I Don't Belong Here

 Rodger Hyde had no damn clue what a Snow Moon Village was…even though he was smack bang in the middle of one. He looked around with glazed and puffy eyes at the wonders around him: gnomes running and playing in the street, bearded wizards in pointed hats selling potions, barbarians in furs laughing it up and chugging beer together, and green elves sharpening their blades with whetstones. The architecture of each building had that old-timey English medieval look, whether it was the cobblestone streets or the wooden structures of the Restful Wishes Inn, Dragon Blade Weapons Shop, Hellforge Armory, or Ogre Tears Tavern. The sounds of flutes and harps glided through the air as half-elf bards played their whimsical tunes, dancing in the streets as they were doing so.

This entire setup jumped straight from the pages of a Dungeons & Dragons handbook. And yet, all Rodger could whisper to himself was…”I don’t belong here.” To his credit, he stood out like a nun at a porn convention with his Crossfade T-shirt, messy brown hair, green khakis, and green marijuana radiating from his clothing. His self-hating mantra was confirmed even further as passersby gave him strange looks, ranging from sorrowful concern to smelling something suspicious.

“I don’t belong here,” he whispered to himself again. Even with all of his experience playing Dungeons & Dragons as a teenager, all the monster-slaying adventures he put his paladin through, all of the seas he crossed with his wizard in toe, all of the pockets he picked with his half-orc thief, the only words that rang true to him at that moment were…”I don’t belong here.” Somebody in his head was saying that to him, but the weed he smoked that morning ensured he wouldn’t have any clear answers.

He was snapped out of his zombie-like trance when a muscular barbarian slapped him on the shoulder and squeezed it. “Hello there, little laddie! Where’re you coming from?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“Well, where’re you going?”

“D…Denny’s…”

“Denny’s! A worthy quest if I’ve ever heard one! Perhaps we can venture together, laddie!”

“I…I don’t…I don’t think so…I, uh…” Rodger wandered off as another barbarian made a weird comment about how awkward he was. That barbarian was right, but the words he really meant to say were…”I don’t belong here.”

Just a few more agonized, cringey steps and he would be out of the Snow Moon Village, on his way to a Moons Over My Hammy with French fries and diet soda. That was his favorite meal as a kid, which he was surprised he remembered so vividly considering the rest of his mind was just as scrambled as the eggs in his would-be sandwich. A few more strange looks, minor giggles, and offers for potions later, Rodger finally made it to the edge of this LARPing convention. Over the hill was the Bastion of Breakfast itself: Denny’s. Maybe the Moons Over My Hammy would have to be scrapped in favor of a rib eye steak. Or a stack of pancakes a mile high oozing with maple syrup and drowning in butter. Or French toast with even more syrup and butter. And then…the realization hit him: “I don’t belong there either.”

What would the other patrons think of him, his wardrobe choices, and his disheveled appearance? Surely, Denny’s had that kind of clientele on a regular basis…but not him. There was something too awkward and flimsy about him. How did he know? The mysterious voice in his head told him so: “I don’t belong here.” And with that, he sat on the sidewalk with face in his hand. How defeated he was to not belong to a place that only cared whether or not he paid for his meal.

Somewhere in his lost thoughts, Rodger overheard a barbarian saying, “Murphy! Miss Witherspoon! I believe that young man over there needs some help.”

“Oh, no…”said Rodger silently to himself, anticipating more awkward interactions ahead from this Murphy Witherspoon person. As sure as the sun shone brightly enough to fuck up his eyes, a light blue elven lady with long red hair, a white puffy shirt, and black baggy pants sat next to him on the sidewalk. No doubt this was her.

“Guess what?” she said in an Irish accent. “Our bards don’t know how to play Crossfade songs.” She chuckled at her own joke while Rodger could only give a weak smile, which in her mind was probably better than none. “Share a story with me?”

“About what?”

Murphy giggled and hung her head. “Your story, of course. Everybody has a story to tell.”

“Well…I, uh…I got out of bed…smoked a roll of weed, and…just wandered here, I guess. I don’t know.”

“That…sounds exciting. Very adventurous.”

“Look, I know I don’t belong here, okay? You don’t have to tell me, because I already know.”

