WWE NXT: Eva Marie vs. Carmella

MATCH: Eva Marie vs. Carmella
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Episode of NXT
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Did Not Finish


Being negative is not one of my strong suits. There was a time when I was young and immature and negativity came naturally to me. These days whenever I give a bad review, a little piece of me on the inside dies a brutal death. With that being said, if I don’t do this review, I feel like it will be a missed opportunity to tell it like it is. This needs to be said even though it’s already being said by tons of people. Hell, the NXT audience at Full Sail University in Florida are vocal every time Eva Marie steps through the gorilla position; they boo her relentlessly.

Carmella, on the other hand, I have no problem with. Yes, she used to be rough around the edges when it came to wrestling. Yes, her theme music gives me migraines. But the difference between Carmella and Eva Marie is that the former is capable of improving her game. Carmella used to get as many boos as her opponent, but after hanging around with Enzo Amore and Colin Cassady for long enough and standing up for her boys, those boos eventually turned to cheers. Maybe it has something to do with her funky dance moves. She can moonwalk, for Christ’s sake. Moonwalk!

Eva Marie doesn’t deserve the same praise as the other divas for her wrestling abilities. In fact, watching her wrestle is as awkward as my schizophrenic behavior in the grocery store line. I understand that she wants to get better and has even recruited the help of wrestling veteran and former WWE Tag Team Champion Brian Kendrick to train her. This isn’t a knock against Brian Kendrick, but when I watched Eva Marie on that episode of NXT battling Carmella, I didn’t see improvement. I saw drunken choreography without the breathalyzer test.

Here’s how the match went down. Carmella and Eva Marie got in several collar elbow tie ups and the latter had the former pinned against the corner for a series of unconvincing elbows to the face. Eva Marie’s strikes looked more like massage therapy than combat. So what does Carmella do? She throws that Jessica Rabbit clone through the ropes and lets her crash and burn on the steel ramp. And then Carmella did a little spinning dance and the moonwalk to excite the crowd. Eva Marie eventually got back in the ring and gave her opponent a series of weird-looking vertical suplexes. There were even times when Eva was setting up the move and it looked like she was having a tough time deciding which wrestling move to do.

Before my IQ dropped any further, I grabbed my Roku remote and fast forwarded through that match. I never figured out who won, nor did I care. If watching this match doesn’t make your brain hurt, listen to this. Eva Marie has actually been picking up wins since debuting in NXT, presumably to be pushed into contention for the NXT Women’s Championship, which is currently held by Bayley, a true wrestler in every sense of the word. Really, NXT? You’re the hottest thing going on in wrestling today and you want to push Eva Marie into the main event? You’re right. Eva Marie is red hot. Her matches burn my eyes!

If there is a God in heaven, then He will do the right thing and inspire the readership of the Wrestling Observer Newsletter to show Eva Marie no mercy in the award votes. She’s definitely qualified for Most Overrated, Worst Worked Match of the Year, and even Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic for botching the ending to an NXT match she had against Billie Kay. Either that or she’ll win the latter award just for being pushed. Bob Backlund, Jose Gonzalez, and Eric Watts are all wrestling legends who were given the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic award just for being the recipient of a main event push. However, if WWE continues to insult their fans for buying pay-per-views instead of subscribing to the WWE Network, Eva Marie might get a reprieve from the MDPT award.

I need a shower. A long, boiling hot shower with easy access to my Head and Shoulders shampoo and my Axe Phoenix body wash. Writing this review didn’t feel good. Then again, negativity is never therapeutic no matter which channel it comes out of.

Frequently Asked Questions

QUESTION: What do you do for a living?
GENERIC ANSWER: I’m unemployed.
HONEST ANSWER: I write books about blood and gore.
LIE: I work with impoverished children in the Democratic Society of Who Gives a Shit.


QUESTION: Are you excited for school?
GENERIC ANSWER: I’m 30 years old; I’m too old for school.
HONEST ANSWER: Going to school leaves me dead inside.
LIE: I can’t fucking wait.


QUESTION: Where are you from?
GENERIC ANSWER: Here.
HONEST ANSWER: I was born in Oregon City.
LIE: I was born on Planet Jupiter. I come in peace.


QUESTION: Do you have a girlfriend?
GENERIC ANSWER: No.
HONEST ANSWER: Nobody will come up to me.
LIE: I’m currently in a relationship with the entire cast of WWE Total Divas.


QUESTION: What do you do for fun?
GENERIC ANSWER: Read and write.
HONEST ANSWER: Masturbate to sexy You Tube videos.
LIE: Skydive off of the Seattle Space Needle.


QUESTION: What kind of music do you like?
GENERIC ANSWER: Heavy metal.
HONEST ANSWER: Heavy metal songs about death and ass-beatings.
LIE: Sheryl Crow and The Dixie Chicks.


QUESTION: What do you like to watch on TV?
GENERIC ANSWER: Wrestling.
HONEST ANSWER: Violence. Lots and lots of violence.
LIE: Doctor Who.


QUESTION: What kind of books do you like to read?
GENERIC ANSWER: Anything with a fast pace.
HONEST ANSWER: Anything that leaves me emotionally unstable for the next few days.
LIE: Literary genre books that you’d find in college.


QUESTION: Are you doing anything fun for the weekend?
GENERIC ANSWER: Not really.
HONEST ANSWER: I’m going to a heavy metal concert of a band you probably don’t give a shit about.
LIE: I’m running a marathon.


QUESTION: Do you have a car?
GENERIC ANSWER: No.
HONEST ANSWER: Owning a car is expensive and driving itself is scary and stressful.
LIE: I have an SUV that costs a C-note to fill up half of a tank.


STATEMENT: Have a great day!
GENERIC ANSWER: Ung-koy (“okay”).
HONEST ANSWER: I would have liked it even better if I didn’t have to make small talk all the time.
LIE: It’s going to be a rocket-buster of a day!

Islands

***ISLANDS***

As much as I love talking about beautiful places like Hawaii, I’m not talking about those kinds of islands tonight. The term island can also be used to refer to anybody who feels alone in the world in at least one way. For this journal, the islands I’m talking about are people who are convinced they’re the only members of a certain fan base. I’m sure we’ve all felt like islands before. We feel like we’re the only ones who listen to Seether, the only ones who watch Inuyasha, or the only ones who play with Legos despite being 40 years old. While it is true that the island mentality is only an illusion, the other members of the obscure fandom can be so far out of reach for a lot of people. It’s especially hard when the person isn’t very good at social situations to begin with.

There are times when I personally feel like an island with the things I love. I’ve yet to find other people on Good Reads who are as zealous about pro-wrestling as I am. I tried to start a Dungeons & Dragons group, but no matter where or how many times I’ve advertised, nobody joined, so I had to close it down. I’ve found a few people at the WSS who enjoy Pantera’s music, but then again, when a layman thinks of heavy metal music, they either think of Pantera or Metallica. I don’t hear a lot of chatter about Soulfly, All That Remains, Slipknot, or Lamb of God.

As a man stranded on this island of weird interests and core values, the logical solution would be to get in a rowboat and sail to faraway lands. But there are several obstacles that lie in the way. The waters are too rough to navigate without being capsized. I have no idea where the hell I’m going when I’m out there. Bringing people to my island is just as hard for them since they lack navigation and aren’t interested in being capsized either. In case you’re wondering, yes, these are analogies and no, I don’t live in Hawaii. I want to live in Hawaii someday, but today’s not the day.

But as you gain more and more interests, the lower the water becomes to expose more land. When the water sinks far down enough, you cease to become an island and you might even become a whole continent. Continents are islands by definition, but they’re much larger because they’re housing different cities and nations. When you increase the size of your land, you include more people and your cities and nations will develop beyond the third world. And though it may be hard on right-wingers in particular, you have to occasionally let some immigrants pass through your borders and spread their ideas to make the population more open-minded. Yes, I’m using analogies again, but I’m putting a lot of faith in you guys to decipher them.

To use literal terms, increasing my interests would be as simple as turning on my TV and surfing my Roku for new shows to watch. It could also mean trying out new computer games since that’s the only gaming platform I have as of today. Well, that’s not entirely true. I do have a Nintendo DS, but I’m pretty sure it’s dated. I could also look for music to listen to outside my heavy metal and new age borders, as long as it’s not disposable pop music or ultra-conservative country songs.

Sailing the rough waters should be as easy as getting off my ass and finding things to do. I certainly have the open schedule to do it, but that’s where my conversations about mental energy come back to bite me in the ass. You know you’re exhausted all the time when you’re too sluggish to sit on your ass and watch TV. Trying new things will require a visit to a sleep clinic to eventually diagnose me with sleep apnea and get me a prescription for an oxygen mask.

But even after I gain all of this energy, I still have to get in the mood to actually try new things. This sounds easy, but for me in particular, it’s not. Trying new things would mean taking a chance against something I might not like or might fail at. I fear failure so much that I’d rather stick to what I’m good at than risk looking like a fool or getting frustrated with what I’m doing. I’ve practiced playing the guitar for a lot of my pre-teen and teenage years. Despite getting an A in my middle school guitar class, I never got better at playing and I eventually gave up on it. It’s weird, because I’m not the best drawer in the world, yet I keep pumping out pictures like hotcakes. But I still get frustrated when trying to play a stupid goddamn guitar. No wonder Pete Townsend likes to smash his instruments.

If I ever decide to stop being an island, it’s going to take some help and convincing from other people. It’s not as simple as saying, “Go to You Tube and check it out!”, because I will likely tell you to go to hell. To use more island analogies, if I’m going to sail rough waters to other foreign lands, I’m going to do it on a Norwegian Cruise Line and not in a rowboat. I’ll be the passenger who cruises the various restaurants, and you, the one who wants me to see these foreign lands, will be the captain of the ship. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

As of this moment, I have 35 short stories that fall under the sci-fi, fantasy, and horror genres. My goal is the same as with American Darkness and my drama stories: I want to hit the magical number of 50. Because I’m currently suffering from writer’s block when it comes to Blood Brawl, I’m instead going to choose Poison Tongue Tales stories to write without the WSS’s prompts. A man cannot live on movie, book, and wrestling match reviews alone. That, and I’ve pretty much given up on writing character profiles since they all sound the same to me. Here’s a sneak preview of “Harvest Moon”, the next PTT story I will write:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Ambrose Volta, Witchdoctor
Kendra Callahan, Assassin

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: I’m doing this without the WSS’s prompts (no offense to those guys; I love them like family).

