away and “Love Hate Tragedy” will be just another badass rock and roll song from a badass rock and roll band. If you’re a writer and somebody tells you that you should be a writer for The Simpsons, hang onto that piece of heaven for as long as you can. I had a friend tell me that today on Good Reads and it made me giggle with delight. You can fight through this, people. You’re never alone.

　

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

ME: Hey Susan, I’ve got a joke for you. What do you call it when you hang dildos on a Christmas tree?

SUSAN: Disturbing? Disgusting? Horrifying? What?

ME: Pornaments.

Constance Cable

For some reason, it always seems like every MMA referee character I create is a powerful woman. Maybe that’s because women are a minority in MMA and they get picked on a lot by guys who always seem to have a craving for sandwiches. Dudes, listen: if you want a sandwich, go to Subway. If you want someone to save you from a beating in the middle of an MMA fight, look no further than Constance Cable. You can call her Miss Cable. You can even call her Connie. But whatever you do, don’t fucking call her Constance the Cable Girl. She has virtually no interest in hooking you up with over 500 channels, 100 of which are religious stations, 200 of which are music stations, and the other 200 are channels nobody gives a shit about. She’s also not a redneck comedian who picks on minorities. Like Devon Spirit Wolf, Constance Cable also holds very strong liberal beliefs. But unlike Miss Spirit Wolf, Constance expresses her beliefs in a mature and professional way. Preferably, a way that doesn’t get her into trouble with whatever athletic commission she happens to be working for. Imagine that: MMA aficionados can actually talk peacefully among themselves. In fact, when Herb Dean stopped Urijah Faber’s fight with Renan Barao, Constance came out in support of Mr. Dean, saying that holding onto someone’s leg and holding a thumbs up weren’t necessarily the best way to defend yourself. By the way, Constance Cable isn’t a real person in case you haven’t figured that out already. She’s a character of mine who’s seeking employment in one of my stories. I’ve managed to squeeze Devon Spirit Wolf into one of my short stories, so there has to be room for Miss Cable somewhere else. Maybe she doesn’t have to be an active referee. That would open up a lot of possibilities for her character. Whether she’s stopping a fight or relaxing in a bathtub with a novel, it’s her wisdom that will see her through any narrative. She’s going to need all the wisdom in the world, because let’s face it, Constance Cable is not a perfect referee. She’s going to have people mad at her for the calls she’s made. Suppose Constance is in her hot tub reading a book and all of the sudden an angry assassin creeps up on her property and attempts to silence her once and for all. That could be the start of a thrilling read. In fact, it sounds a lot like the preface to a CJ Box work (without all the Ayn Rand references, of course). Constance has to do something when that blade reaches her throat. How about an arm bar? Or a leg bar? Or just a good old fashioned elbow to the ribs. This premise would work better if Constance knew how to fight. All this talk about plotting gave me an idea for a short story. Thanks, stream of consciousness!

　

***CONCERT QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I like sausages! That’s Romanticide!”

-Marco Hietala from Nightwish-

Gatekeeper Kamala

Before I was permanently banned from Play By Web for not getting along with the admins, I had an RPG on that site called “Here In My Room”, named after the Incubus song from A Crow Left of the Murder. The premise of the game was that a kid would be in his room and all of the sudden he would get sucked into an imaginary world based on one of the items in said room. For example, if the kid had a Pink Floyd the Wall poster, he would probably find himself in an assembly line full of faceless children. If the kid had an NES cartridge of Super Mario Brothers 2, he’d find himself running away from Phanto masks in the desert. Why exactly these kids were going into these imaginary worlds, I’ll never know. I never figured that part out before I was banned. All I knew was that the one person who would guide these kids into their respective worlds was a Grim Reaper-like skeleton named Gatekeeper Kamala. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t take the name Kamala from the WWE legend of the same name. The two Kamalas couldn’t be any more different if one was a Ugandan homophobe and the other was a lesbian nun. Gatekeeper Kamala may have had the appearance of Death, but he was far from lethal. He may fight for his children, but he would never injure the children themselves. He would be the one who provided the children with their respective outfits and weapons as they enter their dangerous worlds. The player who went into the Pink Floyd world was dressed in rock fan clothing and was armed with a magical guitar. The player who went in the Super Mario world was utilizing a feather and a fire flower at the same time (like either of those things would defend him against Phanto). As I write these things down in my word document, I suddenly realize why Gatekeeper Kamala is bringing these children into these fantastical worlds. The real world is a much darker place to be for a teen due to bullying students, mean teachers, and strict parents. Even if the fantasy worlds are dangerous, they’re also places where the child is free to exercise his imagination and be whoever the hell he wants to be. Gatekeeper Kamala may have a deathly appearance, but he will be the one who unlocks the players’ minds. But as I’ve said earlier in this post, I’m no longer a member of Play By Web and I don’t have a long rolodex of friends I can call to play RPG’s with me. For the time being, Gatekeeper Kamala is unemployed. As long as fan fiction laws are in place, he may remain unemployed for a long time due to me possibly being sued for using copyrighted material in my stories. If Kamala is going to find a job in my imagination, it’ll be strictly for shits and giggles. No profits, unfortunately.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Started at the age of four. My mother went to the grocery store. Went sneaking through her bedroom door to find something in a size four. Sugar and spice and everything nice wasn’t made only for girls. GI Joe in pantyhose is making room for the one and only. King for a day, princess by dawn. King for a day in a leather thong. King for a day, princess by dawn. Just wait ‘til all the guys get a load of me. My daddy threw me in therapy. He thinks I’m not a real man. Who put the drag in drag queen. Don’t knock it until you tried it.”

