Gary "Space" Kadet: Hates Women, Loves the Smell of His Own Farts...and Also Those of His Sock Puppets

 

Thomas Sowell: He'll Make You Say "Uncle!" One Way or Another

 

Mary Shelley: Matriarch of Science Fiction (Happy International Women's Day!)

 

I know I accidentally made her look like J.K. Rowling, but trust me, that's Mary Shelley. History owes her a debt of gratitude. Everyone else owes J.K. Rowling a middle finger.

Jenna Moreci vs. Franklin Graham: a 2018 Fantasy Novel vs. a Jesus Christ Fan Fiction

 

Vaush vs. J.K. Rowling

 

Reads with Rachel vs. J.M. Arlen

 

Voting red means different things in different countries, but in America, where Rachel is from, it means to vote Republican. Fuck the GOP.

Krimson Rogue vs. Onision

 

D Fretter vs. Matt Shaw fan

 

Council of Geeks

 

Spoon Feed

The yellow monkeys love to do kung fu

The curtains are blue, because they set the mood

The diamonds are red, they adorn your boobs

Some food for thought that’ll put you off food

 

What’s the matter? Didn’t make a lick of sense?

You’re a fickle motherfucker, always on the fence

Do you want to be fed with a silver spoon?

A jar of Gerber, hope your tummy has room

 

I can’t make heads or tails of my own symbolism

I threw it all together, ‘cause I thought I had a vision

Come to think of it, I need to be spoon fed too

Open up the hangar for an airplane or two

 

Open wide like you’re taking a trip to the dentist

Here’s an infodump to overload your senses

Dumping is something you do with your ass

Any wonder why we’re stuck in a middle school class?

 

I hope I’ve got an out, because I’m on the spectrum

I know it could never be a shield or a weapon

When the C+ stares into my eyes like a demon

I don’t get mad or rich, I want to get even

 

It’s me and my madness against the world

Some authors wear pentagrams, some authors wear pearls

How do I stand out a cut above the rest?

Do better on the scan sheet bubble filling test

 

But that shit don’t work, they just laugh

They always remind you to forge your own path

When tax time comes, you got to do your own math

They put you through the wringer, leave you crawling with your fingers

 

I don’t expect the world to know what it’s like

To feel like a stranger at an open mic night

To feel like puking at the thought of being famous

Keep thumbing your nose, go ahead and shame us

IDK

We’re not damsels in distress. We’re not Mary-Sues and Gary-Stus. We’re not femme fatales. Whether we see each other this way or not, everybody in this lifetime is a three-dimensional character. One of the many things that make a character three-dimensional is a goal or an ambition, more than one, in fact. Why do you think we’re so prepared at job interviews whenever the boss man asks us where we see ourselves in ten years? It should be a piece of cake for me to know where I want to go with my writing career. I’m living in this body, so I know where all the brain neurons lead to. Therefore…my ultimate goal for my writing career is…uh…actually, it’s…(sigh)…

IDK, which either means I Don’t Know or I Decay, depending on how often you listen to Gemini Syndrome. As a burned out, low-energy sad sap, IDK is something I say quite often when confronted with questions ranging from the most difficult to bare-bones simplicity. “What are your plans for the day?” IDK. “Where’s your brother?” IDK. “How come you don’t know?” IDK. “What do you want to do with your writing career?” IDK. That last one is how we got to this essay. There are many reasons for wanting a writing career and all of them are valid. But the trick is finding which one suits you the best. I used to think I had a grip on it all, but then expectations vs. reality gave me the world’s hardest kick in the nuts. What once were good reasons for me don’t seem logical in today’s life, especially when factoring in mental health and financial resources.

So…what’s one common reason why people start a writing career? Fortune and fame? Sure, why not. If Stephen King can build an empire of cash, surely I could too. If JK Rowling can build a throne of bones that came from transgender people…wait a minute, bad example, never mind. Surely my skills could skyrocket me into the stratosphere and have me floating in space like Major Tom from a David Bowie song. Right? Well, I hate to burst your space man bubble helmet, but the authors who do go on to become legends are in a tiny minority. Everybody’s heard of Stephen King, but hardly anybody I talk to has heard of Brett Battles, a thriller author whose work inspired me to become a born-again bookworm. Brett Battles can crank out bangers, so why isn’t he Scrooge McDucking a pool of gold coins? Because meritocracy is a myth, that’s why.

But even if I could achieve worldwide fame where everybody knows my name like a Cheers character, not all of those people are going to love me or what I do. In fact, there are going to be a lot of trolls lurking in the shadows waiting to plant suicidal seeds in my head which eventually sprout into full-on schizophrenic hallucinations. There could be thousands of five-star reviews for one of my books, but if one hideous creep tells me I should get sodomized in prison, then my brain will self-destruct and spiral into ashes. Take that one bastard’s words and multiply them across billions of people. My head could explode just from the stress alone and so could my heart. Sensory overload isn’t good for an autistic brain with multiple mental illnesses. They call it meat with electricity inside for a reason, though it’s closer to soggy bacon or tapioca pudding.

And of course, that much fame surely has to come with billions of dollars, right? I should be able to buy Twitter with that much money and tell Elon Musk to eat a dick that looks like a space rocket. But when I think about it, do I really need that much money? Is it not enough just for me to live comfortably and occasionally travel so that I can see my online friends up close and in person? Do I really need five thousand yachts and eight hundred rocket ships that look like dildos? Do I really need a limousine when a normal car driven by one of my family members would do just fine? Do I really need to attend parties full of hookers and blow, double entendre definitely intended? What about the homeless population who are struggling to stay alive? Shouldn’t they be getting low-cost housing? Shouldn’t people in general eat three meals a day and not have to worry about whether they’ll be there or not? I don’t need to be a billionaire. Nobody does. I need for the world to be happy and healthy. I need for children to have their needs met without worrying about dying. Not really a controversial stance, is it?

