Captain Evil

***CAPTAIN EVIL***

More often than not, when I’m writing a blog entry like this one, I like to joke about how nobody would take a villain named Captain Evil seriously. Who is Captain Evil? He’s my punch line for any villain who is evil for the sake of being evil. No motivations, no ambitions, no personality, just evil, evil, evil. Stomping on kittens, blowing up buildings, shooting up schools, all for the sake of being a massive dick. Do villains like these exist? Of course they do, but they’re mostly in golden age videogames and children’s cartoons.

If Bowser from the Mario Brothers franchise was renamed Captain Evil, nobody would even notice. He too has a one-track mind with not much dimension to him. Kidnapping Princess Peach seems to be his only motivation in life. But what does he do with her? Is he in love with her? Does it turn out at long last that Bowser is a horny incel? And if he’s really this big ass turtle warrior with a spiked shell and fiery breath, how come he has incompetent minions do his bidding for him? I know the early Mario games weren’t intended for deep thinking, but when you’re writing your own story, you really have no choice but to question a lot of these Captain Evil tropes.

But enough about Bowser and his two dimensions (both in terms of sprite graphics and character development). What about an actual person named Captain Evil? Is it really possible to redeem such a character? His name already gives off vibes of being a villain, much like the name Sweet Pea would lead you to believe she’s a protagonist. But what’s in a name? Does it say Captain Evil on his driver’s license? What if it’s just a catchy nickname? What if the guy who uses that name isn’t really evil, but just a really tough son of a bitch?

What if Captain Evil was the name of a military drill instructor who screamed at his privates all the time? Feel free to take that however you want. What if Captain Evil was a mixed-martial artist with an aggressive fighting style? What if Captain Evil was an actual supervillain? Could he still have multiple layers in his character development? Sure, he can! Maybe he doesn’t see being evil as a bad thing. Maybe he admits he’s evil and just doesn’t give a shit. Maybe it’s the world around him who gave him this label and he’s just rolling with it.

But the thing about multi-layered villains as that they don’t actually believe they’re the bad guy in their story. In fact, nobody in this world sees themselves as a villain despite the fact that they might do shitty things from time to time. Everybody has an original point of view, everybody has their own version of right and wrong, and our differences clash often. So even a guy with the name Captain Evil couldn’t see himself as a true villain if he has any chance at being multi-layered.

If you must make Captain Evil sympathetic, do it in a way that doesn’t involve a troubled past that leads nowhere. It’s a tired trope that only matters if executed correctly. If Captain Evil’s parents were killed, it has to lead to somewhere. If Captain Evil was bullied in school, it has to figure into the story somehow. If you’re just piling on problems for the sake of making a villain into a victim, you’re not doing yourself or your character any favors.

I know how ironic it seems to hear me say that since I too struggle with creating sympathetic characters. Then again, these days I struggle with every aspect of the writing game, whether it’s realistic dialogue, showing vs. telling, and of course, creating three-dimensional characters. I’ve been writing since 2002 and I still get it wrong from time to time. It’s almost as though I need someone to hold my hand for me as I cross the street. Although all first drafts by their very nature suck ass, some suck more than others. Some first drafts have an incomplete version of Captain Evil lurking in the background. I know a lot of mine do.

I’m not recommending you actually create a character named Captain Evil, unless of course it’s a challenge you want to undertake. If you like challenges and you like creating chicken salad out of chicken shit, then by all means, go for it. Some people thrive with minimal creative fuel. Some people need more to go by. As for myself, if I ever decide to create my own version of Captain Evil, I’m going to need all the help I can get from beta readers, editors, and Author Tubers with funny and helpful videos (I’m looking at you, Jenna Moreci).

Wait a minute…did I just namedrop Jenna Moreci? In a blog about Captain Evil? Her debut novel “Eve: the Awakening” has a character in it named Captain Ramsey. He was a former Navy Captain who now teaches combat classes at Billington University. He’s tough-minded, he’s hardcore, he’s a no-bullshit kind of guy. He doesn’t accept mediocrity from any of his students, least of all chimeras. Could he accept the nickname Captain Evil even though he’s technically one of the good guys? If we’re going by his no-bullshit attitude alone, then yes, I can see him earning that moniker. And wouldn’t you know it? He’s three-dimensional too!

If Jenna Moreci can successfully create Captain Evil, you can too and so can I! Let’s create an army of Captain Evils together! We’ve got this! No challenge is too big for us! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! Anyone who can guess where my new sign-off phrase comes from gets a free cookie. It’ll be a digital cookie, but it’ll have chocolate chips nonetheless. Or if you’re an Oreo guy, you can have that too.

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

I’m looking at all the time stamps in which I completed these twenty-four chapters so far and holy shit, are they spaced out. Twenty-four chapters so far with three remaining on deck. I didn’t begin rewriting Beautiful Monster until late November last year. That means it took me over half a year to rewrite a novel that normally takes me two months at most. I don’t like to beat myself up over little shit, but goddamn, that’s got to be the longest I’ve ever spent on a WIP. Then again, I’ve also had quite a few creative and real life projects on my plate in lieu of Beautiful Monster. My Jack and the Beanstalk parody Emilio & Marigold dominated a good portion of my year. So did reading the shortest books in my library and reviewing them all. So did writing short stories and poems for the WSS on Good Reads. I can’t blame it all on psychological torpor, but since Impostor Syndrome is a bitch….Anyways, I wrote chapter twenty-four earlier today, so I’m a happy motherfucker. Windham finally swears! Yay! And I’m not just talking about damn and hell either. He dropped an F-bomb on Shelly like it was an actual nuclear warhead. You want to know what he said to her? “FUCK LOVE!” Speaking of which…