Murphy placed a hand on Rodger’s shoulder. “Nonsense, of course you do. The Snow Moon Village welcomes people of all kinds.”

He made a flat tire noise. “Tell that to the people who were giving me funny looks today.”

“Oh, don’t mind them. They’re worried about you, that’s all. You came here looking like you got mugged by some ogres and spit out by some dragons. It’s only natural that they’d want to know more about you.”

Rodger raised his voice. “I don’t even know about me, okay?!” Murphy edged backwards a little bit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No worries, my friend. I’ve faced horrors much worse than an angry pothead. I’ve ventured into fiery caves and blood-covered mountains. If you ever decide to come on an adventure with us, bring lots of potions, like this one.” She held a bottle of red liquid underneath his nose.

Rodger pulled the cork and smelled it. “It’s fruit punch.”

“All that weed must have stunted your imagination, laddie.”

“More like my mom’s boyfriend.”

And just like that, Rodger’s eyes grew wide with the realization of where he heard that familiar phrase before. He let it slip. It all came back to him in an instant. His shouting matches. The shoving. The tears from his own mother pouring down her red cheeks. He suddenly remembered the pettings she gave him on his fluffy hair in order to calm him down from a yelling session. The hugs that were as warm as a thick blanket and much more comfortable to be wrapped around in. He could fall asleep during one of her comfort sessions if not for the nightmare that awaited him when he woke up, hence the reason he smoked so much pot to begin with.

“Are you okay?” Murphy asked, probably noticing a small tear pouring down Rodger’s face.

“…I told him I didn’t want to get a STEM degree…I just wanted to write stories and play D&D…but he kept telling me to man up. He said that real adults don’t play with that kid shit. He said that money was more important than my dreams. We argued like this for hours and…I’m sorry, I don’t mean to dump all of this on you…What was I thinking?” He wiped the tear from his eye.

“So he’s the one telling you that you don’t belong here?”

“…Yes…wait a minute…how did you know I was saying that?”

“Have you seen the concerned faces of everyone around you? Of course they heard you.”

Rodger shook his head. “Who says those things? Why would anybody…it makes no sense…It’s just stupid shit…”

Murphy scratched her fingernails along Rodger’s back. “That says more about your mom’s boyfriend than it does about you. Imagination and creativity should never be suppressed in favor of capitalism. That piece of horse garbage has no idea what he’s talking about.”

“I can deny him all he wants, but it doesn’t make the pain go away.” He wiped another tear from his eye. “Look, I appreciate you trying to help me, but I really just want to eat myself to death at Denny’s, okay?”

“We don’t eat Moons Over My Hammies here in the Snow Moon Village. We eat dragon stew with extra chunks of meat and potatoes.”

“I told you, I don’t belong…”

“Yes, yes, I know what you said! Your mom’s boyfriend said you don’t belong here! I get it! But…I’m saying you do. You belong everywhere you go. Do you understand? If you’re worried about the Crossfade T-shirt and not fitting in, then…” She smiled. “I’m sure we can find some nice wizard robes to dress you in.” Rodger’s eyes started to light up behind his puffy sadness. “Or if you’re more of a fighting man, we can get some splint mail. Or demon-skin boots. Anything you’d like.”

Rodger breathed heavily. “Thank you…thank you so much.”

“The name’s Murphy. Murphy Witherspoon.”

“Rodger Hyde. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

Before his grin could fully form, the same barbarian from before slapped his shoulder again, jarring him out of his skin. With a hideous fanged smile, he asked, “What’s your mom’s boyfriend’s name?” He held up a battleaxe. “I’d like to have a word with him!”

NOW was the right time for Rodger to smile. Of course, murder was still illegal, but the sentiment was all that mattered. Belonging in the Snow Moon Village was all that mattered. Belonging anywhere at all was all that mattered.