Okay, so fame and fortune aren’t realistic expectations for me as an author. Maybe I should focus on the love of the craft or having a positive influence on my audience. But in order for those things to happen, I have to have a bigger audience than I do now, which means opening myself up to swarms of trolls who overrun me like little zerglings from Starcraft. But if I stay in the shadows, then my work will reach nobody at all and I’ll never know if I’m having a positive influence on my audience. Yes, I could create my art and not share it at all. I could do it all just for me. But what’s the point? What kind of permanence will it have if nobody knows about it but me? Where’s my digital footprint? Where’s my immortality? I don’t want to take my writing to the grave with me, because I don’t see the point in writing it in the first place if it doesn’t immortalize me in some way. I want it to be for something. I want to make a difference in this world. Otherwise, why am I here in the first place? No, zerglings, this isn’t an invite for you to swarm me with death threats and pictures of my house.

Are there any reasons left? Did I cover them all? There could be more, but I don’t have access to them right now. I could take a quick trip to Google and find more, but we’d be here forever and a day and I don’t have that much time in my schedule. But even if the answers were readily available to me, I’d still give my typical IDK answer, which either means I Don’t Know or I Decay, depending on how badly my mind is rotting on any given day. I don’t know what I want to do with my writing career. There are pros and cons to every available reason. There is no one size fits all plan for me. But does this mean I want to give up and do something else for the rest of my life? Hell no. I want to continue. I want to keep shouting into the void with my literary skills. Even if the entire internet hates my guts because of a cave painting I created in 7 Million BC, fuck it, I’ll continue my career anyways.

But is it okay for me to have an aimless direction? Is it okay for me to be completely rudderless and constantly in zombie mode looking for the next brain to munch on? Is it okay to prioritize my mental health over fame and fortune? Is it okay to ignore the marketing part of my job knowing that the abyss will never respond to me in a meaningful way? Where do I go from here? I could just finish writing my current novel, but even once it’s over, then what? Do I write another hoping that one will rejuvenate my career? Do I write another poetry collection? Another short story collection? Do I just keep writing and writing in hopes that something will change? Do I even want things to change? Will I be happier when things change or will I stagnate some more? Say it with me now: IDK. Does it mean I Don’t Know or I Decay? Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely yes.

"Sunstone, Vol. 1" by Stjepan Sejic

BOOK TITLE: Sunstone, Vol. 1

AUTHOR: Stjepan Sejic

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: BDSM Erotica

GRADE: A

People generally don’t mind sexualized characters as long as they’re three-dimensional beings and not cardboard cutouts. Lisa and Ally are definitely not in the cardboard cutout category. In addition to being lesbian friends with benefits, they’ve got hobbies, lives, and ambitions of their own. Lisa wants to be a successful author and Ally wants to play videogames and destroy her opponents (button mashing aside). Their biggest flaw as characters is their shyness and awkwardness around each other, which is something we all can relate to at some point or another. They want so badly to become more than just friends, but they tiptoe around the issue so much that it seems impossible. You know what else makes them three-dimensional? They’re good people any reader would want to hang around with. They have funny banter, deep conversations, and they actually know not to exceed each other’s limits when it comes to their adult fun time. Which leads me to my next point about the graphic novel…

The BDSM is portrayed as a healthy relationship dynamic rather than as toxicity masquerading as romance. The author of the Fifty Shades trilogy desperately needs to take notes from this book. Lisa has a safe word (where the Sunstone title comes from), she establishes boundaries (which are respected by Ally), and after the adult fun time is over, they have something called “after care”, which is basically lovey-dovey cuddling to bring the emotional rollercoaster to a halt. Either the author is a BDSM nerd himself or he’s a fantastic researcher. Regardless, he knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to his craft. I don’t get that sense when I read Fifty Shades of Grey. If you can’t write what you know, then at least put the time in and do your research so that you don’t sound like a doofus when you put words to paper. Yes, I realize I’m a massive hypocrite for saying that considering I’ve been called out for poor research techniques myself, but it’s all part of the learning process. Some lessons have to be learned the hard way. But it appears as though Stjepan Sejic is an expert in what he’s talking about, so I trust him to put together a cohesive story, three-dimensional characters and all.

And of course, if an author is going to write an erotica story, it better be hotter than Hawaiian weather. Thus, we have another thing that the author nails perfectly. It isn’t just that the MC’s are lesbians or that they love BDSM. It’s that despite their awkwardness, they manage to have a good time with each other, to the point where they keep seeing each other despite their shy tendencies. I won’t go into detail how these sex scenes play out for obvious reasons, but rest assured that you won’t forget what you see, and I don’t mean that in a traumatic way. On the contrary, these scenes are very much welcome in the human brain and can stay there for as long as they’d like. It doesn’t come off like a raunchy video you’d find on the darkest parts of the internet. It feels legitimate, which is another indicator that Sejic knows exactly what he’s doing. I like authors who know what they’re doing. It’s so refreshing. Again, take notes, E.L. James!