-Green Day singing “King for a Day”-

Allegra Nation

The depression memoir “Prozac Nation” by Elizabeth Wurtzel was so much of a smash hit that Hollywood made a movie out of it. I suppose that should prompt me to write a memoir called “Risperdal Nation” since I’m legitimately schizophrenic. My life isn’t nearly as interesting as Elizabeth Wurtzel’s, so maybe I’ll have to hold off for a while. You know what else would make a weird memoir? “Allegra Nation”. Ever since having nasal surgery in 2006, I’ve been gagging on my own snot and blowing my nose like an elephant whenever I’m out in public. Allegra seems to be the only over-the-counter medication that works so far. If you managed to get this far in the blog post without falling asleep, kudos to you. The point I’m trying to make is Elizabeth Wurtzel is a one of a kind author with one of a kind skills. To try and duplicate her work would be next to impossible. You can’t just remove the word “Prozac” from the title of your memoir and replace it with another medication. Suppose you have chronic constipation and you tried to write a memoir called “Phillip’s Colon Health Nation”. Would that sell very many copies? “The diarrhea splatter looked like guts after the Vietnam war.” I’m sorry, but there’s simply no way to make diarrhea or constipation interesting. Same thing with “Yaz Nation”. I suppose a memoir about having lots of sex would prove to be spicy and hot, but we don’t need to hear that you constantly used Yaz as a birth control pill, especially now that women are having strokes because of it. Hehe! I said “strokes” in a sentence about sex. You know what else would make a weird memoir? “Pamprin Nation”. There’s simply no way to make periods sound readable. “After I bled all over the floor like a Saw character, I yelled at my boyfriend so loudly that he began bleeding out of his ears.” There’s simply no way a blogger with testicles can make that sound interesting without coming off as a sexist pig. I assure you I’m not a sexist. I’m merely trying to prove a point that if you try to write a memoir based on a random medication, you won’t get the results you want. Elizabeth Wurtzel is a Generation X icon with a lot to say, even after 1994, when Prozac Nation was published. Her memoir is more than just constant complaining about being sad. It’s social commentary. It’s psychology. It’s something you can’t write if you’re constantly ingesting Phillip’s Colon Health pills.

　

***CONCERT QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Keep your eyeballs wet! The tax collector is coming!”

-Marco Hietala from Nightwish-

Mitch Axel

Throughout my entire writing career, my most commonly used male given name is Mitch. Brawl Mart’s lead protagonist is named Mitch McLeod, Water Slaughter’s lead protagonist is named Mitch Monson, and I even have an unemployed cyberpunk character named Mitch Lee. What do you say we add one more Mitch to the list since it’s a likable and kick-ass first name? In this case, we’re looking at a high school garage band guitarist named Mitch Axel. He was supposed to be part of a high school themed RPG. He had the guitar gimmick and he looked like Matt Walst from My Darkest Days. But instead of going straight to the top of the charts, he decided to join the school’s photography club. He took pictures of everything and briefly interacted with another student whose name I can’t recall. That was the last anybody ever saw of Mitch Axel. Guess why. Too much inactivity within the group. What good is an RPG if nobody’s participating? Yeah, I know it’s hypocritical of me to say that given I stayed silent throughout most of my college classes. You have to remember that classrooms are mandatory and RPG’s are optional. Why join an RPG if you’re not going to do anything? So now we have this kick-ass teenager named Mitch Axel who’s currently in the unemployment line in my imagination. Originally, I was going to have him be a part of a short story called Black Hole, where he and his brothers Leif and Thomas try to woo the lead singer of their band Caitlin Ambrose. Sounds good on paper, but I’m afraid if I do that, Mitch will be overshadowed by the other characters. It happened to Karlos Ludwig and pretty much every member of Death Blade with the exception of Jill Serra and Lokus Leadgoth. How can we make sure that Mitch Axel will get top billing and keep it? He’ll have to do some wicked tricks with his electric guitar. He can’t just be a shredder, he has to be the whole fucking show, to quote a wrestler named Rob Van Dam. Sorry, Leif and Thomas, but you two are going back in the womb if you can’t help Mitch reach the stardom he craves. This is a guy who had a world of potential, but no forum to release all that creative energy. That will have to change very soon. He doesn’t necessarily have to be in a band, he just has to do something magical. Maybe he can be a fantasy bard or a cyberpunk rocker boy. Maybe he can be a wrestler who hits people with his guitar more often than Jeff Jarrett used to (that would really hurt if it was a plugged in electric guitar and the victim was submerged in water). I’ll think of something for Mr. Mitch Axel, but not right now.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“One day I fell asleep and dreamt of something to keep. Opened up my dying mind to see the things that I'd never find. Something true and beautiful was waiting there for me. In a dream where I believed I'd find my way back home. I think you should know how it feels falling down and out alone when no one cares. I think you should know how it feels when the world buries your soul and you're still alive.”

-Crossfade singing “I Think You Should Know”-