Get a Hobby

VERSE 1

Get a hobby! Any kind will do

Go for a jog underneath the snow moon

Slow it down to a walk if you’re too heavy

Or go for a ride in your old school Chevy

There’s a world out there beyond it all

It can’t be separated by border walls

When you stop obsessing over nunya business

You just might feel some lovey-dovey kisses

VERSE 2

Get a hobby! Any kind you like

Put it down, pick it up like riding a bike

Read epic fantasies across several novels

Or write them yourself ‘til you become a fossil

Play videogames, swing axes at dragons

Go on more adventures than Bilbo Baggins

When you curl the finger you point so much

You’ll find there’s nobody left to judge

BRIDGE

Get a hobby! You don’t have to get a life

Make friends! You don’t have to get a wife

Make memories! You don’t have to get a knife

Unless you’re cooking dinner, chop those onions right

VERSE 3

Get a hobby! Don’t hurt nobody else

Ain’t nobody in sight that needs a living hell

Keyboards are for chatting with buddies

Not for slinging shit so goopy and muddy

Get a hobby! I don’t care what it is

Don’t declare yourself the King of the Cis

Crowns are for cosplay at the Comic Con

Not for telling people that their culture is wrong

FINAL VERSE

Get a hobby, little Bobby

Have fun, you son of a gun

Create anything but hate

Get a hobby! Get a hobby!

"Starlight" by Hannah Lee Kidder

BOOK TITLE: Starlight

AUTHOR: Hannah Lee Kidder

YEAR: 2020

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Horror Short Stories

GRADE: B

Hannah Lee Kidder’s credentials as a writing coach are very well-earned as evidenced by this collection of shorts. From the beginning, you as the reader will be treated to descriptive writing that captures every aspect of the scene without bogging down the pace. In fact, the pace moves along quite nicely, like a smooth sleigh ride through the snow. The main characters are easy to root for due to their three-dimensional personalities and the development they go through in spite of the short word count of their respective stories. The subject matter is as dark as the horror genre suggests, but Kidder handles it in a sensitive enough way that it doesn’t come off as a nonstop trigger fest. If anybody is qualified for the job of bringing the audience a delightful read, it’s Hannah Lee Kidder.

Obviously, the longer stories of this collection are the ones that shine the most (which sounds like a Captain Obvious statement if I’ve ever heard one). My personal favorites are The Swamp Witch, Margrove, and Passing Ghosts. Longer stories mean that we get more time to see how awesome and fun these protagonists really are (another Captain Obvious statement). The witch in The Swamp Witch is easily the most colorful character in the book due to her crotchety personality meshing well with her good intentions. Margrove has a creative plot that involves trickery masquerading as magic and sorcery for unsuspecting marks. Passing Ghosts is just plain sweet since the ghost haunting the house is literally the only source of comfort that a little boy needs in an emotionally abusive home.

But just because I have favorites, doesn’t mean the book is without flaws. Flawed characters are always a joy to read about. Flawed stories? Not so much. There are shorter ones in this book that feel incomplete because of how abruptly they end and how confusing the context really is. Sliced is a shining example of this. Okay, so a dude has a bloody mouth and is stalking a girl on the street. Then what? Same thing with Contained: the protagonist watches a vent for a ragged man or a demon or whatever. Then what? There are a few stories in this book where you’ll be asking, “Then what?” a lot. I get that flash fiction isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. It certainly misses with me sometimes. But even then, I want to feel satisfied by the story’s conclusion and I don’t even know what the conclusion means.

The book’s flaws are incredibly minor, which is why I’m giving it a B and not anything lower. I firmly believe in my heart of hearts that the longer stories which have room to breathe overshadow the incomplete ones. This collection is very much worth your time, especially around Halloween season when all the ghoulish stories hit differently. The page count is less than a hundred, so you’ve literally got nothing to lose and everything to gain. You’ve got a master class in descriptive writing. You’ve got character development in such a short time span. You’ve got all these lessons you can learn from someone who is a certified writing coach. By all means, pick up a copy today and prepare to be entertained and educated at the same time! You won’t regret a thing!

Go With Them...I Guess

“I’m going off on an adventure!”

“I’m going to seek glory!”

“Garrison, what are you going to do?”

“…Go with them…I guess…”

Ah, yes. When every D&D session is a holiday season in the sense that players should give their all, my specialty in large groups was hitching my wagon to the other players. Don’t contribute any meaningful character information, just…you know…”Go with them…I guess…” But then again, what else was I supposed to do? Walk away from the group and do my own thing? That would require an extra DM just to deal with my bullshit. The easier answer would be to just assume that I’m following my fellow party members around everywhere they go. In which case, I wouldn’t be an elf fighter or a half-orc wizard anymore. I’d be a dog. A loyal golden retriever who couldn’t get enough pets and love, as long as my fellow party members had beef snacks ready. Dogs don’t have to worry about serious character development since their histories amount to chasing squirrels and rolling in mud. Not much complexity there!