While characters can be as flawed as the authors want them to be, I couldn’t find a single flaw in the story itself. There was nothing overly offensive or grammatically inept in this book at all. Maybe the only people who would find this offensive are pearl-clutching puritans, but that’s not the target audience and I wouldn’t want to read a story where they are. Everything is healthy, everything is sane, and I walked away from this story in a much better place than before I went into it. This graphic novel gets a perfect five stars out of five. It definitely makes me want to read the rest of the Sunstone series, however many volumes there are.

Show Don't Tell

PRE-VERSE 1

Don’t tell me about the ghostly music

Show me sound waves liquefying his brain

Don’t tell me he’s about to lose it

Show me twitchy faces as he’s going insane

VERSE 1

Reading about scandals in the newspaper

Won’t give you the most intimate flavor

An old man’s gyroscopic wiener in motion

Leaves her trapped above the Atlantic Ocean

Few seconds of assault becomes a life of trauma

But they’ll brush it off as SJW drama

She’s a hero for telling a story that pains her

And showing the old fart he’s a walking failure

PRE-VERSE 2

Tell me you’re hurting without telling me so

The hangover turns your head into a bomb to blow

Tell me why you’re drunk without telling me why

Because it’s better than letting monsters see you cry

VERSE 2

A fictional world becomes real in a hurry

When the lines of fantasy become so blurry

Is the author a racist or just bad at his craft?

When the audience screamed, the Nazis laughed

Five hundred pages of knights and mages

And lovers so fine with questionable ages

He’s a villain for telling a story so awful

And showing why he’s still on the side of lawful

PRE-VERSE 3

These stories don’t connect in any meaningful way

They’re just random thoughts barfed onto the page

Get a nice editor to tell you that you’re full of it

Test your resolve, we’ll see if you’re full of quit

VERSE 3

In the end, we all have our stories to tell

But it’s all a matter of if they’re told well

We don’t mind a little bit of being disturbed

As long as there’s substance to go with big words

Everyone has potential to live beyond themselves

And see their very best efforts on library shelves

You’re a human for telling a story the world needs

And showing them all you despise corporate greed

I Didn't Mean to Bore You

VERSE 1

What do I do to earn my glorious payday?

More like what I do to pass the time away

I create magic universes for others to see

Create 3D characters who eventually bleed

Write it all down and let the printer’s ink dry

Which is more than I’ll say about your eyes

Ask more questions, go ahead, I implore you

I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you

VERSE 2

One word answers are all that I’ll give

Code of silence is how I choose to live

Resting Bitch Face so photogenic

Photoshop’s got nothing on this edit

Blunt affect voice, my weapon of choice

Groaning and grunting, my only noise

Don’t take this as a sign I’ll ignore you

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you

BRIDGE

No common ground between the two of us

No longevity of friendship or moment of lust

Nothing to do but milk the grandfather clock

I can tell you’re more excited picking out socks

VERSE 3

Did I do anything fun on Valentine’s Day?

Sat on my ass and watched time tick away

Waiting for exhaustion to pass over my mind

Looking for inspiration anywhere I can find

Did I do anything fun on the fourth of July?

Just lay in my beddy-bye and ask myself why

Mandatory fun? I’d never even force you

I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you

FINAL VERSE

Until next time when we’re strangers again

Remember me not as your favorite friend

Remember me not as the one who rewards you

I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you

Not Reading Your Own Reviews

***NOT READING YOUR OWN REVIEWS***

If you’re an author or creator of any kind, there’s one universal fact that you’ll have to blindly accept right off the bat: you will have critics, you will have bad reviews, and there’s nothing you can do about it other than keep on keeping on. It took me a LONG ass time to accept this, but I’m in a better position in my life because I did. Everyone in your audience has a unique point of view and that’s the way it should be. You don’t get to be a ruthless North Korean dictator just because you have sensitive feelings. But having said all of this, while you’re required to accept the fact you will be criticized, you are NOT obligated to read your own negative reviews.

That’s not the same thing as accepting feedback from your inner circle. Beta readers and editors are there for the sole purpose of giving you constructive feedback and advice on how to fix your manuscript’s worst flaws. You should welcome these people into your life because that’s how you get better as a writer. But reviewers are an entirely different animal altogether. Once your book is published, all bets are off. Reviewers are not obligated to be kind or constructive. Their job is to give an honest opinion of the work in question, nothing more, nothing less. Reviews are not written for the benefit of the author. They’re for the benefit of future readers, whether it’s advice to stay away from the published work or gravitate towards it en masse.

But just because someone is entitled to their negative opinion of you and your work, it doesn’t mean you have to force yourself to read what they have to say. That should be reserved for the beta readers and editors. Getting negative reviews is stressful. I know this because I’ve gotten a few of them myself (surprise, surprise) and haven’t brought myself to read what they actually say. You could argue that I’m a special little snowflake who gets easily hurt and you’d be right in that regard. Having a litany of mental health issues weakens my defenses when it comes to receiving harsh words. I want desperately to be a superhuman badass in the face of adversity, but I don’t get to have that choice. It seems as though every one of my author friends is secretly Superman or Wonder Woman, but I forget that they too have bad days when it comes to criticism. The only difference is, they have the ability to endure more than I can and it shows in their marketing schemes.