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Binary lie never scratch it on my skin. But you’d loved to see the mark just to fill the blackness in. I know what you are. You’re the last thing I see as my lungs fill. I’ll be goddamned if you didn’t love the sin while you offer up advice just to keep your secrets in. I know what you are. You’re the last breath I breathe as my lungs fill. Fuck love! It only goes away. There’s no goddamn good in this goodbye you made me say. Don’t love ever again. Fuck love! Your promise was in vain. There’s no goddamn good in this goodbye you made me say. Don’t love ever again. Counting all the days that deception was the game. I lived every day just to keep my promises. I can’t hide the scar. Now my last breath is yours and my lungs fill. Didn’t see the snake that was signaling the change. I’ll be damned for my sleep but still I hold you to blame. Still hold you to. Fuck love!”

-All That Remains singing “Fuck Love”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Do any All That Remains fans out there get the feeling that “Fuck Love” was written about Oli Herbert’s relationship with his wife before he died? I don’t want to peddle conspiracy theories, but…

Someplace Else

VERSE 1

Marble halls and diamond ceilings

Still yearning for those feelings

Still can’t see the beauty in the art

Still can’t find the glue for my heart

Roasted beast and potato salad

Buttered greens, I must have them

A temporary fix for my mental tricks

Back to feeling down in the sunset town

CHORUS

I’d rather be someplace else

In a different kind of hell

I’d rather be anywhere else

I need to look after myself

VERSE 2

Dancing troupe playing with fire

Balancing on the highest of wires

Still can’t find my own salvation

No matter how cultured the nation

Glass of wine that tastes so fine

Still the pain is just mine all mine

There really is no heaven on earth

Fuck every mile for what it’s worth

CHORUS

I’d rather be someplace else

In a different kind of hell

I’d rather be anywhere else

I need to look after myself

BRIDGE

Eating pills like candy

Can really come in handy

Fifty percent of the time

It’s still an uphill climb

Relaxing on the beaches

The lessons that it teaches

Money and energy spent

Just to feel internal death

VERSE 3

So far out in the galaxy

The universe is mad at me

I could make a wish on a star

To be taken away somewhere far

But wherever I go, I bring my pain

The expensive bill is always the same

I need a vacation from my broken heart

When will this new journey start?

CHORUS

I’d rather be someplace else

In a different kind of hell

I’d rather be anywhere else

I need to look after myself

The Secret Life of Pets 2

MOVIE TITLE: The Secret Life of Pets 2

DIRECTOR: Chris Renaud

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: 3D Animated Comedy

RATING: PG for comic mischief

GRADE: Pass

A Jack Russell Terrier named Max is having difficulty with being stressed out and easily fearful, especially when his owner has a baby named Liam and the whole family takes a trip to a chaotic farm. A superhero rabbit named Snowball has been charged with the task of rescuing a white tiger named Hu from a sadistic circus owner. While Max is away on vacation, his Pomeranian girlfriend Gidget is tasked with taking care of his favorite squeaky bumblebee toy only for it to wind up in a crazy cat lady’s apartment. These three stories converge near the end and the animals find that they’re willing to do extraordinary things to achieve their individual goals.

Cuteness aside, the guy who put together this movie definitely has experience with animal quirks and it shows in the most obvious ways. Cats chasing after laser pens, dogs acting paranoid when things get too stressful, animals in general defecating in places where the owners will least suspect it, cats knocking things over haphazardly, the list goes on and on. I can confirm all of these things and more since I too am an avid animal lover. Realism will always earn points with the audience, especially if there’s humor attached to it. You don’t have to hee-haw at every scene to think it’s funny. You could be laughing on the inside and walking out of the movie theater with happiness in your heart. Isn’t that what animal movies are all about?

Every story and subplot in this movie was well-executed, but my favorite in terms of character development has to be Max and his journey to overcome the fear of everything. In this respect, he really has no choice since he vacations on a farm with animals who don’t respect him and eventually crosses paths with Sergei, the cruel and vicious circus owner. Courage isn’t the absence of fear, but the action taken in spite of fear. We already know that Snowball the superhero bunny will voluntarily throw himself into danger for the good of the group. Gidget’s fear of being around that many cats dissipates rather quickly. But for Max, it’s a journey that spans the entire movie. Will he face things head on or will he continue itching at something that isn’t there? If not for himself, then he has extra motivation when doing it for baby Liam and his parents.

And now here comes the downer of this review. At the time that I’m writing this, my elderly cat Emilio is slowly but surely passing away due to failing kidneys and a subsequent loss of appetite. Throughout his final days, I’ve been finding solace not only in my creative activities (which includes this review), but also watching The Secret Life of Pets 2. In other words, this movie was literally therapy for me. It reminded me that I did everything I could to save Emilio’s life and when his time eventually comes, he can cross the Rainbow Bridge a happy kitty. He was fourteen years old, but I’ve only owned him for the past six months. Rest well, baby Emilio. You’ll always be my baby despite your advanced age.

If you’re looking for a feel-good movie with plenty of cuteness and humor, you’ll get a lot of satisfaction out of The Secret Life of Pets 2. Even if you haven’t seen the first movie, you’ll still get enjoyment out of the sequel and you won’t be confused by the plot. Based on the success of the sequel, I plan on watching the first movie on Netflix when I get the chance. How does a passing grade sound to you guys?