Even from my very first session as an elf warrior, it should have been assumed that I’d follow my party members everywhere they went. But that wasn’t how D&D worked in those days. I always assumed that it would be like Final Fantasy games where the party goes everywhere together and would only become active characters during a battle. Not the case at all, it seems. Super Nintendos can’t ask for the player’s opinion beyond a yes or no question. Dungeon Masters can and will. So imagine my shock when the DM, my brother James, asked everyone in the party what they were going to do once they got to a town. The two players before me knew exactly what they were going to do: explore. But when James asked me what I was going to do, I froze like Sub-Zero’s opponents in Mortal Kombat. I thought we were just following each other around. Nope! I actually had to make a decision independent of my party members. And I couldn’t do it. So my elf hunter jumped down a manhole and was never seen again.

All these years later, what is the right answer to the, “What are you going to do?” question when you’re in a group of two or more adventurers? Should Dungeon Masters just assume that party members are just going to follow each other around like dogs and do nothing until they’re specifically called upon? While that is a convenient answer, it would certainly get weird after a while, wouldn’t you agree? Wouldn’t the other party members wonder why these strangers are following them around without saying a word? The easy answer would be to say, “We’re on the same team. Live with it.” But are you? What makes you all a team? Are you just there for the hell of it? Do teams really get together because it’s the right thing to do and nothing should be questioned?

And this is where the all-important character development comes into play. As it turns out, it’s not enough to have a half-orc barbarian with bulging muscles and a battleaxe that can cut through the Golden Gate Bridge. Why is this half-orc barbarian running around with a Halfling thief and a half-elf wizard? How did this half-orc barbarian come into existence other than having a full-orc and a human fuck each other’s brains out? Why does he have all of these muscles other than he’s a barbarian and it should be a universally-accepted truth? What are the stories behind his scars? What are the stories behind his actions? What are the stories behind his blind loyalty to his party? When a character’s motivations and goals are explored beyond being a shallow drone, that’s when the fun really begins. After all, mindless drones aren’t nearly as much fun to read about as fleshed-out three-dimensional characters. Isn’t that right, Stephenie Meyer? How about you, E.L. James, do you want to weigh in on this subject? Didn’t think so.

Let’s go back to the example of the elf hunter who got so confused that he jumped down a sewer hole without giving a second thought. Could he have just hitched his wagon to the other PC’s and went along with them wherever they went? But why would he do that? Well, that’s where a “session zero” comes into play. It’s a D&D session designed to get the characters introduced to each other before the campaign officially begins. So what are the elf hunter’s motivations? Does he want revenge on someone who killed his parents? Does he want to earn enough money to pay for his sister’s heart transplant? Does he want to earn enough money so that he can go on a vacation to a sandy beach paradise? Does he want to earn enough money to go to school and learn more about the world around him? These are all reasonable motivations to have as a character. They may have been done to death by other authors and PC’s, but not you. You as the player have all the power in the world to fashion these motivations into something tangible and unique. So maybe the answer isn’t to hitch your wagon to a bunch of mindless drones.

But what if there’s a reason for being a mindless drone? What if all of the party members are part of a cult that just goes around doing whatever their higher power tells them to do? What if the higher power tells them to murder everyone they come across as a worthy sacrifice? What if the higher power tells them to steal enough money to make the cult richer than Scientology ever could be? In that case, while the players are still mindless drones, they have motivations beyond two-dimensional character work. But even if this were the case, the players who own those characters still have to put in the work when it comes to developing back stories and mythologies. If you’re going to, “Go with them…I guess…”, then at least have a reason for doing so. I hate to use the phrase, “Everything happens for a reason”, but in the case of D&D characters following each other around, it definitely does.