I’ve been watching a lot of Book Tube lately and had a nice little marketing strategy in mind: sending copies of my already published books to them and having them make videos about their honest opinions. I enjoy watching creators like Krimson Rogue, Rachel Oates, and Jordan Harvey work their magic. They’re entertaining, they’re thoughtful, they’re wise, and they’re the perfect candidates for reviewing my books, right? Well, that’s where my overactive, anxious imagination comes into play. I’ve played out tear-jerking scenarios in my head where these Book Tubers create videos bashing the shit out of my works and sending their viewers over to my social media to mob me out of existence. I know full well they’re not mean people. In fact, most of them don’t believe in cancel culture. But the thoughts have crossed my mind nonetheless and they’re maddening.

If they hypothetically were to give my books negative reviews, it’s not like they’d be entirely wrong in their opinions. Over the past decade, I’ve written some disgusting, nasty, overbearing shit and it’s only a matter of time before someone’s head explodes from reading it all. It could be Mitch McLeod coming off as a Gary-Stu. It could be me having a laugh at the expense of people from the south. Hell, one scenario I’ve imagined (but not realized yet) is Krimson Rogue jokingly calling one of my poetry books Confessions of a Schizophrenic Misogynist. For Christ’s sake, the book starts off by saying, “True blue, I don’t need a 62, your wife’s sweet juices will just have to do.” I don’t want to say that’s a red flag, but…well, it’s a red flag. A BIG fucking red flag.

Yes, my writing career has stagnated due to my lack of marketing prowess. Yes, I know what I need to do to fix that. But am I prepared for the consequences of doing so? Far from it. I’ve been mobbed online before and it’s not fun. Hell, I’ve gotten sad and angry when the harsh criticism was delivered in a gentle way. Like I said, I long for the day when I can be an ultra-tough superman, but I also know that day is never going to come, not in my condition. I firmly believe mental toughness is something you’re born with. Sure, you could sign up for the army and grow accustomed to having a drill instructor scream in your face 24/7, but if you’re not already mentally tough, that won’t build you up; it’ll knock your ass down for the count. I was born sensitive and I’ll take that to the grave with me several decades down the line.

So…if I were to follow through with my plan to allow Book Tubers to review what I’ve got and give an honest opinion, I should include one condition to the deal: that no matter how offensive the content is, we will still be friends. I’ll gladly agree to my end of that deal. If they give me one and two-star reviews, I will still think of them as my favorite friends. But will they feel the same about me? Yes, I consider some of these Book Tubers to be friends despite not knowing them well enough. Maybe I’m just a fan of their work and don’t want to be cast down by my own heroes. Maybe this condition isn’t necessary at all. But no matter if I include this provision or not, I still remain firm in my belief that reading my own reviews and watching my own response videos will only do more harm than good. Yes, I’d get the exposure I need, but like I said earlier, reviews are not for authors; they are for other readers. True critiques will come from your beta readers and editors. Hannah Lee Kidder, the author of Little Birds, agrees wholeheartedly with me and she’s more successful than I am at the moment, so if you can’t take my word for it, take hers.

If you want a copy of any of my books and you want to give an honest review of it, don’t be afraid to reach out to me. Your opinion matters. Nobody can take that away from you. Here’s my bibliography:

1. Occupy Wrestling (pro-wrestling urban fantasy novella)
2. American Darkness (contemporary micro-fiction collection)
3. Poison Tongue Tales (sci-fi, fantasy, and horror micro-fiction collection)
4. Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage (poetry and songs)
5. Necrograph (more poetry and songs)
6. Lunatic Justice (even more poetry and songs)
7. Still Standing (anti-bullying anthology alongside other authors)

Which one of you wants a nice reading adventure? I’m all ears! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

It’s been a long time in between edit jobs, but as of today, I’ve completed a chapter-by-chapter synopsis, a prologue, and six opening chapters. Chapter seven will be the one where Shelly Atwood and one of her minions give Windham Xavier a bath. What could be so exciting about that, you ask? First of all, as I’ve already established, Shelly Atwood has no business touching Windham on any part of this body, much less when he’s butt naked in bath water. Eventually, he’s going to have to make a break for it. And he just fucking might!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“This world asks for so much. Despite what you give, it’s just never enough. Then you’re left cold, tired, and alone. Searching for something that’s already gone. You try not to be afraid. Bound down by all of these things that they say. And you feel like you’re all by yourself. But I’ll be right here when there’s nothing left. Your fears, they know that you’re scared. Wherever you go, they seem to meet you there. And you face them all on your own. Never the weak, always the strong. And you win most of the time. Never once claiming that victory’s mine. And you carry this burden alone. But this candle’s burned at both ends for so long. Lay down. Rest here in peace in my arms now knowing you’re safe from the storms and the rain and from all of your pain. And I’ll be here when only the silence remains.”

-3 Doors Down singing “The Silence Remains”-

Knives Out

MOVIE TITLE: Knives Out

DIRECTOR: Rian Johnson

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Murder Mystery

RATING: PG-13 for violence and language

GRADE: Pass

In a family full of rich, spoiled brats who all claim entitlement to Harlan Thromby’s fortune (and are all cut off from his will), who could possibly want him dead the most? Who would want all of that money for themselves so badly that they’re willing to commit revenge murder to get it? Is it book publisher Walt Thromby? Is it social media influencer Joni? Is it alt-right troll boy Jacob? Truth is, everybody in this family is so unlikable that any one of them would make a convincing suspect. Some are more worthy of hate than others and that may lead you, the viewer, to obvious conclusions. You’re tempted by the obvious choice, but know deep down that’s not always the case. This mystery is so nuanced and so complicated that you’ll not only yearn to know who did it, but also how. Any mystery movie that can keep the wheels turning in your mind for as long as possible counts as a great story in my opinion. Knives Out is that great story. That’s what I expected going into the movie theater and that’s what happened.