The Sadness Olympics

Melanie Chappell’s legs rattled underneath her graduation robe while her mind bombarded her with traumatic images. Every gunshot. Every scream of death. Every splatter of blood. And then the coup-de-grace: one final bullet from the shooter’s gun aimed at his own head. Just like that it was all over, but in Melanie’s numbed out brain, it still went on.

How dare these students and faculty members carry on without her? How dare they leave her behind while she suffered silently? Her grades could get her into any school she wanted, but all the A+’s in the world couldn’t take away pain that would last forever…or at least until she deemed fit to use the undetected metal device in her pocket.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage our valedictorian, Miss Melanie Chappell!”

The numbness wore off as she realized Principal Jeff Nygard’s voice summoning her to the podium. She just then remembered she was at a graduation ceremony. It took too long for the applause to register in her mind. Even the fancy purple and green colors of Principal Nygard’s wizard-like robe blended in with the rest of Melanie’s pitch black world.

High heels aside, Melanie’s legs nearly buckled underneath her as she staggered to the podium. Going back to bed was better than listening to these claps, which sounded too much for her comfort like repetitive gunfire from an AR-15. Instead of cycling through what she was supposed to say, she contemplated what the acronym AR stood for. Asshole Redneck? Aryan Race? Ammosexual Romance? She would have smiled at that last one if she didn’t nearly fall over the podium. Luckily, Principal Nygard’s hands were there to catch her.

“I’m okay,” she unconvincingly whispered to Nygard.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine…at least I think so.”

As Principal Nygard took his seat at the back of the stage, the concerned faces of graduating classmates washed over her war-like mind. While gunshots and blood splatters still smashed her mind into fragments, she believed the students’ reactions to be underwhelming for what had just happened a month ago. Had it really been a month? Or was it five seconds ago? Who gives a fuck, it’s never really over, she thought to herself.

Melanie attempted to adjust the microphone to her mouth and did so poorly. She stalled for time with a few halfhearted coughs. When time became a bigger enemy to her than the incel with the gun, she wiped away a singular tear and tried her damnedest to speak.

“Thank you all for coming out here today.” God, that sounded stupid, she thought. “I, uh…I know you all…this isn’t the end of…” Tears splashed around her eyeballs as she struggled to compose herself. Fuck it, I’ll go with it.

“A month ago, something awful happened at our school. I won’t go into the specifics of it since it’s fresh enough in everyone’s minds as it is. Many of our classmates died that day. Their families will never get to see them achieve greatness. Never see them smile again. Never erase those memories from their minds. And…while we can all agree to come together and give each other comfort and strength…not everyone on the internet sees it that way. In fact, there’s a…disgusting hashtag going around social media called The Sadness Olympics. It’s used by trolls who want to mock what we’ve been through, to protect their so-called second amendment rights, to…to…”

Melanie’s words became scrambled as silent tears dropped from her eyes like waterfalls. She could feel Principal Nygard’s hand on her shoulder, a sign of the comfort she spoke of before the most disgusting hashtag on the internet left her mouth. Jeff whispered, “If you need to leave the stage, you have my permission.”

“No! No…I’ve got this, Mr. Nygard. I’ve got this….”

Once he sat back down among all the other wizard-robe-wearing faculty members, rage bubbled from beneath Melanie’s skin like a murky, venomous swamp. Despite the tears rolling down her face, her expression said, “Do not fuck with me!” without those words actually coming off of her tongue.

“To whoever’s circulating that hashtag, I’ve got a message for you,” said Melanie. “You’re every bit as evil as the gunman who came to our school. You may not have pulled the trigger, but make no mistake about it, you’re a murderer!”

“Miss Chappell, please!” begged Principal Nygard.

“Shut up! I told you I’ve got this!” The whole auditorium along with the school Principal fell silent. “The fact that people think our suffering, my suffering is funny makes me sick to my stomach. People like that are the whole reason our country is going to shit.”

As the audience gasped at the swear word, Principal Nygard spoke up once again. “Miss Chappell, that’s enough! Please leave the stage, if not for us, then for your own benefit!”

“I told you I’ve got this, Mr. Nygard, now sit down and shut up! It’s what you do best!” His face grew red with embarrassment while his jaw nearly touched his lap. Melanie’s silver-tongued rhetoric continued. “The only thing that makes me sicker than that hashtag is the fact that it’s being used by some of our own students, many of whom are here today! I see you out there! You think this is comedy? Fine! You can laugh while your guts are spilling out of your body! You can literally laugh your head off as a bullet passes through it!

“And now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn’t be so mad that a shooter came to our school with a AR-15 or whatever the fuck it’s called! Hell, I would have come in with an army tank if I knew where to find one! I’d still be traumatized! I’d still wake up in the middle of the night trying to recover from a shitty dream! But you know what? If it means you hashtag warriors, you Sadness Olympics comedians, will get what’s coming to you, it’d be worth taking Xanax for the rest of my life! I can’t even afford it since it’s a controlled substance, but if Principal Nygard has taught me anything, it’s that it’s all in my head, a head which should be filled with ‘thoughts and prayers’, by the way!”

The students gasped once again as Nygard’s tone grew more serious. “One more outburst from you, Miss Chappell, and I’ll withhold your diploma! No more of this nonsense, you understand me?!”

Suddenly calming down, Melanie turned around to face her Principal with dewy eyes and a neon pink face. “Yeah…yeah, I understand, Mr. Nygard. I really shouldn’t have gotten off track like that. Sorry. I forgot we were supposed to be taking away each other’s pain, not shuffling it around.”