　

SYNOPSIS: Kendra has been hired to protect a funeral home that has been broken into several times over the past few days. During her patrol, she catches the culprit, Ambrose, in the act of harvesting spirit energy from the corpses and stealing valuable objects off of them. Kendra and Ambrose battle it out together in a war of martial arts vs. magic. The fight gets interesting when Ambrose reveals what he plans on doing with the harvested energy.

　

In addition to writing new stories, I will also be editing old ones. The next one I edit is “Ascension”, a barbarian story which will eventually have a new title since the old one doesn’t fit.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I caught a snake one time. I skinned it and drank its blood. It’s in a better place now.”

-Braun Strowman, the Wyatt Family’s “Face of Destruction”-

Snitch

Lucas Morgan had just completed his geometry assignments for the evening and was left mentally exhausted afterwards. All the blond-haired All That Remains T-shirt-wearing teen wanted was to take a nap and forget the whole day ever happened. He kicked off his boots and plopped backwards on his comfy bed. His body was perpendicular to the bed itself, but he was so tired it didn’t matter how he slept it off.

He could have passed out right then and there if it hadn’t been for the obnoxious sound of his smart phone ringing. Technically, he could have chosen his own ring tone, but instead he had the standard buzzing that was normally associated with house phones. Lucas groaned and whined as he sat up in his bed and languidly reached over to the computer desk to answer his phone. His eyes were so fuzzy that he didn’t bother to look to see who was calling; he answered it anyways.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, sir, I’m looking for Mr. Maurice Morgan.”

“He’s not here right now.”

“I know that, but where is he? Does he have a work number I can reach him at? Maybe a cell phone number?”

Lucas’s eyebrows furrowed as he asked, “Who is this?”

“My name is Officer Ben Gilmour and I work with the Paulson City Police Department. It’s important that I get a hold of your father. And for the rest of this conversation, let me be the one who asks the questions. Now, I’ll ask you again: does Maurice Morgan have a cell phone or work number I can reach him at?”

“I don’t keep track of those things.”

Ben let out a sigh and said, “Not being very helpful today, are you, son.”

The condescending tone sent Lucas into a screaming rampage. “Why the hell should I help you with anything?! I told you I don’t know how to get a hold of him! That sort of thing is on my mom’s cell phone, but she’s not here either; she’s in the hospital!”

“Mr. Morgan, there must be something around the house that will tell you an alternative way of getting a hold of your father. You’re obviously not looking very hard, so let me make this clear to you. Either you cooperate with us or…”

Lucas’s screams were demonic at this point, “Or what?! You’re going to arrest me?! I’m not going to testify against my own dad! That would make me a snitch and a traitor to my family! Don’t ever call this number again, you piece of shit!”

Nobody would be calling that number again, because Lucas threw his cell phone against his computer desk out of frustration and shattered the screen. He breathed heavily in anger and sat back down on his bed to try and calm down. But try as he might, his intense breathing was accompanied by monstrous groans and growls.

And then the house phone rang and Lucas was pissed off once more. He growled like an ogre and stomped his way out to the kitchen to answer his house phone. The Morgan family had caller ID, but Lucas was too far into his rage to look at the screen. He answered anyways and yelled, “What?!”

It was Officer Ben Gilmour yet again. “I’m going to forgive that little outburst just a few minutes ago, but from this point on, if you screw with me again, I will come to your house and place you under arrest.”

Lucas’s angry speech was accompanied by high pitched bursts when he said, “I’m not doing anything wrong, damn it! There’s nothing illegal about not giving you information!”

“Actually, yes, there is something illegal about it. It’s called Obstruction of Justice and it holds a penalty of up to two years in prison. Two years doesn’t sound like a lot of time, but in prison, everything slows down and nobody is going to give you rest. Trust me, Mr. Morgan, you wouldn’t last five minutes in a place like that. Just do the right thing and tell me how I can get a hold of your father.”

“My dad didn’t do anything wrong either! He’s an innocent man and I’m not going to let you take him away from me!”

“That’s where I call bullshit, Mr. Morgan. We have snapshot evidence of your father murdering another police officer in cold blood. The photos suggest he took the officer’s own gun and shot him in the face. Your father is facing life imprisonment, maybe even the death penalty if there is a God in heaven.”

Lucas took a while to digest this new information with wide eyes and nervous breathing. His heart raced as he thought of his father being a cop slayer. Was it possible? Did he really know his own father? Was this all just bullshit? The teenager’s frightened energy caused his voice to soften as he said, “You’re full of shit!”

“I assure you, son, we’re not. I’d love to show you the pictures myself. In fact, I’ll show them to you when I come down to your house and arrest you for Obstruction of Justice. How does that sound?”

“Lucas! Give me the goddamn phone!” said Maurice Morgan, who was standing in the kitchen wearing a trench coat and a pissed off facial expression. The teenaged son was so emotional that he failed to hear his own father come in through the front door. His arm shivered as he handed the phone cradle to his dad. The kid was so sweaty that the phone almost fell out of his hand.

As the child became teary-eyed, Maurice wrapped an arm around him and patted him on the back for comfort. For Officer Ben Gilmour, however, there would be no comfort; only scorn. The father spoke vengefully into the phone when he said, “Listen, you sick bastard, I don’t care how much power that police badge gives you. You never talk to a teenage boy like that, especially not my son. He’s not the criminal of this household.”

A silence fell over the conversation and then Maurice said, “I am, Officer. I have nothing to hide anymore. Your snapshots proved I killed that cop. What your cute little photographs don’t say, however, is that I shot that cop because he was beating up my wife for jaywalking. So she runs a red light and gets put in the hospital by this sociopath? Where’s the justice in that?!”

Ben said, “Listen, Maurice, if you have a problem with one of our officers, then you need to go through the proper channels to make sure that officer gets his punishment. You don’t shoot a cop right in the fucking face like that!”

Maurice explosively said, “Then who will, damn it?! Who’s going to bring justice to a man whose worst punishment is a paid vacation and desk duty?! I know how your system works! Cops can get away with anything these days! Anything! Well, let me tell you something, copper! You can slap the cuffs on me all you want! Hell, I’ll wait right here for you in the comfort of my own home! But if you arrest me, then once I get a chance in court, I’m going to drag your entire department to the gates of hell with me! Not just the officer who beat my wife, but the entire goddamn department! I won’t get an ounce of sleep until each and every one of you are burning in hell!”

After a shocked silence, Ben said, “You let me know how that whole ‘gates of hell’ thing works out for you, Maurice. I hope you have the best lawyer money can buy. Good luck, buddy. You’re going to need it.” Officer Gilmour hung up and the heated conversation was over.

Maurice and Lucas were still embracing each other with the father breathing demonically and the son choking back tears of sorrow and fear. They both said, “I love you!” to each other for what would be the last time in their lives before the police came knocking on the Morgan family’s door.

A Lesson In Literary Marketing

***A LESSON IN LITERARY MARKETING***

Whenever I’ve written a short story or a novel, I wrote it with the idea of doing it for me and me alone. Every character, every plot device, every climax, they were all built around my own personal interests and core values. During these times of self-service, I forget that I’ve often described myself as an island with my interests. Let’s take a look at all of these keywords: liberal politics, professional wrestling, heavy metal music, mental illness, new age music, animal welfare, Dungeons & Dragons-style fantasy, adult Lego fandom, and so many more than I’m often forgetting and often clustering together. Some of these things go great together while others may ruin the witch’s cauldron that is my core values.

As a writer, appealing to yourself will always result in having a fun time. While such individual thinking is encouraged for all forms of art, if you want to get yourself out there, you also have to appeal to people who will actually take an interest in what you do. In other words, you have to know who your audience is.

The example I want to use for this parable is my self-published urban fantasy pro-wrestling novella Occupy Wrestling. Every person who has ever read it from cover to cover has had the same complaint: unfamiliarity with wrestling logic and terminology. The strange lingo, I can understand where they’re coming from. Not everybody knows what the hell a spine-buster is or why being called a jabroni is a particularly humiliating insult.

But even if I were to scrub the novella clean of all wrestling slang, the story would still operate on wrestling logic. Only in wrestling can you justify two guys nearly killing each other over a “stupid” gold encrusted belt. Only in wrestling do you fight one day and come up fresh as a daisy the next day almost injury free. Only in wrestling does doing everything once a week make any sense at all. I can scrub the vocabulary clean, but if I scrubbed the logic clean, it would cease to be a wrestling story. Hell, it wouldn’t be a story at all, for that matter.

Occupy Wrestling is currently sitting pretty at 2.75 stars on Good Reads and Amazon. Even the two people who gave it favorable reviews (Edward Davies and Andy Peloquin) were scratching their heads at the wrestling logic and lingo. My beta reader Marie Krepps was even scratching her head despite watching wrestling during the Attitude Era in the 1990’s.

There’s a lesson to be learned here: if you have a product of any kind, market it to the right people. Do you have a science-fiction story about cute cuddly kitties? Market it to people who make frequent visits to the Humane Society. Do you have an instructional manual about crocheting? That sounds like an activity for an older generation, so market it to them. What’s that? You have a basketball drama? Market it to people who like basketball.

Following this logic, what should I do with Occupy Wrestling? Should I continue to send free copies to English professors, chick-lit lovers, and nonviolent people? Or should I market this book to…(drum roll)…wrestling fans?! Let’s think about this for a minute. Do you know why “YES!” by Daniel Bryan is currently holding a 4.05-star rating on Good Reads? It’s because it’s been marketed to wrestling fans, like me.