In a movie genre where lying is paramount, I love the fact that Marta, Harlan’s personal nurse from [insert Latin country here], spills her cookies every time she lies. It could be a clever plot device. It could be a convenient way to keep her honest. Or maybe it’s just a fun little gimmick to make sure the audience knows what side she’s on. Either way, the gimmick doesn’t overstay its welcome and plays an important role in the story so many times that it’s completely necessary. It’s not even a crutch to get out of storytelling plot holes. It’s there because it needs to be. Marta is a kindhearted woman anyways, but even she makes her fair share of enemies in this movie. She’s not a total Mary-Sue in that respect. Plus, she has her own deep dark secret that may or may not influence the detective work going on throughout. The plot will thicken, not unlike the intestinal acid that bursts from Marta’s mouth every time she tells a whopper.

As to be expected with a rogue’s gallery as the main character roster, there will be some bickering among them and there are some genuinely funny moments in their dialogue. The political discussions are incredibly hammy from the basic talking points to the argot used by both the leftwing and rightwing characters. “How’s that SJW degree going, Meg?” says the most obnoxious member of the family Ransom, who’s seen eating a package of cookies at the will reading. Speaking of which, I nearly bust a gut when Walt makes an offhand remark about Harlan leaving Ransom a glass of milk in the will, proceeded by a swear word insult I will not repeat in this review. Even the serious dialogue is entertaining to listen to and at times accidentally comes off as humorous. Bottom line: it’s hard to be bored with a movie like Knives Out whether it’s the dialogue, characters, or overall mystery that you’re intrigued by.

This movie met my expectations the minute I walked through the theater door. No more, no less. I wasn’t expecting to be emotionally tear-jerked by this movie, but then again, Knives Out doesn’t have to do that. It’s just a fun story from beginning to end. It was cleverly crafted, beautifully acted, and not a single detail went to waste. This movie gets four out of five stars a.k.a. the passing grade. Rian Johnson gets a lot of heat for the way he handled his Star Wars movies. I personally don’t have a problem with them, but if Mr. Johnson needed to wash away the muck from his criticism, Knives Out was the movie to do it. Was it considered for an Oscar? I’m not sure, but it should have been.

Jealousy

***JEALOUSY***

In the age of social media, it’s easier than ever to compare and contrast yourself to other people. When you see one of your friends on Face Book getting married, you wonder why it’s not happening to you. When you see a Deviant Art buddy getting an ass-load of faves, you wonder why you don’t have any at all, let alone any views. When you see a Good Reads author achieve an average rating of 4:5 stars on one of their novels, you wonder why yours is below the 3.0 mark. The more we subject ourselves to this kind of comparative thinking, the more depressed we become. The easy solution would be to just stop comparing your life progress to your friends.

In the words of whoever sang the theme to Kingdom Hearts, “I don’t think life is quite that simple.” In the writing world, jealousy works both ways. I’ve had authors be jealous of me and I’ve been jealous of other authors. It’s perfectly natural to feel this way as long as it doesn’t consume you and turn you against the people you love. But that’s the thing: it is all consuming. It does eat away at the soul. I even have examples from my own life to prove this.

There are plenty of reasons to be jealous of another writer, but the one thing I envy above all others is the ability to write god knows how many words in the span of one day. Or one hour. Or half an hour. Or fifteen minutes. I get on Face Book all the time and see that this author is bragging about writing fifty thousand words in the span of a week, thus completing their novel. This author I speak of has an ass-load of books to their name too, each with high ratings on Good Reads and Amazon, so it’s not like any of this hard work is going to waste. Me? I consider myself lucky if I’m in the mental state to write a five-paragraph review for a forty page book. My foggy state of mind is a constant source of ire for me, so when I see other authors pumping out novels like hotcakes, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.

And then there were times when other authors were jealous of me (I can’t imagine why). Those who have followed me on social media for a long time know that I like to write blog entries about vacations I’m going on or rock concerts I’m attending. Last year in 2018, I’ve been to eight different concerts. This year, I’ve already seen three and I have four more in the future. And yes, I’m as braggadocios as the Face Book author who boasts about writing a gazillion words in three days, or whatever the statistic was. Going to rock concerts is something not everyone can afford to do on a regular basis, whether it has to do with work/school schedules, family emergencies, physical disabilities, or just not having enough money for it. So I’m going to try my damnedest to keep my concert talk to a minimum. I’ll still post them as life events on Face Book, but that’s all you’ll get from me.

While it is natural to feel jealous of other people in your life, the one thing you should never wish for is to swap lives with your friends or family. The one thing we all have in common is our pain. When you ask to swap lives with someone you’re jealous of, you take the bad with the good. Suppose you’re jealous of a friend who got married during a seven day trip at Universal Studios. That sounds like a shit-load of fun, but there’s a whole lot going on with that person that you don’t know about. He could be depressed and hiding it really well. He could have mountains of college debt. He could be a pariah in his neighborhood. Just because you see the best version of another person on social media, doesn’t mean you should wish for his life. Everyone has their pain and we all deal with it in our own unique way.