Facing the students again and adjusting the microphone nervously, Melanie’s streak of calmness continued. “Truth is, I don’t really have a solution to your traumas. I don’t even have a solution for my own. I don’t really know if we’re going to have another school shooting or not. I don’t know if we’re going to get more from our government than so-called ‘thoughts and prayers’.

“But one thing I do know…is that I don’t want any part of this. The graduation ceremony, the diploma, the college debt I’ll rack up…it’s all for nothing if my nightmares won’t leave me alone for even a few seconds. It’s all for nothing if internet trolls are just going to keep cracking jokes about us. So you know what I say? Before another horny incel has the chance to gun me down…I’ll strike first.”

In one swift motion, Melanie pulled a pistol out of her pocket and blew her own brains out, sending one final message to her fellow classmates. A message that hope is only an illusion, comedy isn’t fun anymore, and “thoughts and prayers” is just a phrase as empty as Melanie’s exploded skull. She could have sworn she heard screams everywhere around her, but only for a few seconds before her body went completely limp. What’s one more trauma to these people, right?

Anything Can Be a D&D Campaign

***ANYTHING CAN BE A D&D CAMPAIGN***

Yes, you read that title right. Anything, and I do mean anything, can become a D&D campaign no matter how ordinary or extraordinary the inspiration is. D&D campaigns are just stories you tell to a group of friends. Novels, on the other hand, are D&D campaigns that you play by yourself. Whether you’re playing with yourself or you’re doing it in a big group, there’s a story deep within you. Deep within the cock, cock, cockles of your heart. If you’ve got a mind for fantasy, you’ve got a D&D campaign.

Let’s take something ordinary for our first example. Let’s say you’re going to the supermarket for some groceries. Nothing special, just some eggs, milk, cheese, bread, lunch meat, god knows what else. You can take this ordinary creative fuel and make it extraordinary in a heartbeat. Perhaps the supermarket is being robbed by a gang of orcish thugs. Perhaps the lunch meat you purchased came from a slain dragon. Perhaps the eggs have snake fetuses inside. All you have to do is take one element of this simple story and twist it into a fantasy setting with some hot action for the characters. Congratulations, you’ve got a D&D story! A trip to the supermarket will now be a glorious adventure.

Now let’s up the ante a little bit with a computer game of Solitaire. Still an ordinary situation, but now it’s in the confines of an extraordinary piece of machinery. Can we make a D&D campaign out of a game of solitaire? Abso-fucking-lutely! The goal of the game is to get every card from the aces to the kings situated in four cells. What if those kings, queens, jacks, and jokers were real people? What if they were being locked in real cells by the joker and held hostage? What will the joker do with his newfound hostages? Ransom them? Beat them? Torture them? Fuck them? Is there any chance at all of saving the royal hostages? Would the two of diamonds or three of clubs even want to save them? Would a four of spades be able to use a shovel as a weapon, like the spade suggests? So many possibilities. The world is yours to unlock and unravel!

And once again, we’ll up the ante with something a little more glorious than a trip to the supermarket or a game of solitaire. Let’s say you want to make a D&D campaign out of your old Final Fight SNES cartridge. You certainly can do that! For those not old enough to remember, Final Fight is a videogame where you take a beefy brawler of your choice and beat the living hell out of the Mad Gear Gang until they give back their pretty young hostage. The creative fuel from such a game is endless. Mike Haggar, a muscular professional wrestler in the game, could be a dragon-born barbarian that breaths fire and chops shit down with battleaxes. Guy, a skinny little ninja, could be an elf with magical abilities to make up for his lack of physical strength. Cody Travers? He could wear gauntlets as he punches through armies of half-orcs on his way to save his girlfriend Jessica Haggar. The possibilities are literally endless!

Of course, the creative alterations you make to any source of creative fuel don’t have to be purely cosmetic, nor should they be. Badass non-human characters are nice, but without a concrete story, they’ve got no reason for doing the things they do and they’ve got no reason to develop beyond their archetypes. So how do you take a game of Vegas Stakes for the SNES and develop it into a, pardon the pun, high stakes situation? For those who don’t know, Vegas Stakes is basically a gambling game where the object is to win…(lifts my pinky to my face) one million dollars! There could be many wrinkles you could add to a seemingly shallow storyline. What if you cheated to win that money and now have to face the wrath of beefy bouncers? What if you spent your winnings on prostitutes and got one of them pregnant? What if you lost all of your money and have to do some unsavory things to get it back? And of course, there’d be dragons flying around everyone and half-orcs losing their shit every which way. It just wouldn’t be a D&D campaign without those things happening every six seconds.

Do I have your attention now? You don’t have to look very hard to find a multi-layered story in the most ordinary or extraordinary things. When you build your story, make sure the characters are the ones driving it. We like character-driven stories, because without the characters, there’s nothing to develop and without anything to develop and cultivate, your story is boring as shit. There are authors out there who still get this wrong. It’s forgivable during the first draft stages, but once your book is out there on the market, you’re fresh out of excuses. Find your story. Build your characters. Make those two things interact with each other. Find friends who are willing to play your new D&D campaign. But if you don’t have friends, write the novel yourself. The world is yours. What you do with it is up to you. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

Holy shit! I just found another source of creative fuel, this time from my sign off phrase, which is stolen from a Three Days Grace song. Climbing mountains even when you’re dying? Why are you climbing the mountain? What’s on the top of it that’s so special? What obstacles will test your mettle? Are there dragons, barbarians, and wizards who want that special prize as much as you do? Do I still have your attention, motherfuckers?