Even the elf hunter has a reason for falling down a sewer hole (not just because the player didn’t know what the fuck he’s doing). Okay, so he’s exited the party under weird circumstances. Now what? Are there creatures lurking in the sewers? Does the shit-scented water have a dark secret buried beneath? Does the sewer serve as a passageway to another world? How about a secret entrance into a castle full of riches and sorcery? Now the question becomes, does the elf hunter keep all of his findings to himself or does he share them with his party members if and when he returns to the surface? Hopefully, he’s had a nice bath beforehand and not in a river of shit and piss. Otherwise, they’re going to think he’s a lunatic and have him locked in a madhouse.

But what does the elf hunter do while he’s confined to a padded cell filled with other crazy people? Does he share his secrets with the crazy people and get into even more trouble than he’s already in? Does he meet someone there who could bust everyone out and flood the streets with whack-a-dos? Does he meet a corrupt nurse who’s beating the shit out of the patients for no reason other than to satisfy their sadistic urges? If you look hard enough, everything has an angle behind it, everything has a story that can be exploited for creative fodder.

Here’s the thing with me as a middle schooler: I didn’t give a shit about developing back stories and looking at life through multiple angles. I just liked the shallow aspects of the characters I created and the places I went to. Does my character have skulls decorating his entire body? Does he carry an axe with a long enough shaft to double as a wizard’s staff? Does he have a drill bit on top of his head? Is his metal armor so thick that it can protect him from nuclear missiles in a medieval fantasy setting? For me back in those days, looking cool was more important than being cool. My characters could have the flattest personalities and the agendas of mindless drones as long as they looked cool doing it. I could get away with it back then, but not today as an author telling my own stories.

One thing I’ve learned as an author is that nobody cares if your dark knight carries a chainsaw into battle with him. Nobody cares if your dragon-born barbarian breathes ice instead of fire. Nobody cares if your goblin electromancer shoots bolts of lightning out of his ass. Surface-level character development isn’t development at all. Having thick armor isn’t a personality trait. Having trident heads for fists isn’t a relatable flaw. The audience doesn’t want chainsaw-wielding dark paladins if those same warriors don’t have an inch of depth or personality behind them. Ever wonder why we like one-line zingers? It’s because a mindless drone could never come up with them. Ever wonder why we like edgy dialogue? Because it takes a special kind of character development to come up with those sound bites. Characters are more than their swords, axes, and lightning breath. They have flaws. They have dreams and goals. They have styles of speech. They have reasons behind their actions that extend beyond Captain Evil territories.

So…do you want to know what the right answer to the, “What are you going to do?” question is? Well, if your only solution is to hitch your wagon to your party members whilst contributing nothing in the way of character development, your D&D session is going to be boring as hell and so will the stories you write as a professional author. It is somewhat surprising to hear me of all people say that, the same guy who struggles with character development because my characters are either too nice or too mean, too extreme or too bland, too smart or too dumb, or too good or too evil. I couldn’t find the middle ground with a map and a compass. 

But that’s why we have character profiles and character sheets: not to keep track of how many muscles our ogre barbarians have, but to keep track of all of their personality traits and why they act the way they do. Coming up with three-dimensional characters is a lot of work, but it’s work very much worth doing. Even out the extreme tendencies and make shit happen for a reason. Think beyond the shallow. Get in your character’s head like a schizophrenic voice. Ask yourself: what makes this character tick? But when you’re figuring this stuff out, take all the time you need. You don’t have to get three-dimensional character work right the first time, but you should get it right eventually. It’s a skill, one that takes patience. Do you have it in you? Of course you do! Otherwise, you wouldn’t have a D&D character sheet or a novel idea in the first place.

Stop

Holiday season

A good reason to sleep in

Fever dream demons

STOP!

Tell me I’m no good

In case it’s misunderstood

Quit because I should

STOP!

Play the same damn song

Like it’s ninety minutes long

Hangover’s so strong

STOP!

“What’s the matter, dude?

Don’t be such a little prude

Have some more fast food”

STOP!

“We ain’t stopping soon

We can do this until June

Happy Birthday, loon”

STOP!

I have no more words

For the ones who give me burns

None of your concern

…Stop…

It’s called thought-stopping

My blood pressure is dropping

Brain isn’t popping

…

I can breathe again

No longer have to defend

Round came to an end

…

Until the next time

When you mock my little rhymes

Tell me I should die

…Stop…

Never-ending war

Everything becomes a chore

No choice but to snore

…Stop…