I love it myself, but let’s face it, Mr. Bryan writes like a celebrity. His memoir style is nowhere near as polished as Alison Bechdel, James Frey, or Elizabeth Wurtzel. Then again, people love “YES!” because they love wrestling and they love Daniel Bryan. Could I possibly do the insane thing and slip copies of Occupy Wrestling to the Dave Meltzers, Vince McMahons, Stephanie McMahons, and Eric Bischoffs of the world? Imagine that: giving people what they like instead of what you think they should like. Who would’ve thunk it?

Remember, boys and girls: you may get knocked down and it may hurt for a long period of time. Everybody experiences failure at least one point in their lives. It’s our ability to get back up, dust ourselves off, and go back to the drawing board to alter our strategies that makes us immortal in the end. Nobody thought The Beatles would be as big as they’ve been over the past half-century. Michael Jordan locked himself in his room and cried his eyes out when his high school basketball tryouts went up in smoke. There are people who still think Daniel Bryan is a B+ player despite everything he’s been through. None of these famous people gave up and neither should you. They changed their approach to life and I’m changing mine as well. Now I just have to figure out how to reach the wrestling fans in a way that they can relate to my novella. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***CURRENT AND FUTURE PUBLICATIONS***

As of today, I have three defunct publications and three active ones. The active ones are Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage (poetry and song anthology), American Darkness (contemporary drama anthology), and Occupy Wrestling (urban fantasy novella). Though self-publishing these three active books hasn’t earned me a great deal of fame or fortune, I’m still grateful that they’re out there and in the public eye. I don’t write because I want to be greater than JK Rowling or Stephen King. I write because I love to create beautiful things. You can call it artistic passion, the creative urge, or just plain autistic tendencies. Either way, there will be other self-published books to come and no matter how tough things get, there will be no giving up. Here’s a look at those future publications:

　

American Darkness 2: Black State (contemporary drama anthology)

Blood Brawl (Dungeons & Dragons-style fantasy novel)

Filter Feeder (environmental fantasy novel)

Necrograph (dark poetry and heavy metal song anthology, almost a sequel to Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage)

Poison Tongue Tales (science-fiction, fantasy, and horror anthology)

Watch You Burn (psychological fantasy novel)

　

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

“Coincidence is killing an oversized house spider with a paperback copy of ‘Silence of the Lambs‘. Irony is using a Carl Hiaasen novel instead.”

-Me-

WWE Night of Champions: Charlotte vs. Nikki Bella

MATCH: Charlotte vs. Nikki Bella for the latter’s Divas Championship, which she could have lost also by disqualification or count-out
PROMOTION: World Wrestling Entertainment
EVENT: Night of Champions
YEAR: 2015
RATING: TV-PG for violence
GRADE: Pass


For the longest time, the divas division of the WWE has been in murky waters. It has been plagued with short matches performed by smoking hot supermodels who fight more like cats than real wrestlers. If a WWE fan wanted to watch women’s wrestling that was actually entertaining, he or she had to get a subscription to the WWE Network and watch NXT. That all changed in a heartbeat one night. Almost a full year had passed since Nikki Bella won the Divas Championship against AJ Lee at Survivor Series in 2014 in a twenty-second disaster. Nikki, her twin sister Brie, and Alicia Fox all got together and danced in the middle of the ring thinking they had complete reign over the divas division.

And then Stephanie McMahon’s “Queendom” music played and out came the iron-fisted queen of WWE herself. She cut a promo about how female athletes all around the world were getting recognition for being just as good or even better than their male counterpart, whether it’s Ronda Rousey in the UFC or Carli Lloyd in soccer. Stephanie believed the WWE should be a part of that women’s revolution as well. So what did she do? She called three NXT divas up to the main roster: Charlotte, Becky Lynch, and Sasha Banks. Not just NXT divas, but badass battlers who could break a supermodel in half with just one punch.

And then the Divas Revolution was underway. The matches were longer, the women got better storylines, they got time in the ring to cut promos, and the matches were actually fun-to-watch wrestling competitions instead of just boring catfights. Despite this adrenaline shot to the heart of the divas division, there were still critics out there who thought pushing all of these women to the top was a waste of time. WWE Hall of Famer Greg “The Hammer” Valentine gave the most disgusting quote of the year when he said if he was in charge of the WWE, he would fire all of the divas and make them work in strip bars. I’m still waiting for Ronda Rousey to put this asshole in a shoulder lock and rip his goddamn arm out. If I have to wait forever, then damn it, I’ll wait forever.

At WWE Night of Champions in the year 2015, the critics would have duct tape on their mouths forever. Charlotte had just earned a chance to face Nikki Bella at this event for the latter’s Divas Championship. With her father Ric Flair and the NXT staff’s training, Charlotte could accomplish anything she wanted to. She was tall, lean, athletic, and she could beat the crap out of anybody put in front of her. She once out-wrestled Natalya for the vacant NXT Title. Natalya was trained in wrestling and jujitsu in the infamous Hart Dungeon, so getting a hard-fought victory over her in a classic back-and-forth war is saying something. Now Charlotte looks to do the same with Nikki Bella.

Before this match started, Nikki Bella was being written off by fans across the world as a supermodel with a middle school mentality who got an easy path to success by beating other girls just as “weak” as her. When the match actually started, she showed how much of a vicious wrestler she could be. Nikki’s entire game plan throughout the match was to not just attack Charlotte’s left leg, but also maul it, destroy it, and cripple it.

And damn, did Nikki deliver on that game plan. She suplexed Charlotte into the ropes and turnbuckles with the victim’s knee landing right on those hard structures. And while Charlotte was sitting on the ring apron hoping to recover, Nikki grabbed her injured leg and threw her to the concrete floor in a hard-hitting move known as the Dragon Screw. To add insult to injury, Nikki applied Ric Flair’s patented submission hold, the Figure Four Leg Lock, across the steel ring post with Charlotte’s legs bound and twisted in ways they’re not supposed to bend. And then the champion applied more pressure on the leg by twisting it backwards in a Single-Leg Boston Crab. And then more suplexes into the ropes and corners. And then a shoulder tackle to the back of the leg.

The relentless assault took a huge toll on Charlotte’s mobility. She was so badly in pain that she couldn’t even walk straight, let alone run off the ropes for a decent clothesline. My niece Reina watched this match with me and though she wasn’t in it, she still had aches and pains going through her own body while she was empathizing with Charlotte. If competing in this match cripples Charlotte, then the viewers at home and at the Houston, Texas arena would leave in wheelchairs. That’s how torturous this match looked on TV.

Which is why it’s so rewarding for the underdog Charlotte to come back from this endless pain and pull off a big move that will win her the Divas Championship. As Nikki dove off the top rope for another shoulder tackle, she got a spear tackle of her own right to the gut compliments of the challenger for her title. And then Charlotte did the unthinkable. Even with her severely battered left leg, she applied not only her father’s Figure Four Leg Lock to Nikki, but also bridged backwards to make it The Figure Eight. She held this position for as long as she painstakingly could and Nikki Bella eventually tapped out to lose the championship, ending her reign at 300-plus days.

Overcoming adversity is something women have had to do not just in sports, but in life in general. They had to take beatings just to earn the right to vote in America, they had to live as pariahs just to have the right to divorce their husbands, they’re being shot at for wanting feminine healthcare, and even today in this somewhat liberalized culture, women still have to fight for recognition in this world.

After seeing Charlotte win a hard-fought match for her first WWE Divas Championship in which the referee almost stopped it due to injury, I only have one thing left to say to Greg Valentine and everyone else who thinks that a woman’s place is in the kitchen. Would you really trust a red-hot warrior like Charlotte or Ronda Rousey with an iron skillet in one hand and a bread knife in the other? You want a woman to cook and clean for you? Okay. She can cook you with a flame thrower and clean the evidence of your existence off the floors so that the police don‘t suspect a thing. How does that sound?

Where's Susie?

CHORUS 1
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a hundred million bucks
If I don’t get it, I’ll scream like fuck
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4


VERSE 1
Let’s make one thing perfectly clear
You won’t find Susie around here
I know you hold her dear and near
I know you have your greatest fears
But I’ve never been mister four-one-one
I’m not the man who will get this done
Ask me one more time and I’ll explode
Look elsewhere for your final hope


CHORUS 2
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a place to put my penis
We’ll do it where no one will see us
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4


VERSE 2
The smartest of smart phones continues to ring
Yet I don’t know a single goddamn thing
You can ask your questions under a heated light
You’ll still get nothing on this cold autumn night
Way to go, Dick Tracy, or should I say Vic Mackey?
Probably the latter with the way you still ask me
You haunt the internet with a schizophrenic passion
Isn’t this the time to be responsible for your actions?


CHORUS 3
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
I need a ride to planet Mars
Let’s take a trip in your rocket car
We can lose ourselves to foo-foo music
When it comes to gas, we can always abuse it


VERSE 3
Looking for Susie is like asking, “Where’s Waldo?”
You’re acting like it’s an answer we all know
If you’re so fucking scared about your little friend
Type up an Amber Alert and hit the link to send
Sherlock Holmes should be your new nickname
Yet all of your questions still remain the same
“Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie? Where’s Susie?”
Somewhere in the babble, you started to lose me


CHORUS 4
Where’s Susie? X4
Where’s Susie? X4
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!

Underdog

VERSE 1
Nothing in this life was ever handed to me
Except for Uncle Sam’s wad of hush money
“Stay on the sidelines, don’t get yourself hurt
Don’t get mud on your shoes or blood on your shirt
The workplace has nothing for you at this time
In social development, you’re ten years behind”
Underdog has always been my middle name
Would you trust me with fortune and fame?