I don’t talk about my personal pain a lot on social media, so when I do it this time around, I hope it’ll ease some of the jealousy you have of my concerts, vacations, or whatever else is going on. You all know by now that I’m schizophrenic, overweight, and constantly tired all the time, right? Now here are some things you probably don’t know. I’ve been unemployed all of my life (except for volunteer work). My mother is having severe mobility issues and needs a walker to get around. I don’t know how to drive a car nor do I own one myself, so I’m confined to my bedroom most of the time. I’m painfully shy in big social situations, so my friends in this town are few and far between. My brother is dealing with bipolar disorder and had a few breakdowns recently. Okay, that’s enough for now. This isn’t a pain contest, but you get what I’m saying. You don’t want my life and I don’t want yours. We all have our own stories to tell and our own destinies going forward. Let it be that way.

If you’re going to be jealous of another person, don’t let it consume your life. The one thing authors need to remember is that we’re one big family who helps each other during the toughest times. This isn’t a competitive field. This is a tag team main event. That’s why I didn’t use names when I gave examples of jealousy, because those people are my friends through and through and I don’t want to paint them in a negative light. We can get shit done together if we put our minds to it. What’s that I always say at the end of my blog entries? Oh yeah, it’s…even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You’re giving me too many things. Lately, you’re all I need. You smiled at me and said, “Don’t get me wrong, I love you, but does that mean I have to meet your father?” When we are older, you’ll understand what I meant when I said, “No, I don’t think life is quite that simple.” The daily things that keep us all busy are confusing me. That’s when you came to me and said, “Wish I could prove I love you, but does that mean I have to walk on water?” When we are older, you’ll understand it’s enough when I say so. And maybe some things are that simple. When you walk away, you don’t hear me say, “Please! Oh baby, don’t go!” Simple and clean is the way that you’re making me feel tonight. It’s hard to let it go. Hold me. Whatever lies beyond this morning is a little later on. Regardless of warnings, the future doesn’t scare me at all. Nothing’s like before.”

-“Simple and Clean” from Kingdom Hearts-

Romantic Obligations

***ROMANTIC OBLIGATIONS***

It seems as though every movie you watch or every book you read is required to have at least one romantic subplot. The story can do fine without one, but it’s shoehorned in there anyways because…reasons? Unfortunately, this obligation has reflected in my own writing as well. In Occupy Wrestling, Mitch McLeod HAD to have Debra Winter as his fiancé. In Beautiful Monster, Windham Xavier HAD to have Tarja Rikkinen as his lover (that’ll change soon enough, trust me). In Silent Warrior, Scott George HAD to have Adrienne Simpson has his underage girlfriend (disturbing, I know). And finally, Incelbordination HAD to have a plot where Oswald Crow was pining for a girlfriend (this one actually makes sense since Incel culture is all about the lack of romantic sex).

I don’t want my readers to think that this is me putting the romantic genre on blast. When executed correctly, romances can leave a lasting impression and make the consumer hunger for more. The biggest knock on some of these romances is that they happen too soon or without enough building up. Me? I’ve only had two relationships in my whole life, yet I somehow feel obligated to write romantic subplots in my stories because that’s what the majority wants. I know how ironic that sounds coming from a guy who preaches individuality in his poetry all the fucking time.

While romance is popular among most consumers, I feel like I can finally be free enough to say that it’s not a requirement. No author should be pressured into putting romance in a story that doesn’t need it. Best friends? Maybe. Casual acquaintances? Perhaps. If I had allowed myself such freedom earlier in my career, I could have saved myself a lot of heartache when it came to ratings and judgment from my audience. While I don’t have a definitive consensus on how Demon Axe turned out, I can safely say that the budding romance between Daniel Mercer and Raven Triscloud was one hundred percent unnecessary. They didn’t spend enough time around each other. They criticized each other a lot. How exactly did they deserve a romantic subplot?

My current WIP is the rewriting of Beautiful Monster, which if you remember the first draft had a romance that DEFINITELY had no business being there. Windham Xavier endured a week of rape and he’s expected to jump into a relationship with Tarja Rikkinen? Bullshit, man! What the fuck was I thinking? If that wasn’t bad enough, they had Porn Hub-esque sex early on in the story. Again, what the fuck was I thinking?! So in this new version of Beautiful Monster, Windham and Tarja’s relationship will be mostly platonic. I say mostly because…well…no spoilers! Only Khlav Khalash! Seriously though, Windham and Tarja’s chemistry will be slower than an old lady crossing the street with a pair of bad knees. I should know how slow that is, because my mom had knee surgery two years ago and is still hurting like a motherfucker. Sigh…

After I rewrite Beautiful Monster and try to dub it as the novel that will save my career, I plan on sending all of my first draft novels to Hollow Hills and rewriting those as well. Will they have romantic subplots? I don’t know and I don’t care either way. I’m free from the shackles of other people’s expectations. If they want to fuck, they’ll fuck. If not, then they’ll watch The Price Is Right. I’ll take Rivers and Lakes for $200, Alex. Wait a minute…

If you don’t want romantic subplots for your stories either, that’s cool with me. I’ll read them anyways and enjoy them just the same. Romance can be fun to read about, but it shouldn’t be a necessity for EVERY…SINGLE…STORY! Hollywood does this a lot and their romances suffer because they’ve been executed too soon with little to no true chemistry. In the words of Eminem’s high-pitched voice, “Let’s just be friends!” I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