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Speaking of three-dimensional stories, this new edition of Beautiful Monster is drawing to a close with just three more chapters and an epilogue to write. So close, yet so far away! I can do this! All I have to do is guide Windham, Llewellyn, and Tarja on a mission to pick off poisoned mercenaries and soldiers one by one. Seems easy since they’re all choking on blight fumes, right? Well, not exactly. There are still three people on the battlefield who arrived late and therefore didn’t breathe in an ass-load of toxic smoke. Any guesses as to who these three are? I’m waiting!

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call an ordinary Shrek character?

A: Medi-ogre.

***POST-SCRIPT***

What’s this? I have another piece of creative fuel to work with? A Shrek-based D&D campaign? Hell yeah!

Raised By Television

VERSE 1

How many slurs are you allowed to use?

How many drugs are you allowed to abuse?

How many sheep are you allowed to confuse?

How many lives are you allowed to lose?

You watch the box, but never question it

You have a dispute, but never settle it

You never pick apart the stories you hear

Cave in to manufactured crises and fears

CHORUS

Raised by television

Rattling your vision

It’s now your mission

To widen the division

VERSE 2

Fantasy, reality, what’s the difference?

Fucked up adult, why the bitterness?

Nostalgic for your lost brain cells

And your depleted creative wells

Nothing wrong with a good story

Nothing wrong with living the glory

As long as you think for yourself

And not let your life spiral to hell

CHORUS

Raised by television

Rattling your vision

It’s now your mission

To widen the division

BRIDGE

Question everything

The lyrics you sing

The shows you watch

The life you botch

VERSE 3

Pick up a book and learn how to hook

The audience in for more than a look

Go outside and play Seek and Hide

Jump on the rollercoaster, go for a ride

Swim in a lake for as long as you take

Drive around town to musical sounds

When you go back to the glowing box

Keep your wits, be crazy like a fox

CHORUS

Raised by television

Rattling your vision

It’s now your mission

To widen the division

Dark Phoenix

MOVIE TITLE: Dark Phoenix

DIRECTOR: Simon Kinberg

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Superhero Adventure

RATING: PG-13 for violence and language

GRADE: Pass

While the X-Men are performing a space mission to rescue astronauts from a spinning shuttle, telepath Jean Grey absorbs a fiery supernova into her body and becomes even more powerful than she already is. Before she has the chance to celebrate with her fellow mutants, her powers spin out of control and cost loved ones their lives. With the human world and some of her own X-Men turning against her, Jean struggles to find acceptance despite her godlike and lethal abilities. While she’s figuring herself out, an alien race known as the D’Bari want to harvest her powers so that they can rebuild the world they lost due to the supernova. Not a friend in the world can save her now.

I’ve accepted the fact that I’m part of the minority that actually liked this movie. I know I’m on an island when it comes to Jean Grey’s character development and her extreme case of Impostor Syndrome. People are dying all around her and she (sometimes rightfully) believes it’s her own fault. She wants to do good things in a world that has a fragile relationship with mutants, but she hasn’t mastered her newfound powers yet and she can’t help herself when she gets explosive. Imagine having your own low self-esteem confirmed by pretty much everyone around you and there’s no evidence left to prove yourself wrong. That hurts. It hurts so much that normal people who watch this movie can relate to it (sans murder). Does someone out in the world still love Jean Grey? Does someone out in the world still love us all? I guess we’ll never know until the dead end.

An even more imperfect character is Professor Charles Xavier, owner of the mutant school that houses the X-Men. Comic book fans know him as the super intelligent, ultra wise leader who can solve any problem with his wits. But even he makes the gravest mistakes sometimes and he becomes just as much to blame as Jean Grey. Using the X-Men as a superhero taskforce was his idea to earn goodwill with the human race. Some mutants don’t want their lives risked in such a way and I can’t say I blame them. Yet I continued to feel heartbroken during Charles’s most downtrodden moments. I wanted him to redeem himself and show Jean Grey that someone out there still cares for her. Excellent performance by James McAvoy, the actor who played Charles Xavier.

Jean Grey and Charles Xavier aren’t the only characters in this movie that have valid points. All of the characters do from Beast to Storm to Magneto himself. If I remember correctly, this was one of the director’s goals for the film: everybody is right and a healthy debate among the audience is encouraged. This is the dictionary definition of a 3D character. Not even the villains will admit that they’re wrong. You’ll never see an X-Men character named Captain Evil or Kitten Stomper. You know why? Because just like in real life, we all like to believe that we’re the good guys despite our flaws.

I’m plainly aware of how much hate this film has gotten since its release. It holds a below thirty percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s even been called the worst movie of the X-Men franchise by many critics. But I don’t have a one-way ticket aboard the hate train. I came into the movie theater wanting to be entertained and that’s exactly what happened. I was so entertained that I considered giving this movie an Extra Credit grade during the ride home. But the reason it earned only a passing grade was because the social impact couldn’t compare to other great superhero movies like Black Panther and Wonder Woman. Otherwise, great job, Marvel!

It's Not Porn

CHORUS

It’s!

Not!

Porn!

VERSE 1

Lesbian ladies on a double-decker bus

Homophobic men spying on their love

“Give us a show and make the fuck out

While we snort with our big piggy snouts”

The answer was no because they said so

Barbaric men decked them in the nose

Punching, screaming, secretly creaming

Where are the police when you need them?