CHORUS
The lower tier is for those with tears
Stemming from their greatest fears
It may take months, it may take years
To get the underdog on out of here


VERSE 2
2.75 or the 666?
To me it’s all just stones and sticks
62 or is it all about you?
Are those childish insults really true?
99-percent and barely paying rent
For an underdog driven and hell-bent
Knock me down as many times as you’d like
Because I’ll always get back on my bike


CHORUS
The lower tier is for those with tears
Stemming from their greatest fears
It may take months, it may take years
To get the underdog on out of here


VERSE 3
You’re a nonbeliever in the overachiever
You blame the poor and label us whores
Do you know what it’s like to be underrated?
To become the background so gray and faded?
Everything I have I earned in spades
I don’t measure success on how much I’m paid
I don’t measure my love on orgasmic trances
I take control by exploiting my chances


HOOK
Everybody has their own opinion
It doesn’t mean I’ll become your minion
I know I’ll make it one of these days
My future is another conquerable maze


CHORUS
The lower tier is for those with tears
Stemming from their greatest fears
It may take months, it may take years
To get the underdog on out of here

Warrior Names

***WARRIOR NAMES***

We’ve seen a lot of fantasy warriors come and go throughout our creative fuel intake. They tend to have last names like Overspark, Dreadlord, and Pusdrinker. Yes, that last one is a real enemy from Diablo II: Lord of Destruction; I shit you not. In all my time of writing fantasy and sci-fi stories, I’ve pretty much just passively accepted the fact that warriors have two-word last names that describe how badass they really are. That’s where I got characters like Deus Shadowheart, Butch Hellfire, and Machu Throatslash to name a few.

However, the more I started collaborating with Marie Krepps to fix my short stories, the more I realized that such two-word last names sound a little too…obvious. And to her credit, Marie has a point here. After all, when you eventually meet Machu Throatslash’s parents, what do your refer to them as? Mr. and Mrs. Throatslash? That’ll make for some fun conversations. Suppose Machu wanted to take a cute girl to the prom with him and then the two decide to marry. Would the girl be legally obligated to call herself Mrs. Throatslash? That’ll look good on her credit card application: Julia Samantha Throatslash. She doesn’t actually want to make any purchases with it; she just wants to run the sharp edge across someone’s neck and bleed them out.

Ever since hearing the other side of the warrior name argument, I’m kind of on the fence now with what I believe. A part of me doesn’t want to let go of my fantasy and sci-fi traditions. I want to have badass warriors whose names strike fear in the hearts of their opponents. But then again, if they really are badass warriors, do they need to have overpowered names? Couldn’t they just get the job done by breathing fire on their opponents or chopping their heads off with a magical battleaxe?

I have to confess that Marie’s critique was the inspiration behind the John Bush character from “Kill, Cut, Scalp”. The whole reason that hero took the name John Bush was so that the evil sorcerer Dark-Law wouldn’t suspect him of being a fire breathing death angel, which he eventually transformed into to get his assassination job done. It’s easy to trust a guy name John Bush (even if he is a death angel), but if his name was Konnor Dragonslash, then the ruse would have been all for naught and Dark-Law would have killed him off right then and there.

George Carlin did an entire comedy routine about the power names have to influence history. There would have never been a World War II if Hitler’s first name was Floyd. They would have beaten the shit out of him in Munich in 1931! And nobody would have been fearful of Jack the Ripper if his first name was Wally. And Billy the Kid? Do you think anyone would take him seriously if his name was Billy the Schmuck?

I guess the lesson to be learned with giving your characters overpowered names is to judge how seriously you want the warriors to be taken by their enemies. Helpless civilians would bow at the metal boots of Konnor Dragonslash or Viktor Fireborn, but they’d laugh John Bush or George Kerry out of the building. Maybe you want your characters to be as intimidating as possible. Or your philosophy could be based on a rhyme that fellow indie author Edward Davies once bestowed upon me: “Convince your enemies that you’re benign and you will beat them every time.” Choose your fate, noble warriors, and bring back a severed demon head. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***BACK TO RANDOM SELECTION***

In an effort to jumpstart my creative life again, I’ve gone back to the idea of randomly selecting my next artistic task. I did this back in the summertime with plenty of success. I’m doing it now with even more success. There are currently six items on my list to choose from:

　

1. American Darkness: put together the paperback and Kindle versions of this newly revised anthology.

2. Dark Fantasy Warriors: draw a picture of the next randomly selected short story character on my list, which this time happens to be the fourth and final character from “Guns, Drugs, and Misogyny”, Edgar Rinehart, elf mercenary.

3. The Girlfriend Wager: read 30 pages of this self-published raunchy sex comedy by Edward Davies.

4. Poison Tongue Tales: edit the next randomly chosen short story from this sci-fi, horror, and fantasy anthology. If you’ve been to your Deviant Art inboxes lately, you would have seen a revision of Bee Jay the Glutinous. Marie really wants to eat macaroni and cheese with a talking orange kitty now. ^_^

5. The Silence of the Lambs: read 30 pages of this traditionally published serial killer mystery by Thomas Harris.

6. Weekly Short Story Contests and Company: catch up on the reading of this week’s “Broken Windows” short stories (which I’ve already done) and contribute a story before the week is over (which is also something I’ve already done).

　

There is one item that should be on this list, but isn’t, and that’s Blood Brawl. Blood Brawl is supposed to be my main novel WIP, but ever since making it to chapter three, I’ve hit a roadblock. The entirety of this chapter is supposed to be Ivan Blackstone chasing Justine Dupree down the street while swinging a scythe in the air. How the hell am I supposed to stretch out a chase scene for that long and keep it from getting dull? I have no choreography, damn it! I’ll figure something out come hell or high water. But for now, Blood Brawl is off the menu.

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

WYNARSKI: I went into the video store one time and that son of a bitch was sleeping.
DANTE: I’m sure Randal wasn’t sleeping.
WYNARSKI: Are you calling me a liar?! Are you calling me a liar?!
DANTE: No, I’m saying maybe he was resting his eyes or something like that.
WYNARSKI: What the hell is that, resting his eyes? What is he, an air traffic controller?
DANTE: Actually, that’s his night job.

-Clerks-

Gates of Hell

“Gates of Hell MMA Gym? Are you sure we’re in the right place?” asked Henry Silva to his girlfriend Christina McKenzie. But why wouldn’t it be the right place? They were both decked out in athletic shorts, Nike shoes, and baggy T-shirts, outfits which were ideal for practicing mixed-martial arts due to their looseness.

“Maybe Gates of Hell is just a really cute name for what really goes on in there,” guessed Christina. “Maybe the trainers are a bunch of drill instructor assholes who give into that warrior spirit crap.”

“Yeah, that’s probably why there are demon masks and skulls in the windows. It might also be why the phrase ‘Gates of Hell’ is in some weird ass gothic font. I don’t know if I’m stumbling upon an MMA gym or a haunted house. I don’t know, Christina, something feels wrong about all of this.”

“Listen to yourself, Henry. You haven’t stepped one foot in this place and already you’re not even giving this place a fair chance. Maybe the people who run this place really like creepy dark fantasy stuff, I don’t know. It can’t be any worse than our last gym. That place smelled like an outhouse. Plus, the trainers couldn’t tell the difference between a kimura and a Pop Tart.”

After running his fingers through his spiky black hair in contemplation, Henry finally gave in and said, “You know what? You’re right. Come on, let’s check this place out.” With no further resistance, the Brazilian capoeira ace and the all-American wrestler entered this freaky establishment.

If Henry and Christina thought this place was terrifying on the outside, the inside would have given weaker folks heart attacks. More demon masks on the wall, more skulls hanging from the ceiling, a purple fog covering the floor, and of course, no MMA gym would be complete without the caged ring and various exercise equipment.

The two warriors walked around this seemingly empty gym awestruck by this entire setup. Was this just a gimmick to help fighters overcome their fears? Was something a little more occult going on here?

Christina McKenzie in particular was so out of it from being creeped out that she failed to notice someone standing behind her. She bumped into him and gasped in fear when she saw a man in MMA shorts wearing one of the demon masks on the wall.

Henry Silva had the same chills when he ran into a woman wearing a gas mask, a sports bra, and surprise, surprise, baggy MMA shorts.

The gentleman in the demon mask said in a deep voice, “Hello. You two must be the ones who called earlier wanting to sign up. My name is Leif Kampmann. I run this gym alongside my girlfriend Olivia Cade. I’m the head striking coach while Olivia will teach you all about grappling and jujitsu.” He started getting a little frisky when he placed a seductive finger underneath Christina’s chin and asked, “Do you have an MMA record, my dear?”

The raven haired wrestler nervously said, “Um, yes, um…I have nine wins and four losses.”

“Nine wins and four losses? Not bad. But it could be better. I’m guessing that’s why you decided to join up with us,” said Leif as he continued to stroke Christina’s chin.

Henry made a throat-clearing sound and said, “Hi there, Leif! You do realize that’s my girlfriend you’re trying to seduce, right? Plus, you said this gas masked chick was already your girlfriend, so you’re probably making her jealous right now.”

Olivia put her delicate hands on Henry’s broad Brazilian shoulders and said, “Jealous? Not me, hon. Jealousy is for weak-minded, hormonal high schoolers. Besides, neither of you came to our establishment to get laid. So why don’t you come with me and I’ll teach you some jujitsu.”

Henry and Christina shrugged their shoulders at each other as their respective “coaches” took them off to separate parts of the gym for training. While Henry was training, he could hear the sharp sounds of both his girlfriend and Leif smacking around a heavy gym bag, which probably qualified as the world’s most intense striking lessons. He shuddered to think what those two did for “sparring sessions”.

The jujitsu training with Olivia was no joke either. She and Henry spent what must have been three whole hours wrestling each other on the padded floor. Try as Henry might to uses his capoeira training to spin out of each submission hold, Olivia knew exactly what she was doing when she made him tap out to various versions of shoulder locks, arm bars, and chokeholds. Henry felt like he could learn a lot from this woman, probably because she kept making him his bitch during these exchanges.

This wasn’t such a bad experience, Henry thought to himself. Décor aside, he could actually improve his MMA game and do better than a measly six wins (decisions), three losses (knockout or TKO), and one no contest (accidental eye poke). And then when Henry applied his first guillotine choke to Olivia, he ripped her gas mask off and revealed something that he was never meant to see: vampire fangs.