As of today, I have one prologue and three chapters written. Windham is safe and snug in the shackled confines of Shelly Atwood’s bed. Shelly and Torger had an argument about him being there, which resulted in Shelly grabbing Torger’s groin and squeezing his testicles as hard as she could. Ouch! Chapter four will be told through the point of view of Tarja Rikkinen as she tries to convince Orpheus Rinehart to allow her to retrieve Windham. But first…she has to get through the drooling zombie rednecks known as the Savage Brothers, Christian and Kody. If those aren’t some serious douchey white guy names, I don’t know what else to say.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I was blue and lonely. I couldn’t sleep a wink. I could only get unconscious if I’d had too much to drink. There was somehow something wrong somewhere. Each day seemed gray and dead. The seeds of desperation were growing in my head. I needed inspiration. A brand new start in life. Somewhere to place affection. But I didn’t want a wife. And then by lucky chance I saw in a special magazine an ad that was unusual, the like I’d never seen. “Experience something different with our new imported toy. She’s loving, warm, inflatable, and a guarantee of joy.” She came all wrapped in cardboard, all pink and shriveled down. A breath of air was all she needed to help her lose that frown. I took her to the bedroom and pumped her with some life. And later in a moment, that girl became my wife. And so I sit her in the corner and sometimes stroke her hair. And when I’m feeling naughty, I blow her up with air. She’s cuddly and she’s bouncy. She’s like a rubber ball. I bounce her in the kitchen and I bounce her in the hall. And now my life is different since Sally came my way. I wake up in the morning and have her on a tray. She’s everything they said she was. I wear a permanent grin. And I only have to worry in case my girl wears thin.”

-The Police reciting poetry from “Be My Girl, Sally”-

***POST-SCRIPT**

Maybe if Windham is getting over his trauma and still feels frisky, he can order his own Sally in the mail and bypass Tarja and Shelly altogether! Come to think of it, I should order a Sally doll too! Hehe!

My Name In Your Mouth

***MY NAME IN YOUR MOUTH***

Before I begin with the body of this blog entry, I want everybody to know that this isn’t aimed at anybody in particular nor is it meant to be an attack in the first place. This is about something that’s been going on in my mind for quite a while now. I’m sure a lot of my writer friends can relate, or at least I hope they do. But anytime somebody mentions me in association with my writing in real life or in a You Tube video…I panic. I get this anxious sensation in the pit of my tummy and my first instinct is to turn around and run away (or cringe if I don’t have an available exit). These people could be saying the nicest, friendliest things about my work, but I’m still Clockwork Oranged into believing it’s worth being nervous about. Why is that?

I’m no stranger to criticism and I’ve had a lot of it in my career. But I’m also at a place in my life where I’ve come to depend on critiques and notes like the mature adult that I am. Although critiques are necessary to any author’s success, it doesn’t make the nervousness go away. In fact, the longer I have to wait for it, the higher the anxiety builds. Yes, I know I sound like a sensitive snowflake with thin skin and a strong need for a safe space. If I could choose to be more durable, I’d be fucking invincible. It never gets easier for me with age and I can’t understand why.

I’ll always remember a time in late 2010 when I wrote music-themed fan fiction and posted it live on Face Book. One of those stories was called “Awake and Alive” and it was about a young man named Junie Fritz, who wanted to break his own shyness by going to a Skillet concert in Seattle and making friends with a cute girl named Shawn Tucker. My brother’s girlfriend at the time Susan (who doesn’t live with us anymore) caught me in the hallway and said, “So I read your story about Junie!” Without missing a beat I wave goodbye to her and try to retreat into my room. Turns out she liked the story and wanted to praise it (despite the fact that Junie rode a fucking ATV to the arena).

Another example of wanting to cringe and/or retreat was Mother’s Day earlier this year, when I gifted my mom a copy of Poison Tongue Tales. She’s one of my biggest fans and wanted to see a sample of what I’ve published, so I gave her that. She was so happy to have it and immediately jumped into the Two-Sentence Horror Stories section. I cringed hard when she read some of those stories out loud, not because of her, but because I was listening to my own writing and I wanted to get the fuck out of there. It’s like I’ve been conditioned into thinking my own writing sucks by the various haters I’ve had over the years.

Still to this day I have that anxious feeling whenever somebody wants to talk about my writing in real life or on You Tube. Sometimes I feel this way whenever it’s in written form. For a guy who’s trying to market myself to the public so that I can get as many book sales as possible, this is quite the barrier. I should WANT to have my name in people’s mouths. I should WANT the free advertising. I should WANT to have the limelight on me 24/7. But I feel tiny every time my writing comes up in conversation.

Sometimes it’s not even a low self-esteem issue. Sometimes I write a personal story in an email or social media post and there’s a certain part of that story that makes me nervous to talk about it. Just the other day, I wrote an email to my mother detailing why I didn’t want to go on dates when I was in middle school. The biggest reason was because my dad was going through nasty shit with his ex-wives at the time, so I didn’t want to pay alimony or child support to another woman (even though I was fucking thirteen). I told mom that I didn’t want to play second fiddle to a girlfriend who would no doubt prevent me from achieving my college dreams. It didn’t help matters that I watched the Millennium episode “A Room with No View” right around that time and saw Lucy Butler get touchy-feely and kissy-kissy with her hostages. Obviously, things have changed since then and if the opportunity presented itself, I’d definitely go on a date with a nice woman. But still, that was quite the revelation for my mother.

So why all the nervousness? Why all the fuss? Why can’t I just put on my suit of armor and deflect bullets like Superman? Why can’t I just…you know…”toughen up”, like a stereotypical male would say in a Skillset Magazine article? Did my mental illnesses make me this way? Am I just a naturally sensitive person? Do I have too much empathy? Does anybody else feel this sense of panic whenever they hear their own writing? Have I really been Clockwork Oranged into believing I suck? What’s going on here? I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying….well, that would be a good time to retreat to your room and lock the door. No mountain climbing until you calm the fuck down.