CHORUS

It’s!

Not!

Porn!

VERSE 2

Unconscious girl behind a dumpster

Rapist swimmer summons the thunder

He called it twenty minutes of action

As he grinned with sick satisfaction

Slap on the wrist for Mr. White Privilege

A new idiot for the concrete village

He blamed it all on the damn alcohol

But at least his career never had to fall

CHORUS

It’s!

Not!

Porn!

BRIDGE

The faces of hate in the Sunday paper

The violence never seems to taper

No abortions for the pregnant victims

The right-wing never wants to listen

VERSE 3

If they dress like “sluts” and you grab their butts

Don’t be surprised when they kick you in the nuts

A revealing cosplay doesn’t give you the right

To fill her head full of trauma every fucking night

The real world isn’t like the porn on your computer

This urban war zone isn’t a First Person Shooter

You weren’t the first and you’re not the last

To need to have your head pulled out of your ass

CHORUS X4

It’s!

Not!

Porn!

Normal Is Overrated

VERSE 1

If creativity is considered crazy

Normalcy is considered lazy

If rock and roll makes me evil

Then fuck the holiest of people

If awkwardness makes me a pariah

Your social mask makes you a liar

If being me is a sin and a curse

Being you is ten times worse

CHORUS

Normal is overrated

Life is fucking wasted

Individuals sacrificed

For the capitalist price

VERSE 2

If normalcy will get me a job

I’ll lie on the couch like a slob

If mediocrity will get me paid

I’d rather sleep in the grave

If ordinary is the way to live

Two weeks notice I shall give

If average is the new future

I’d rather be a lowlife loser

CHORUS

Normal is overrated

Life is fucking wasted

Individuals sacrificed

For the capitalist price

BRIDGE

I’m too good for you

And your money too

You’ll never change me

You’ll just enrage me

VERSE 3

If you don’t believe in me

Set my crazy ass forever free

If you want to leave my side

The coffin is where you hide

If you want to cancel my career

I’ll give you something to fear

I’ll do whatever the hell I want

If normal is right, I want to be wrong

CHORUS

Normal is overrated

Life is fucking wasted

Individuals sacrificed

For the capitalist price

Due Process

“Savages. Fucking savages,” said McKenzie Youngblood under her breath as she power-walked through the halls of Aspire Mental Hospital. Every jacked up orderly and nurse made her skin crawl. Every image of “crazies” suffering in silence on their padded cells made her stomach turn. The walls and floors probably hadn’t seen a sponge and bucket since the Reagan Administration. If they did, it was most likely off the backs of these patients.

The closer she stomped toward Dr. Oliver Killian’s office, the hotter McKenzie’s blood boiled. Her flat shoes were the most audible part of the hallway. Her chubby scowl and gray business suit indicated she meant…well…business. Deep inside, a wildfire began to grow as these white orderlies scowled at her black skin. Nonetheless, she was a professional first and foremost. Just deliver the papers to Dr. Killian, get in, and get out. A pepper spray bottle in her leather briefcase would only be used as a last resort.

McKenzie adjusted her suit and skirt and gave a hard series of knocks on Dr. Killian’s office door. “Come in!” he commanded and she did just that.

The first thing she noticed was the pristine condition of his office. Bookshelves with infinite wisdom, wooden plaques containing various college degrees, a marble office table with the latest computer technology sitting on it, and not one speck of dirt or dust unless one were to count Dr. Oliver Killian sitting with his hands behind his white fluffy hair. He adjusted his glasses and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?”

“My name isn’t young lady. It’s McKenzie Youngblood and I’m a process server. The Paulson City Courthouse sent me here.” She pulled a thick manila envelope out of her briefcase and dropped it unceremoniously on the marble table. “You’re being sued by your former patients. Rough treatment, suppression of rights, unnecessary procedures, lengthy incarceration with no due process of any kind…you’re in deep trouble, Dr. Killian. It’s your right and your responsibility to contact the courthouse within a week of receiving these papers. Otherwise, the case will go on without you. Any questions?”

Dr. Killian’s sarcastically pleasant demeanor turned to silent rage as he rifled through the papers and read them hurriedly. “Psychiatric patients don’t have rights. This case will never stick.”

“Well, then I guess you have nothing to worry about, Doctor.” McKenzie leaned forward and said, “And I use that term loosely.”

Slamming the papers on the table, Dr. Killian, without raising his voice, seethed as he said, “Our facility is one of the best in the country. We are the good guys. We’re not the ones committing heinous acts on the street. We’re not the ones making life difficult for our loved ones. These patients are here because they deserve to be here. They’re a threat to society. How dare you question my methods!”

“Technically, I don’t have to stand here and have a debate with you. I could just walk out of this hospital and tell the judges you were served. But I’ve got to know something before I head out. When was the last time these patients have seen the summer sun? When was the last time they’ve had visitors? When was the last time they’ve had love or kindness of any sort? I know how this place works. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Day after day, every hour on the hour. This isn’t a hospital. It’s a death camp, especially for minorities and women, which make up eighty percent of your patient roster.”

Dr. Killian stood up and slammed his palms on the table, still maintaining his silent anger. “We use those methods because they work. They’re the only thing that will. Crazy people don’t learn any other way. They don’t listen to reason. They don’t comprehend order and decency. They don’t live in our reality. If we don’t do this to them, the world will. These patients should be thankful for the lessons we teach them. Instead, they want to make a few bucks off of us and complain about us to the liberal media. If anybody should feel oppressed right now, it’s me and my staff!”