While Henry Silva’s lips were quivering and heart was racing as he backed up on his butt, Olivia Cade smiled at him with her vampire fangs and said, “Surprise, surprise. How do you think I got an undefeated record of twelve straight wins? Okay, most of it was because I actually knew how to fight…but it was Leif who turned me on to the dark side! And oh, does the dark side feel so good. You’d love it too if you gave it a try, Henry. What do you say?”

For the longest time, the cat had Henry’s tongue. And then he finally mustered the strength to say, “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” After backing up several more feet and repeatedly ordering Olivia to stay way from him, Henry stumbled to his feet and ran across the gym to where Leif was teaching Christina proper kicking techniques on a heavy punching bag.

Henry grabbed Christina’s arm and said, “Come on, baby girl, we’ve got to get the hell out of here! These guys are goddamn vampires!”

“What?! Hey, let go!” said a resistant Christina, who was half-dragged to the entrance way.

Henry tried opening the door, but it was locked and reinforced with steel. He even threw a few kicks at it for good measure, but it still wouldn’t budge. He then instructed Christina to stand back while he threw a few capoeira spin kicks at the tinted black windows. Even the strongest of Chuck Norris kicks wouldn’t be able to make a scratch. After a while of frustrating results, Henry pounded on the glass windows with his fists like a drum and pleaded to be let go, but no dice.

“Are you through yet?” asked Leif, who was seen standing arm in arm with his girlfriend Olivia, both of them without masks and both of them with vampire fangs showing.

Henry took a few angry deep breaths in and out and yelled, “Listen, you assholes! I may not have the best MMA record in the world today, but if you don’t let me and my girlfriend out of here, I’ll knock both of your oversized fangs down your throat and out of your asses!”

No impromptu fight was about to take place as Henry felt two sharp jabs in his jugular vein coming from behind. It was painful as hell, but it felt so good at the same time, almost like a sexual experience. The vampire bite didn’t come from Leif Kampmann or Olivia Cade. It came from his own lover, Christina McKenzie, who was probably converted to vampirism through Leif.

Henry started crying tears of blood as he knelt down and asked, “Why, sweet god, why? What the hell has gotten into you, Christina?!”

The newly christened vampire lover wrapped her arms around Henry’s neck in a loving embrace and said in a seductive whisper, “It’ll be okay, my love. Everything will be okay. With these vampire powers, we’ll never lose a match again. Once we put in our mouthpieces, nobody will be the wiser. We should come here more often, don’t you think, sugar bear? Don’t worry, you’ll get used to vampirism over time. Did I mention lately how lovely you look tonight?”

The craziest thing about Christina’s oratory? As far as never losing another MMA match again went, she was right. The future held Knockout and Submission of the Night bonus money for both Henry and Christina as well as championship gold. It was never easy to argue with success, vampire fangs aside.

"So...I Met a Vampire" by Paul McAvoy

BOOK TITLE: So…I Met a Vampire
AUTHOR: Paul McAvoy
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Creature Horror
GRADE: Fail


A young lady named Jessie James started off by going on a school field trip and ended up in the spirit world after dying in a drowning accident. And now in order to get a second chance at life, she must extract a vampire’s blood and bring it to the grim reaper within a limited time frame. Once the time limit is over, if she has not completed her task, she will be stuck in the spiritual realm forever. With the help of vampire expert Charles Devon, it appears as though a return to the mortal realm is at hand. But even with all the expertise in the world, this won’t be an easy task for someone as young and naïve as Jessie.

On the surface, this race-against-time plot seems like it could work in just about any scenario. We like the feeling of adrenaline rushes, especially when combined with supernatural elements. But it’s hard to be excited about the plot when the awkward writing style gets in the way of what would have otherwise been an enjoyable story. Unrealistic dialogue, obvious statements, a robotic narrator, and excessively short sentences are the best ways to describe the overall writing style Mr. McAvoy has employed with this novel. I know this book is geared toward a younger audience and younger readers aren’t as nitpicky as adults. But I can’t help but feel they too would be uncomfortable with the way this book is written.

The name of the main character also needs some analysis: Jessie James. The last time we heard about someone with this name, it was to describe a dangerous outlaw from wild west narratives. Ever since then, we’ve heard about other characters and celebrities with that name as well. We’ve heard about Sandra Bullock’s ex-boyfriend being named Jesse James as well as a female country singer with that name too. Hell, there was a WWE wrestler in the 1990’s named “Road Dogg” Jesse James. The name has been used so many times that it’s been beaten to death. The main protagonist of this story is just one more club to the dead horse’s body. Plus, it feels too obvious to name somebody that.

One more gripe about this story and then I’ll be finished with this review. The characters in this story seem too accepting towards supernatural elements. What’s that? A vampire? Meh. A ghost? Please. The grim reaper? Oh, that’s cool. These normally dangerous and imposing figures are just brushed off like nobody cares. In a dystopian society, this would be believable. But this just seems like an everyday modern community. Easily giving into supernatural phenomenon sounds too convenient, as if the author was trying to bypass the problem of having a protagonist whom nobody believes.

When Mr. McAvoy reads this review, I don’t want him to feel badly about what he’s produced. I want him to learn things and develop. That is my ultimate goal as a reviewer: to praise the author when necessary and hold him or her accountable when it matters most. This book may receive a failing grade (two stars) from little old me, but I assure you this is not Paul McAvoy’s last dance. The race-against-time plot is one that has a lot of truth to it. If it was better executed, then the complaints would be minimal. I hope Mr. McAvoy does learn something from this experience and I hope his next project will give him a chance to rise from the ashes like the phoenix he was meant to be.

Dark Thoughts

VERSE 1
Murder, rape, fire, blood
Dragging your soul through the motherfucking mud
Dragging your ass to the gates of hell
Fighting the last round until the final bell
Dark thoughts invade my mind and I love it
When the battle calls, I’ll rise above it
Sadistic values for sadistic motherfuckers
Dark thoughts for crooks and tail tuckers


CHORUS
Laughing at my own twisted jokes
Purring while your bloody body stains and soaks
Sleeping well as you burn in hell
My darkest thoughts for the ones who fell


VERSE 2
Genocide, homicide, fucking deicide
There’s nowhere left to run or hide
The corners of my mind are dark places
You all look alike, you have no faces
Zombies marching, waiting to be shot
Hunger for brains, is that all you’ve got?
My dark imagination has no goddamn limits
Think about that as you live your final minutes


CHORUS
Laughing at my own twisted jokes
Purring while your bloody body stains and soaks
Sleeping well as you burn in hell
My darkest thoughts for the ones who fell


HOOK
This is my world, this is my life
This is my gun, this is my knife
This is my smile, this is my laugh
This is my boot in your motherfucking ass!


VERSE 3
Autograph, necrograph, don’t make me laugh
All you’ll hope for is a quick coming to pass
I take my time, I commit the crime
And grin knowing that your ass is mine


EXTENDED CHORUS
Laughing at my own twisted jokes
Purring while your bloody body stains and soaks
Sleeping well as you burn in hell
My darkest thoughts for the ones who fell
Sympathy has never been my greatest strength
Especially for those who tortured me at length
Armageddon is where your ass is headin’
How does it feel to be so far from heaven?

Common Values

***COMMON VALUES***

I’m going to go ahead and ask the million dollar question. In order for a relationship to work, do the two people involved have to have things in common or is it really true that opposites attract? I’m not just talking about romantic relationships; I also mean business, family, and friendly relationships. I’ve heard arguments for both answers to that question, but I still can’t make heads or tails of it all. Then again, my relationships in life are limited to my family and internet friends, so it could be that I lack the necessary experience to make this judgment call. But I’m going to try and do it anyways, just for the sake of argument. That, and I’m desperate for journal topics.

Let’s say you’re someone who believes that the two people have to have at least one thing in common with each other. When you have that one thing the two of you share, you can give each other some great conversations and even better feedback on how to make that activity better. You both like online gaming? Great! Then buy a copy of Diablo III and rock out with your cock out. You both like soccer? Awesome! Go to soccer matches together and hold hands. Having something to bond over keeps the relationship from getting stale.

And then there’s the other school of thought in which like protons and electrons in chemistry, opposites attract. There actually are couples out there who practice this idea. You’ve got liberals getting together with conservatives, geeks with cheerleaders, rebels with conformists, introverts with extroverts, the list goes on and on. The argument I’ve heard in support of this is that nobody wants to have a relationship with someone who is exactly like them since the two people would get tired of each other quickly. While those two would have a lot to bond over, maybe too much bonding can lead to a lack of privacy.

After going over the two schools of thought, I’m riding the fence with this one. I want to have at least a few things in common with the other person, but not everything. That’s why I have such a hard time talking to the barbers at Hair Masters. Disgust for small talk aside, when I hear about their interests and values, I find out that we have nothing to bond over.

How am I supposed to talk about how “The Perks of Being a Wallflower” turned me into an emotional wreck when the hairdresser wants to read books about World War II? Can I even get one word edgewise about how lethal Kevin Owens’ pop-up power bomb is when the other person would rather watch the Seattle Seahawks run around and pounce on other teams? What if I want to talk about Dimebag Darrell’s shredding techniques to someone who listens to country songs about losing their goddamn truck? That kind of polarity can make me feel lonely.

Of course, I could take some initiative and actually introduce the other person to my values and interests, but I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing myself on them. When I was a middle schooler in Chehalis, Washington, I tried relentlessly to get my friends to share my interest in those Dick Tracy cartoons from the 1960’s. You know the ones, with racial stereotypes like Go-Go Gomez, Hemlock Holmes, Joe Jitsu, and Sketch Paree. Since Chehalis is swarming with rightwing nut jobs, they probably would have eaten that shit up with a spoon. But apparently, the Dick Tracy trend never caught on. Oh well. At least I learned not to force my values on other people.