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

As of today, I’ve written the prologue and first two chapters of this reloaded project. The third chapter will see an argument take place between Torger Manson and Shelly Atwood. Torger wants Shelly to be a businesswoman first and a lover second if she’s going to deny him access to the sex slaves. If you’re not cringing right now, check your pulse. Shelly has already forcibly deflowered Windham, so any conversation she has with Torger about sex will give you the feeling of spiders crawling on your skin. Wish me luck!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Between suicide and all your dirty lies. Are you looking sad for girls? Are you looking bad for sympathy? Between suicide and secrets that you hide. Are you feeling pain like birds? Are you trading pearls for misery? It’s getting hard to say open your eyes. Needles haven’t fixed anything. I guess we’re millions of faces waiting somewhere for somebody else’s place to feel like home. Love is a refuge with fears and doubts. It’s the Jesus on your necklace. Love is a silence to your cry outs. Sleepless hideouts. The cheapest, the fabulous.”

-Your Favorite Enemies singing “Open Your Eyes”-

Why I Love the Author Community

***WHY I LOVE THE AUTHOR COMMUNITY***

I saw so many indie authors online from Jenna Moreci to Hannah Lee Kidder discussing this topic and I thought I should throw my name into the hat. I have a lot to be grateful for when it comes to my writing career and one of those things is the company I keep. The first thing people will tell you is that the author community is like one big family and the stigma about competitiveness is just that: a stigma that needs to be erased. Or as Red Green always says, “I’m pulling for you. We’re all in this together.” I agree with this philosophy one hundred percent. It takes a village to write a novel, whether your villagers are beta readers, editors, audience members, or otherwise.

I must confess that it took a long time for me to allow the author community into my life. When I first started creative writing as a sixteen year old, I had a massive ego and a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas. My filter for constructive or hurtful criticism was so strong that anybody who gave it to me was met with derision. I remember one night in Spokane, Washington in the fall of 2001 where I attended INCON, a sci-fi, fantasy, and anime convention. One of the feature attractions was having a piece of writing critiqued by five different professional authors. After the second one had her turn, I stormed out of the room and spent the rest of my evening crying my fucking eyeballs out. Were the authors using kid gloves? Not at all. But did that mean I had nothing to learn from them? Also a resounding no.

I took this egotistical attitude with me everywhere I went whether it was online or in college. I took my first creative writing class in 2004, though big ego or not, that class was deeply flawed judging from how much leniency was shown towards nasty critics. It got so bad that I wrote a poem about one of my classmates and told him that he looked like Frodo Baggins and that I wanted to impregnate his mother. I will admit that this gave me the confidence I needed to write poetry, but still, all that rage over a “You suck” comment? Ugh…

I would go on to take many more creative writing classes at Western Washington University and just like before, my ego got in the way of a true education. I remember one teacher I had who labeled my use of swear words as “hate speech” and told me I also wasn’t allowed to have gratuitous violence in my stories. What set me off wasn’t that alone, but the fact that I still got a C in her class despite adhering to her rules. My ego got bigger and my walls got higher. It would take a bloody miracle for me to let people in.

Fast forward to the year 2013, where I wanted to embark on an indie author career, but didn’t have anybody to critique my writing. I must have driven all of those people away, but it’s true, if you go long enough without criticism, you’ll be desperate for it when the gatekeepers lock you out. I caved and went to a group on Good Reads affectionately called the WSS (Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company). I’m still a member of that group today. I would enter a short story or novel chapter into the weekly contests, just like the name suggested…and the critiques I received were a complete one-eighty from a lifetime of seething anger.

Everybody was so nice to me that little by little, my walls started to strip away and it was easier to let people in. I got more of an education in this group than I did in school. You can teach people how to show instead of tell, how to keep one narrator, how to use colorful descriptions, how to not pull the trigger too soon when it comes to the climax, and how to make your characters overcome great adversity. People with massive egos never learn these things because they believe in their hearts they’re already good enough. The more you realize how imperfect you are, the more likely you are to improve. Thank you, WSS, for stripping away my oversized ego with your kindness and love.

From that moment, I would go on to meet many wonderful indie authors whom I can learn from and depend on when things get rough. I can’t say enough positive things about Ashley Uzzell/Marie Krepps. She’s honest, she’s funny as hell, she’s wise beyond her years, and she backs it all up with her kick-ass stories. Aurora Styles is every bit as wonderful as her Hollow Hills cohort with her own sense of humor, her own literary wisdom, and her own terrifically-written prose. Jenna Moreci uploads You Tube videos every so often dishing out sagely wisdom of her own whether the topic is writing or marketing. Hannah Lee Kidder is also a You Tuber who’s fun to watch when it comes to giving the world thoughtful advice. Patrick Doran’s cheerful Deviant Art comments give me the fuel I need to carry on during moments of exhaustion. If I’ve left anybody out, I swear it’s an accident. Thank you, writing community, for being my rock and not letting my head over-inflate.

I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’ve been alone. Felt abandoned at times. Given into the fall. I can’t forget what it’s like. When I felt numb and so hollow inside, you carried me through it all across the divide. I’ve been lost. Felt ruined inside. Watched it all crumble in the blink of an eye. You were strong and so hopeful inside. Saved this fallen one when I wanted to die. And when I went through it all, you gave me your heart. I learned to forgive. And when I come through it all, I know you’re the one I’ll never forget.”

-Device singing “Through It All”-