McKenzie leaned in closer until she was almost touching noses with Dr. Killian. She did her best to contain her own anger as she told him, “You’d better hope the judges and jury buy into your twisted propaganda. If not, then you’ve got a shit storm on your hands, buster. Who knows? Maybe this dump will be closed once and for all. Good luck with your trial.” Just as she was turning around, Dr. Killian grabbed hold of her wrist, his bony fingers barely making a dent in her thick skin. “You have three seconds to pull your hand away and then I’m whipping out the pepper spray.”

“Okay, Miss Youngblood. You win. You can have a tighter grip if you prefer that.” Upon releasing his clasp, Dr. Killian pointed his elongated, creepy finger at the door to his office.

McKenzie turned around and saw two beefy orderlies standing there with their arms folded and their faces fixed in death stares. “Great idea, Dr. Killian,” she said. “You can have yet another lawsuit on your hands and hemorrhage money like no tomorrow. You tell these orderlies to back off or I’m taking your ass to court.”

Dr. Killian whispered into her ear, “What good is a lawsuit…if you can’t even make it to the courthouse? You think you’re the only one to serve me papers lately? You think you’re the only one who’s trying to sue me? We’re not just doctors and nurses. We’re magicians. We make lawsuits…disappear.” He licked her ear hole to punctuate his last point.

She turned around to try and slap him, but he ducked out of the way and allows his orderlies to grab her tightly by both arms. McKenzie struggled and fought while screaming curses at her captors, but their grips would only serve to leave purple bruises on her arms later on. They bent her over the table and yanked her hair so that she was facing Dr. Killian, who glared at her with ophidian eyes.

“Nobody’s taking my money away,” snarled Dr. Killian. “We’re making enough of it as it is. Turns out locking people up is quite the lucrative business. The more patients we’ve got, the richer we all are. It’s basic economics.” He leaned his face close to McKenzie’s. “You’d have to be crazy to stand up to capitalism. So crazy, in fact…you’d need your own padded cell.” With the orderlies’ hands firmly behind McKenzie’s neck, Dr. Killian planted a sloppy tongue kiss on her lips and slammed her forehead against the table.

McKenzie’s head swam as she was roughly dropped to the ground. Sparkling stars and colorful clouds filled her vision as darkness threatened to overtake her. She tried to stand up on her own two feet, but her legs and arms felt like rubber. Any last chance of rebellion was snuffed away when an orderly kicked her in the skull and sent her on a one-way ticket to dreamland.

It felt like an eternity since she slipped into unconscious hell. Waking up from it proved to be an even bigger drain on her body. She tried to wiggle around yet again, but leather straps held her horizontally against a metal table. She tried to yell for help, but her lips were held together with what appeared to be medical tape. Despite being in bondage, she never stopped struggling, especially when Dr. Killian’s hazy image swirled into view.

“Fighting isn’t going to make things better, Miss Youngblood. Or should I say, Patient #855341. Why fight something you have absolutely no control over? Why keep fighting and expecting different results? That is the true definition of insanity. You’ll eventually leave this place like any other patient of mine. How soon depends on your ability to conform to my rules.

From this point going forward, you will do what I say. You will think the way I tell you to think. You will be cured of your insanity. Your brain is mine to play with. Your body is mine to puppeteer. It’s crazy to rebel against basic human order. It’s crazy to think you’re capable of winning. It’s crazy to bring a can of pepper spray to a gunfight.”

As soon as Dr. Killian dangled the can of pepper spray in front of McKenzie’s face, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and ripped the tape off that way. She spit in Dr. Killian’s face before taking deep breaths and trying to relax for the horror she would have to endure.

He smiled, wiped the spit off with his finger, and sucked it down like maple syrup. McKenzie shivered in disgust before Dr. Killian grabbed her by the throat and squeezed as hard as he could.

As she gagged, wheezed, and struggled for oxygen, Dr. Killian held the spray bottle to her eyes and laughed maniacally as he pulled the trigger. Except instead of a blizzard of hot chemicals, he got a beeping noise. He slowly let go of the chokehold and allowed McKenzie to cough violently and regain her breath.

Dr. Killian studied the device even further, his face growing more and more confused. He glared at the bottle before peeling the label off and seeing that the pepper spray was actually a beacon.

“What? You thought the courthouse wasn’t going to investigate their own process servers going missing? In about five minutes, the cops are coming to tear this place apart. You could have taken your blood money and paid off your patients like a good corporate stooge. You could have kept this quiet. But you made this shit personal and it’s going to get as loud as a motherfucker up in here!” McKenzie smiled as the words and rage dripped from her mouth.

It didn’t take five minutes. Sirens blasting off in the distance echoed throughout the room and Dr. Killian paced back and forth in nervousness. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m supposed to be the good guy in this story! I’m doing God’s work!”

“Sorry, Dr. Killian…but it’s crazy to rebel against the system,” said McKenzie with a wink.

“Okay, Mrs. Black Lives Matter! Okay, you Snowflake Justice Warrior! You want to be a martyr?! I’ll make you a martyr!” Dr. Killian pulled shock pads from the sides of the table and electrocuted McKenzie’s brain. She could feel her insides droop. She could feel her face fall off. She could feel her brain melting like butter on mashed potatoes. Her eyes popped out of her skull at one point. But she never lost that smile no matter how many volts of electricity she was subjected to. Why would she? It was hard to frown at the prospect of justice being served. She was a process server, after all.