So, ladies and gentlemen. Where do your loyalties lie in this debate? Should your friends and paramours have similar interests or do opposites really attract? Share your experiences with me and let’s have a fucking conversation. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***BOOK REVIEWS***

The next time I post a book review on my social networking sites, Good Reads, and Amazon, it will be “So…I Met a Vampire” by Paul McAvoy. I’m only 63 pages into it, but the book itself is approximately 180 pages and the writing style is so fast-paced that I can blow through it probably by tomorrow afternoon. If not, then the day after. I always close my commitments to fellow indie authors. Never forget that.

　

***BLOOD BRAWL***

I don’t really know when chapter three will be written, but when it is, it’ll feature a chase scene between Ivan Blackstone and the female rogue who will later be identified as Justine Dupree (not the biggest spoiler I can give). Really, wouldn’t you run too if an orc in a trench coat and hood was chasing you down the streets with a big ass scythe? Especially if you thought he looked like the Grim Reaper from a distance and knew his name was Ivan fucking Blackstone.

　

***MOVIE OR TV SHOW REVIEW***

Though it’s not the freshest thing in my mind right now, my next movie review will be about Kung Fu Panda. This movie has everything I could ever want: martial arts action, animal warriors, and a story where a complete nobody becomes a conquering hero over the course of the movie. Uh-oh! Did I just give away a spoiler? Come on, you knew that shit was coming from miles away. It’s not about IF the hero conquers. It’s about HOW. Never forget that.

　

***WRESTLING OR MMA MATCH REVIEW***

I’ve been giving out passing grades like it’s fucking Christmas lately. Though the season of giving is drawing near, I’m afraid I’ll have to play the role of The Grinch when it comes to a UFC fight between Jake Ellenberger and Rory MacDonald. There was a lot of trash talking before the fight actually happened. In fact, Jake Ellenberger said that Rory MacDonald is “faker than the food he’s named after”. A guy with “berger” in his last name is making a fast food joke about someone named MacDonald. The irony is killing me, but not nearly as much as the boredom resonating from this god-awful fight.

　

***DRAWINGS***

Technically, the short story “Bleed For Weed” is a contemporary drama, not a dark fantasy story. It will be included in American Darkness 2: Black State, not Poison Tongue Tales. When I draw Riff De La Luka, can he really be considered a “dark fantasy warrior”? Of course he can, because I fucking said so!

　

***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Women are always trying to make their men feel better about sex. ‘Oh, it’s not the size of the boat that matters; it’s the motion of the ocean.’ That may be true, but it’s hard to sail to England in a rowboat.”

-Jeff Foxworthy-

Ottie-Doo

The Skull Hammer Cult walked the Earth in search of the ultimate paradise and somehow landed in the backwoods area of Paulson City. Their official church was an old schoolhouse from the 1800’s, a one-classroom compound with broken pieces of wood holding it together and stale red paint coming off in flakes. There used to be a beautiful golden bell at the top of the steeple, but it had since been replaced by the symbol of the Skull Hammer Cult, which was an iron skull minus a jaw with a sledgehammer going through its cranium.

Inside this official church, children ranging from little ones to teenagers were sitting in their desks praying and dancing around like creepy little puppets, waiting for their master to return. Randy Fender, the cult master in question, dredged through the front door carrying what appeared to be a dead cat. Its mouth was bleeding and one eye was hanging out of its socket. Instead of being frightened by this, the children’s eyes lit up like Christmas bulbs as they clapped their hands happily at their masters arrival.

Randy, dressed in a smelly blue mechanic’s jumpsuit and a black demon mask, approached the center of the schoolhouse and laid the dead cat on the altar, its rancid corpse making the ugly Skull Hammer symbol even worse to look at.

Mr. Fender looked among the children and said, “Do you see this? This, my brothers and sisters, is what we’ve been looking for this whole time. Not just a source of tonight’s delicious meal, but this wicked creature holds our key to salvation. This cat is imbued with magical powers, powers that once possessed can make us stronger than we’ve ever been. No mere mortal shall stand in our way to paradise. Wait no longer, children. Take the first bite!”

The hypnotized children waved and wiggled their fingers over the cat’s corpse, as if to anticipate how this magical feast will taste to their young palettes. And then the cat’s body began to glow in a mystical purple aura, which made the little ones even more excited than they already were.

They were forced to take a few steps backward, however, when the cat corpse came to life and stood on all four paws. After letting out a long-winded yawn and popping her eyeball back in its socket with her fuzzy paw, the kitty looked around the schoolhouse to see what all the hubbub was about.

“Yes! This is exactly the proof we needed!” shouted an exhilarated Randy. “I knew I picked the right one! I knew it the minute I laid eyes on this poor tortured pussycat!”

The cat gave a confused look and said, “What the hell are you talking about, you whack job? I’m not a poor tortured pussycat. I’m the kitty sage Ottie-Doo. Call me Ottie for short.”

“Wow!” said one of the children. “She can talk!”

Randy grabbed the kid by the back of the neck and sternly warned him, “Remember what I said when I first met you: don’t speak until spoken to, little one!”

“Put that boy down, you monster!” yelled Ottie before she waved her paw and threw a green lightning bolt at Randy Fender’s hand, the sharp pain causing him to yelp and let go.

“So, you’re not only a magical kitty who can talk, but when you do talk, you’re a total smart-ass! I don’t like your attitude, little kitten. These children know better than anybody what happens to little smarmy-mouthed wise-asses in my Skull Hammer Cult. Children? Show this precious feline what I’m talking about!”

“Wait!” shouted Ottie. “Do you children really want to listen to this man? Look at him! He’s less than human! I’m a dingy old cat myself, so that’s saying a lot! Seriously, what do you young ones see in this disgusting man?!”

No response from the children, only wild red eyes and drooling mouths. Randy said, “You were saying, little kitten?”

“Do what you wish to me, demon man, but no harm shall come to these children!” threatened Ottie-Doo.

The kids laughed in throaty, monstrous voices as they closed in on the kitty with their arms stretched out like zombies. The witch kitty floated in the air with pink stardust fluttering underneath her. The kids stared in awe as she flew around the schoolhouse showing off her magical powers. Her biggest trick yet was forming a ball of orange electrical and fiery energy in her paws and chucking it at Randy Fender’s demonic face.

If the cocky cult leader wasn’t wearing a mask, he would be showing off his creepy confidence as he grabbed a nearby child and used him as a human shield. The magical ball exploded the small child, but not into blood and guts. Instead the little boy turned into a pile of maggots, worms, and beetles. It was a sight that made Ottie-Doo watch on in shock and horror as she floated near the ceiling.

“You can’t save these children, witch cat,” said Randy. “They’ve been converted to my minions a long time ago. So many tearful parents are wondering right now if they’ll ever get their children back. Maybe they will someday. But then again, when your body is loaded with parasitic creatures, would any parent want you back in the first place?” The evil cult leader laughed his head off.

The louder and throatier Randy laughed, the angrier it made Ottie-Doo. Her fuzzy paws were curled into fists of fury and her old lady teeth were cracking underneath her jaws. A cyclone of blue lightning and wind encircled her as she prepared for her next magic spell. Randy was already one step ahead of her when he knelt down to peel back a floor board and pulled out a gigantic battleaxe, which was also glowing with blue energy.

“Just to show you how far gone these children are, Miss Ottie-Doo, let me show you just how much they’re willing to sacrifice to make me stronger!” With that said, Randy held out the glowing battleaxe and one by one the children dissolved into a puddle of worms. The worms crawled all around Randy and were gathering around the metal axe, the blade absorbing their spiritual essences. This horrific sight struck even more fear and doubt in the heart of Ottie-Doo as her magical energy was dwindling and she was sinking to the ground below.

She hung her elderly kitty head feeling like a failure to these poor children. Then again, if they were made of worms and maggots, maybe their childlike forms were merely a mind game. So many thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to wrap her head around what this Randy Fender asshole was doing.

She couldn’t take too long to think, however, as she dodged out of the way in the nick of time when the blade came crashing down. Big Randy swung that battleaxe like a berserker, shattering every piece of wood he hit into sawdust. Ottie bounced around and dodged every single shot. She even found herself running along the walls just to avoid getting slashed with this magical weapon.

“You’re gonna die, bitch! You’re gonna die badly!” screamed Randy when he took off his demon mask and revealed the face of a hideously scarred and tattooed psychopath. The sight of his hideous face made Ottie curl up into a ball of fear as her eyes leaked with salty tears. She didn’t feel like she could fight such a monster anymore. He was too big, too fast, and too monstrous. Ottie was just an elderly cat who literally slept like a corpse.

Randy charged over to a cornered Ottie with the blade held high. With one final swing, he was going to break this “annoying” cat into a million pieces. But just as the blade came crashing down, Ottie had one last hope for victory. Randy’s attacks were relying solely on reckless momentum. Therefore, Ottie used telekinesis to use his own momentum against him. Instead of cutting through the elderly witch kitty, the axe took a magical detour into Randy’s stomach.

The cult master never saw this coming behind his own rage. The spirits of dead children were flying out of his body and out of his axe while the ultra-evil Randy Fender melted into a puddle of maggots and worms himself. The parasites dissolved into little puddles of blood and the last of the children spirits flew away into the night sky. With just one small opening, Ottie-Doo ended this battle.

But at what price? Those kids were beyond help. Whatever Randy Fender did to them would put a strain on the parents forever. All Ottie could do was tuck her head and meow softly to herself. She won the battle, but lost the war.

Just when she was about to spend this evening in a crying slumber, she felt a gentle touch on top of her kitty head. Ottie looked up and saw one of the spirit children smiling a beautiful smile at her, just like all children should. In no uncertain terms, the child spirit had only one thing to say to her savior: “Thank you!”

Not For Business

***NOT FOR BUSINESS***

When I was transitioning from a kid to an adult, I gave up acting out scenes with my action figures and Legos. I had the mindset that if I wasn’t doing something to further my future career as a screenwriter (which is what I wanted to be at the time), then extracurricular activities were unnecessary and therefore a waste of time. I’m sure there are many adults who feel business-minded enough that their careers are their whole lives.

I’m telling you all right now, your career, no matter how passionately you feel about it, is not your whole life, and no extracurricular activities you undertake are a waste of time. Putting time into a career is only a small part of what life is supposed to be. The other part of that equation is…living! I had this struggle when I was drawing pictures of my characters for the first time. At first I thought to myself, “What does drawing pictures have to do with my career as a writer?” Technically, I could put them in my books as part of a mini-gallery, but ultimately, drawings have little impact on my writing career. The past me would have been terrified at that notion. The current version of me couldn’t give two shits.

Working the same job for endless hours can get tiring no matter how dedicated you are. Even the most passionate people have to learn to step away for a while and take the edge off. The now former drummer for Nothing More, Paul O’Brien, left the band because the hectic touring schedule has completely drained him. He was already dealing with social anxiety and depression, so having an off switch for his career was next to impossible. Luckily, he’s still on good terms with his Nothing More band mates. But some coworkers and bosses aren’t so forgiving. CM Punk left the WWE on sour terms because his body was aching and nobody was giving him a break. When you have to quit your career just to take the edge off, that’s a sign that you needed to take the edge off a long time ago, but in shorter bursts.

So don’t feel guilty about getting nothing done to advance your career whatever that may be. Take a break. Feel good about feeling good. Watch a new show. Go for a walk. Find new music to listen to. Draw some pictures. Play some videogames. Hit the reset button on your mind and it when it comes time to get back to work, know your escapes will always be there for you. Do you think Dante and Randal from Clerks feel like serving the community all day long? Bullshit, man! They’re on the roof playing hockey and going for road trips to funeral homes! You can add years to your life, but first you have to learn to add life to your years. And if your legacy isn’t immortalized in bronze by the time life is over, just know that it never had to be. Do what makes you happy with the life you have left. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTEST AND COMPANY***

It’s a new week at the WSS, which means a new prompt for both storytellers and poets. Since I’m the former of those two, I’m going to write a Cat Lady story called “Ottie-Doo”, which goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　
　

Ottie, Elderly Witch Kitty
Randy Fender, Backwoods Cult Leader
Random Cult Members

　

　
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Ottie is a cat who also happens to be a lady.

　

　
SYNOPSIS: Randy has plans to sacrifice Ottie in order to gain her magic powers. What he didn’t count on was Ottie tapping into her powers to fight back against the hairy cultist. The elderly kitty has an entire compound full of followers to fight off, but if anybody can do it, it’s the kitty who throws fireballs just for fun.

　

　

***DRAWING***

My next picture will be of Julian Heath, the gnome rogue protagonist from the Poison Tongue Tales short story “Ascension” (a title that will eventually change). I’m going to try and draw Julian in a way that will take up the whole page, but will also magnify his short stature. I’ve only successfully done this a handful of times, my most recent instance being with Baby from “Nail Bomb” (also from Poison Tongue Tales).

　

***PHOTOGRAPHY***

I’m normally known for taking pictures of my toys and my animals. I don’t take selfies often because I don’t like how the pictures magnify my overweight features. When I dress in my Slipknot costume for Halloween this year, I won’t mind the flashing camera so much. In fact, being overweight will probably help me look scarier than I already will be in that costume. Hehe!

　

***READING***

Now that Daniel Bryan’s memoir has been read and reviewed, it’s time to move on to a more time-sensitive piece of literature. Edward Davies, the author of Divine Intervention, encouraged me to join a group on Good Reads called Read Together, Blog Together. For the month of September, one the books under review is “So…I Met a Vampire” by Paul McAvoy. It’s a quick and short read, so the review should be up in no time at all.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I’m gonna drink a big glass of milk, eat some chocolate chip cookies, and then maybe I’ll take three Viagra.”

-The Rock mocking Kurt Angle-

"YES!" by Daniel Bryan

BOOK TITLE: YES!: My Improbable Journey to the Main Event at Wrestlemania
AUTHOR: Daniel Bryan (with Craig Tello)
YEAR: 2015
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: Pro-Wrestling Memoir
GRADE: Pass


In this David vs. Goliath life story, little Aberdeen, Washington boy Bryan Danielson gets hooked on wrestling from watching The Ultimate Warrior, Bret Hart, Chris Benoit, and Dean Malenko on TV. He became so passionate about it that after graduating high school, he got in his car and traveled to San Antonio, Texas to learn how to wrestle. He went from wrestling in Wal-Mart parking lots to the Tokyo Dome, from high school gyms to reputable American arenas, from English carnivals to his ultimate destination, the New Orleans Superdome, where he won the WWE World Heavyweight Championship by defeating three future Hall of Famers in one long, grueling night.

What makes this life story so amazing is that nobody expected the now christened Daniel Bryan to make it as far as he did. There are hundreds of thousands of wrestlers all over the world and only a select few of them achieve universal fame and fortune. Daniel Bryan is way under six feet tall, only slightly north of 200 lbs., and has more facial hair than a Serengeti lion. Against much bigger opponents, Daniel seemed like the ultimate underdog. He took a lot of beatings and suffered many horrific injuries along his path to success, but that’s what paying your dues in the wrestling industry is all about. Not only had Daniel Bryan paid his dues, but he paid 100% interest.

Daniel is the kind of person you want to see succeed and part of it is because of his personality. If you were to approach this man on the streets, you would find him to be a friendly, laidback, humble human being. He knows wrestling doesn’t owe him anything, in fact, he owes wrestling everything. Underneath all of that modesty is a fiery passion that pushes him through the worst obstacles in his life. Whether those obstacles are amassing a ten match losing streak on a boring WWE sideshow or losing his father and crying relentlessly because of it, Daniel Bryan will not stay down for anything. He’ll tell you everything’s okay one minute and burst into passionate flames the next. It’s part of his Gemini Syndrome, or his dual nature as most people call it.

If you’re in an absolute hurry to get through this book, don’t worry, it’s a fast read. It may not feel that way with Craig Tello’s play-by-play introductions at the beginning of each chapter, but over time you get used to having an extra writer there to narrate the action. Daniel Bryan’s own writing style is no-nonsense and to the point, which is a style most fast-paced writers employ. However, with too little description and liberal use of the word “very”, it’s easy to tell that Daniel Bryan doesn’t write for a living. I’m not saying this is a badly written book, because it’s not. But if you’re expecting a celebrity memoir, you’ve got one.

I’ve been a Daniel Bryan fan ever since I started paying attention to the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards in 2008. I hadn’t seen one Daniel Bryan match prior to NXT in 2010, but apparently he’s famous in the online community for being the Best Technical Wrestler, Most Outstanding Wrestler, and having a Match of the Year. The first two awards he won multiple times over many years and eventually became the Most Outstanding Wrestler of the Decade for 2000-2009. It also helps matters that Daniel Bryan is an environmentally conscious animal lover who rubs shoulders with poor people. The fact that a mere hungry man like Mr. Bryan can accomplish so much through hard work and passion is a story that epics are made of. We love the underdog story and always will.

Blood Brawl, Chapter 2

Horace, the host at the Dragon Wings Orc Bar, wasn’t giving into any racial stereotypes of being an aggressive brute. On the contrary, he felt weak after the previous night’s events, which were fresher in his mind than a gushing slash wound. The interior of the bar had been reduced to ashes by that…thing. There was hardly any furniture left and the few tables and chairs that survived the assault were covered in blood and ashes. The counter was among the survivors and looked no better than the rest of the furniture.

The distraught bartender stood at the counter absentmindedly running a dirty dish rag along the insides of the same mug for ten whole minutes. With his only customers turned to worm food, it didn’t matter to the public what his state of mind was at the time. His traumatized brain was about to be flooded with cold numbness when he saw a figure standing in the doorway in a black trench coat and a hood wielding a scythe. Horace dropped to the ground and cowered in fear thinking he really was dead after all.

Horace’s heart thumped in his chest and his body had gone cold with dripping sweat. Not another trauma, damn it! And then the orcish voice said, “It’s alright, Horace, it’s me, Ivan. The bartender slowly stood up and saw that the voice indeed belonged to Ivan Blackstone, an orc warrior who for some reason loved to dress up like the grim reaper and carry a scythe to boot. Ivan casually said, “Yeah, I know, weapons aren’t allowed.” before depositing his blade on the ground.

The bartender was both relieved and argumentative at the same time when he continued wiping his mug and said, “Listen, I don’t need a lecture about what happened last night. I’m not in the goddamn mood for another scare. So if you’re not going to order anything to drink, I suggest you take your soapbox somewhere else.”

Ivan slammed his palms on the counter (which spooked Horace into a little jump) and drummed his fingers while giving the barkeep a despising glare. “What did you think was going to happen when you allowed those two to fight each other? Does anybody take kindly to having their head shaved after getting their ass kicked? Do I also need to remind you that Gargoth Trencher, the one who lost that ‘wrestling’ match, was not just this ‘death angel’ everyone’s talking about; he was my best friend.”

“If you consider that monster to be your friend, then you’ve got some fucked up social skills, kid.”

“Anybody who runs a wrestling league from their bar doesn’t have the right to criticize other people’s social skills. Besides, all this death angel chatter is news to me as well. Gargoth didn’t look anything like that when I tried to talk him out of coming here. No warning signs at all. An arrogant prick? Maybe. Hardheaded? Absolutely. Death angel? Never would have guessed it in a million years.”

Still wiping down the same mug, Horace said, “So you think there’s some hocus pocus bullshit going on here? Hell, I’d probably learn some magic too if someone was bold enough to shave my head. That death angel gig can be pretty nice after losing a wrestling match.”

Ivan grabbed Horace by his shirt and pulled him closer for an even more intense stare down. “If you’re suggesting that Gargoth did this on purpose, then you’ve got more problems on your hands than a messed up bar. You’ve got a pissed off best friend to deal with!”

Horace’s initial fear was replaced with screaming anger when he said, “Best friend?! You call that monster your best friend?! You’re actually making excuses for someone who’s beyond redemption?! I always knew you were loyal to your friends, Ivan, but this is downright evil! Take a look around you, buddy! Look at all those burned corpses! Look them in the eyes and tell them your little theory about how Gargoth Trencher is an innocent man! I’m sure if they were alive today, they’d completely understand!”