Nation of Genocide

VERSE 1

Summer sun, waterless desert

Dead bodies resting forever

A nation built on oppression

Let’s hear your confession

Not a bunch of what-abouts

You’re worthy of the shouts

Graveyard on your conscience

Relax in your highest office

CHORUS

Nation of genocide!

I’ll never choose your side!

Nation of racial pride!

My free speech will not hide!

VERSE 2

Business deals, cheap entertainment

Marginalization and detainment

Dungeon torture, decapitation

Welcome to the murder nation

CHORUS

Nation of genocide!

I’ll never choose your side!

Nation of racial pride!

My free speech will not hide!

BRIDGE

You can call it social progress

I call it blood and gore offence

The only reason you hold office

Is filthy money in your pockets

VERSE 3

Not a nickel or the thinnest dime

You won’t get a penny of mine

Not a quarter with a buffalo’s ass

Your economy must collapse

EXTENDED CHORUS

Nation of genocide!

I’ll never choose your side!

Nation of racial pride!

My free speech will not hide!

Nation of ignorance!

Defend your values with vigilance!

Nation of Armageddon!

A fake smile is your secret weapon!

Impostor Syndrome

***IMPOSTOR SYNDROME VS. ARROGANCE***

Last year when Hollow Hills put together the Still Standing anti-bullying anthology, Aurora Styles wrote a blog entry joking about how that book should be known as “The Curse of the Self-Loathing Authors”, or something to that effect. It was true. There was something about writing that book that made the authors, myself included, feel unsatisfied, like they have Impostor Syndrome. While it’s nice to be humble throughout your writing journeys, you have to believe in yourself at least a little bit in order to get shit done.

I must confess that I’ve struggled with Impostor Syndrome since I began writing and editing Emilio & Marigold for this year’s Hollow Hills anthology. I held such a negative opinion of my own writing that I actually started having anxious thoughts about potentially being fired from Hollow Hills. Of course, it would take more than writing a mediocre story for that to happen, but anxiety is anxiety and it doesn’t give any quarter. I’m not looking for sympathy nor am I fishing for compliments. I’ve dealt with the beast of Impostor Syndrome before and I can deal with it again. Beside, the anxious thoughts about a potential firing went away after twenty-four hours. That’s it.

It seems as though I’ve spent a good while trying to find a balance between Impostor Syndrome (extreme self-doubt) and arrogance (unjustified self-esteem). The middle passage is somewhere out there. I’ve got to find it. Just like I’ve got to find the middle passage between Mary-Sue characters and those whose flaws make them the most hated characters in my story. If you throw a pin into a gigantic pool of water, that’s where the middle passage is. Some authors have found it, others have not and their writing suffers because of it. Oh, there goes my Impostor Syndrome again!

In case you’ve ever felt like you were alone in this, know that you’re not. I don’t want to say that Impostor Syndrome is a necessary part of the creative process, because it’s not. Sure, you need to recognize your own flaws as an author and work on strengthening them. Sure, you need to take criticism gracefully and use it to build a strong foundation. But when your Impostor Syndrome is all-consuming, it can have some detrimental effects. I’m not saying I have the cure for what ails you, because I don’t. All I know is that some days you’ll feel like you can take on the world and other days you’ll feel like dog shit. Can you do anything about this? Can you have more high days than low ones? Hmm…

Not to let my Impostor Syndrome kick in again, but I really didn’t plan this blog entry through very well. I’ve got one page worth of text and I’m guessing it’s about five hundred words long, which is a thousand less than a novel chapter or short story usually is. Don’t worry, I don’t have my compliment fishing rod and tackle box out and I’m not a gold medalist in the Oppression Olympics. I’m just working through some things right now, that’s all.

You know what would work great for my Impostor Syndrome? Being able to rest my head on someone’s lap while they stroke my hair. It sounds perverted on the surface and that’s probably why my short story Schizophrenic Playboy wasn’t a smash hit anywhere that I posted it. But you know what? It doesn’t have to be perverted. It can be completely platonic. Gender wouldn’t even matter to me. Just resting my head on someone’s lap would feel nice right about now. I’ve been watching a lot of Cuddle Sanctuary videos lately, so that might be where I’m getting this from.

Do any of you struggle with Impostor Syndrome? I bet I’ll get a shit ton of yeses to this question, but I figured I’d ask anyways. What are some of your coping techniques? Do you just push through the days and hope that you’ve got more good days than bad ones? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

In between edits of Emilio & Marigold, I’ve been quietly writing new chapters of Beautiful Monster and the next one will be number twenty-three. In this chapter, Windham, Llewellyn, and Tarja are taking shelter in a cave on the beach and they’re trying to figure out a plan to reclaim the Xavier Village from the Shadow Asylum mercenaries and Atwood Queendom soldiers. Three warriors versus an entire army? How is that even possible?!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Rape me. Rape me, my friend. Rape me. Rape me again. I’m not the only one. Hate me. Do it and do it again. Waste me. Rape me, my friend. I’m not the only one. My favorite inside source. I’ll kiss your open sores. I appreciate your concern. You’re going to stink and burn.”

-Nirvana singing “Rape Me”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

I feel that Nirvana’s anti-rape song will become a rallying cry for Windham Xavier throughout Beautiful Monster’s final five chapters. I’m strangely okay with that. It’s certainly more appropriate than “I’ll Be Over You” by Toto, which is what I’ve proposed for the first draft. The first draft…Millennium for emo kids…(shivers). Goddamn Impostor Syndrome!