The trench coat-wearing orc found himself unable to argue with that point and let go of Horace’s shirt. The bartender went right back to cleaning his glass when Ivan finally pointed it out to him: “You realize you’ve been wiping that same glass since I got here, right? Do you even know where the hell you are right now?”

The frustrated host threw the glass on the ground and stomped on it several times, “Of course I know where I am. I’m in hell! And there’s no way out! Come to think of it, you’re in hell too, my friend! It’ll only get worse when your so-called best friend lays those fiery eyes on you and turns you to shit with just one stare!”

“Trust me, Horace, I’m ready to scour the earth for Gargoth. This isn’t just about friendship. This is about getting the answers that I deserve. Maybe your dead patrons won’t like my innocence theory very much, but they probably would like some answers, at least their families would.”

Horace made a flat tire noise and said, “Okay, so you think you can find him before every other bounty hunter does. That’s right, buddy. If I know King Lovelace like I think I do, he’s probably offering hundreds of thousands of gold pieces just for that bastard Gargoth’s head. He doesn’t offer that kind of money unless the bounty head is really goddamn hard to find. So, not only do you get to play chit-chat with your little butt buddy, but you also get to make some money off of the whole thing. If I had that much money, I’d stop walking around dressed like the grim reaper.”

“Money? You think I give two shits about the money?” said Ivan Blackstone in an angry whisper before clutching Horace around the throat and squeezing with his muscular hand. “I swear on my mother’s grave, Horace, if you make one more shitty comment about my friend like that, I will rip out your liver!”

The bartender would have passed out if Ivan didn’t release his grip shortly after hearing a noise from upstairs. Horace sat on the ground coughing up spittle, snot, and blood while sucking in every last breath of air he could. Ivan picked up his scythe and tried to make his way up the stairs to the attic when Horace stopped him with harsh words.

“That’s right, Ivan! You keep on defending that piece of shit! You keep telling yourself that he’s being controlled by someone else and this whole death angel gig is just a ruse! I’m sure even you will believe it someday!” Horace sucked in deeper breaths and said, “But know this…although I could never beat your ass in a fight, there’s someone out there who will have had enough of your bullshit and will rip YOUR liver out!”

Instead of engaging in another heated struggle with Horace, Ivan frankly said, “We have a spy in our midst. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to be able to find whoever’s up there!” The scythe-wielding badass stormed up the stairs and into the attic, where the light, fast-paced footsteps confirmed to Horace what Ivan just said.

By the time Ivan made it to the top, he scoped around the dingy and dusty cluster bomb of whiskey barrels, but whoever was up here before was giving him a good slip. The squirrel-like footsteps sounded off from seemingly in all directions. Ivan’s eyes shot around everywhere until from out of the corner of his right eye, a pair of booted feet flew toward him and smashed him in the face. The orc was knocked backwards by the stinging, possibly bruise-forming kick, but he didn’t fall on his ass until tripping over a barrel.

Ivan was only slightly dizzy from that drop kick, so while he was lying on the ground, his vision was clear enough to spot a young female human rogue dashing toward the glass window and throwing another drop kick to break it open and make her escape. Such a powerful kick would have been enough to keep normal men down.

But this wasn’t any normal man. This was Ivan freaking Blackstone. He may not have been an orcish stereotype, but one thing he acknowledged as part of his race was his ability to endure beatings. He got up instantly, grabbed his scythe, and ran toward the window after whoever was spying on him and Horace. He screamed, “Get back here, you sneaky bitch!” and then jumped out the window himself in pursuit of this mysterious lady.

Guest Blog Post: Andy Peloquin on Music's Influence on Creative Writing

How Does Music Affect Your Writing?

Writers and artists tend to be fairly divided over the habit of listening to music while creating art (or "arting" as I love to say!). Some say that silence is the vacuum into which creativity flows, while others believe that music helps to stimulate creativity.

As for myself, I fall firmly into the latter camp. Music doesn't just enhance my creativity--it is the "on" switch that gets me writing.

It's well-known that music can affect your mood. For example, in one study, it was proven that listening to Mozart improved the performance of spatial ability tests. The participants who listened to energetic Mozart music performed much better than those listening to slower, moodier Albinoni music.

I've got a few examples of how specific songs and music styles can affect my writing:

For action scenes -- If I'm writing a fight scene, a very active scene, or a part of the book that is very high-energy, I like to listen to upbeat, fast-tempo music. Songs like Skrillex' Make it Burn Dem or Bangarang makes me more energetic, and thus it makes the action scene more robust and lively.

For emotionally charged scenes -- If I’m writing a scene that is heavily emotional, the haunting violin music of Lindsey Stirling will usually be the "writing aid" I need to get in the mood. Something about the highs and lows of the music makes it brilliant for the ebb and flow of emotions.

For angry scenes -- If I want to get my characters yelling at each other, there are a few songs that work for me. For example, Knock You Out by Bingo Players is perfect for that righteous anger, such as the hero getting angry at the villain for some villainous deed. But if I want spite and the sort of petty anger common among anti-heroes and villains, I'll turn to a song like Shatter Me by Lizzi Hale and Lindsey Stirling. The raw emotion in that song makes it wonderful for getting angry!

For sad scenes -- If I have a character that needs to feel sorrow over a loss, a betrayal, or something sad, Rihanna's What Now is a great song. The lyrics blend with the music to make it a perfect song of "What Ifs" or "If Onlys".

For depressive, moody scenes -- If I need to write a gloomy, moody scene where my characters are depressed or introspective, a song that works brilliantly is Safe and Sound by Capital Cities. It puts me in a melancholy emotional state, helping me to tap into those emotions and infuse them into my writing.

Then, of course, there are songs that just make writing a whole lot of fun! They put a "pep into my step", as it were, helping me to get through the boring, narrative-heavy scenes or less important dialogue. They're the writing equivalent of a "workout mix", with songs like:
Selfie by The Chainsmokers
Beam Me Up by Cazzette
Break Free by Arianna Grande ft. Zedd
Bad by David Guetta
Albatraoz by AronChupa
Isn't it amazing how these songs--many of them fairly similar in style and genre--can have such a markedly different effects on me?

What songs affect you the most? What songs make you mad, sad, and glad? Leave a comment below and share your thoughts, or send me an email at andy.peloquin@gmail.com and let me know! Perhaps your songs could have a similar effect on me…



 

Tagline/Elevator Pitch:



A faceless, nameless assassin. A forgotten past. The Hunter of Voramis--a killer devoid of morals, or something else altogether? (Blade of the Destroyer--dark fantasy with a look at the underside of human nature)



Book Blurb:


The Last Bucelarii (Book 1): Blade of the Destroyer


The Hunter of Voramis is the perfect assassin: ruthless, unrelenting, immortal. Yet he is haunted by lost memories, bonded to a cursed dagger that feeds him power yet denies him peace of mind. Within him rages an unquenchable need for blood and death.

When he accepts a contract to avenge the stolen innocence of a girl, the Hunter becomes the prey. The death of a seemingly random target sends him hurtling toward destruction, yet could his path also lead to the truth of his buried past?

　

Book Info:



Title: The Last Bucelarii (Book 1): Blade of the Destroyer

Author: Andy Peloquin

Official Launch Date: August 21st, 2015

Publication Date: July 11^th, 2015

Paperback Price: $15.99

Digital Price: $3.99

Pages: 298

ISBN: 1515038955

　

Buy Links:



Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Blade-Destroyer-Last-Bucelarii-Book-ebook/dp/B012EI9M4A/

Amazon Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Blade-Destroyer-Last-Bucelarii-Book/dp/1515038955/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25269614-blade-of-the-destroyer

　

Book Launch Event:



https://www.facebook.com/events/1625045874438351/

　

Bio:


Andy Peloquin: Lover of All Things Dark and Mysterious


Andy Peloquin--a third culture kid to the core--has loved to read since before he could remember. Sherlock Holmes, the Phantom of the Opera, and Father Brown are just a few of the books that ensnared his imagination as a child.

When he discovered science fiction and fantasy through the pages of writers like Edgar Rice Burroughs, J.R.R Tolkien, and Orson Scott Card, he was immediately hooked and hasn't looked back since.

Andy's first attempt at writing produced In the Days: A Tale of the Forgotten Continent. He has learned from the mistakes he made and used the experience to produce Blade of the Destroyer, a book of which he is very proud.

Reading—and now writing—is his favorite escape, and it provides him an outlet for his innate creativity. He is an artist; words are his palette.

His website (http://www.andypeloquin.com) is a second home for him, a place where he can post his thoughts and feelings--along with reviews of books he finds laying around the internet.

He can also be found on his social media pages, such as:

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AndyPeloquin

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/andyqpeloquin

www.linkedin.com/in/andypeloquin/

https://plus.google.com/100885994638914122147/about

https://www.amazon.com/author/andypeloquin

https://www.facebook.com/andrew.peloquin.1


　

10 Things You Need to Know About Me:
Hot wings, ALWAYS!
I never forget a face, but rarely remember a name.
I'm a head taller than the average person (I'm 6' 6")
Marvel > DC
I was born in Japan, and lived there until the age of 14.
Selena Gomez and Five Finger Death Punch are both in my playlist.
Aliens are real, but it's self-centered of us to believe that they would come to visit Earth.
Watching sports: suck. Playing sports: EPIC!
I earned a purple belt in Karate/Hapkido/Taekwondo.
I dislike most Christmas music, aside from Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
　
Reviews:



"Creative, gritty, and beautifully dark...fantasy addicts will love it!" -- Peter Story, author of Things Grak Hates -- http://peterjstory.com/

"The fantasy world has a compelling new antihero…the Hunter will terrify and captivate you." - Eve A Floriste, author of Fresh Cut

"From the first words on the page this fantasy holds the reader spellbound even after the book is finished…his character is very well-defined even if his past is a mystery. Root for an assassin? Oh, yes, one must!" -- Carol Conley, for InDTale Magazine