Don't Be a People Pleaser

***DON’T BE A PEOPLE PLEASER***

Yesterday evening, I had to republish four of my books to accommodate for the fact that I removed copyrighted lyrics from them. Even little insignificant snippets of lyrics are enough to violate copyright laws and get an author into hot water. I personally think it’s a bit ridiculous for a music corporation to sue an author for millions of dollars over one line of text, but it is what it is and I had to play by the rules. Copyrighted lyrics have now been eradicated from my entire catalogue. But that’s not why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds, no, no, no, no, no. We’re here to talk about what else was in those books that could be potentially damaging, not in a legal way, but in a social way.

My very first collection of poetry, Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage, has an Eric Clapton parody called “Retarded Tonight”. I wrote it through the perspective of people who see me as a cartoon character and nothing more. And when you’re a cartoon character, everything about you is hammed up to the extreme. While my poem wasn’t meant to be an attack on mentally disabled people, I can understand if people see it that way and get angry afterwards.

In my second book of poetry, Necrograph, there’s a parody song called “Texas”. On the surface it seems like stereotyping and mockery, but I only wanted to call out people who are so far on the fringe that they become parodies of themselves. Not everyone from Texas acts that way. Not everyone from any other geographic location acts that way either. Pantera is from Texas. Nothing More is from Texas. My favorite indie authors, Christina McMullen, K.L. Cottrell, and Markie Madden, are also from Texas. Quite frankly, I could have changed the name to Fringe Toast and it wouldn’t generate as much controversy. But at the same time, I empathize with people who would be upset by this song.

I’m sure there are other examples in my books of stories and poems I should apologize for. That’s what you have to remember as you go through life as an author: if you unintentionally hurt people, apologize profusely and make peace. It’s a classy move that’s good for all parties. But at the same time, you don’t want to change so much of your approach to creativity that you lose your individuality. I considered removing some of my more offensive material from my books, but if I did that, I’d have no books. Art is subjective. One man’s trash is the next man’s treasure. If you please one person, another gets upset. Bottom line: you can be a warmhearted public figure, but you can’t please everyone. If you try, your work will become so bland that the whole world will hate it.

And that’s why we’re gathered here today, my dearly beloveds. It’s a cautionary tale not to be a people pleaser. Yes, the criticism you receive will hurt badly at times, but the love you receive from others is also valid. The negativity bias and low self-esteem is why some authors become people pleasers. Peace is comfortable. Agreeability is also comfortable. But being TOO comfortable in your own bubble doesn’t allow for personal growth or a courageous reputation. Sometimes you have to be just a little bit offensive in order to get noticed. You don’t have to go full Milo Yiannopoulos, and really, you shouldn’t even consider it, but just be controversial enough that you have a message.

Think of all of your favorite musicians, artists, and writers and how they too dared to be offensive in the face of adversity. What if Marilyn Manson was a people pleaser? What if Roger Waters cared too much what his brutal teachers thought of him? What if George Carlin toned himself down and never got in hot water with the FCC? That would make for a pretty bland world, wouldn’t you agree? Everybody would be wearing the same putty-faced masks Roger Waters introduced in the movie Pink Floyd the Wall. Nobody would laugh at George Carlin. Nobody would have the courage to be themselves if Marilyn Manson didn’t have the courage to be himself.

At the same time, you don’t want to be like a pizza cutter: all edge and no point. Roger Waters, George Carlin, and Marilyn Manson at least had a profound message in their performances. If you write a book with nothing but racial slurs and R-word implications throughout, you probably deserve the wrath of the online mob. Have a purpose. Have something to say even if it’s not the most profound message in the galaxy. Yes, you can write strictly for fun, but if you’re being offensive just for the sake of being offensive and you have nothing to back yourself up, then enjoy your one and two-star reviews, my friend.

Going back to my point about how “Texas” was about fringe people, you also don’t want to be on the fringe when it comes to the people-pleasing/edgy-jerkwad spectrum. A nice, healthy middle ground is what you should look for. If you can’t find it or it’s obvious that you’re not trying to look for it, your audience will notice. They noticed it with books like “Trigger Warning” by William Johnstone. They noticed it with that Dr. Pepper 10 commercial where they say, “It’s not for women.” While it is true that art ages poorly sometimes, it shouldn’t take such a short or instantaneous amount of time to do so.

Be yourself no matter what they say. Some people will like it, some people won’t. In the end, it’s up to you which battles are worth fighting and which ones aren’t. Know when to open fire and know when to lay down your arms with your hands in the sky. It takes practice to do this, but with a little wisdom and a little input from those you love, you can do it. I know you can. Let’s be artists together! I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***LOST WITHOUT YOU***

I’ve talked about this story idea on Face Book and a little bit on Twitter, but not everywhere else. Because I’ve fallen in love with the fan fiction genre after writing “A Little Bit Off” and “No Country For Old Farts”, I want to keep the spirit alive with a story called “Lost Without You”. It’s a Super Street Fighter II based fan fiction and it’ll feature a lesbian romance between Chun Li and Cammy. No, it won’t resemble something you’d see on Porn Hub. The romance will be written in a classy way with three-dimensional character work. I may be offensive sometimes, but I’m not THAT offensive, especially when I know the implications of what could go wrong if I whiff this story. Wish me luck!


***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

After a month-long vacation from my editing job, I’ve finally tightened the prose for chapters 14 and 15. It was an easy edit, but not all chapters will be like that, so I tread slowly to make sure I don’t overwhelm myself. Next on the chopping block is chapter 16, where Windham rents a hotel room in Morgan Town and eats hallucinogenic leaves, prompting a conversation between himself and his leonine deity Mageta. Windham may be a misguided zealot sometimes, but Mageta will always provide him with good points. I do so love good conversation even if it’s with a hallucination.


***QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I’m not a prophet. I was off by 490 years.”

-Mike Judge talking about “Idiocracy”-


***POST-SCRIPT***

Mike Judge is definitely not a people pleaser and he carved out a nice, long, healthy career for himself. I don’t agree with every single one of his views, but I agree that Idiocracy was a fucking awesome movie. Funny as hell!

Incelbordination, Chapter 1

Oswald Crow gazed upon the sea of slow-dancing couples with moisture in his eyes, tension in his muscles, and heaviness in his heart. What he wouldn’t give to be one of those lucky motherfuckers. Just a slight glance from a beautiful woman would have set him free. But the entire student body seemed determined to stay as far away from him as possible. Was it his shaggy black hair and scraggly beard? Was it his three-foot tall stature? Was it the way he dressed in his black trench coat? Or was he just destined to be a loser this whole time? God was laughing at him. The universe conspired against him. The world buried him six feet under. Despite all of this, all he could do was sigh in depression.

“What’s the point?” he said to nobody in particular. Oswald hopped off the couch in the far corner of the gym and stuffed his hands in his pockets, stomping his way toward the exit. He pantomimed kicking at a stone on his way out the door and even that piece of odd behavior didn’t grab anybody’s attention. Dwarf body aside, Oswald never felt so small and encaged.

Ah, finally some fresh night air. The gym doors could have done a better job of muffling the sounds of “When I See You Smile”, though. Not a soul in sight, just Oswald and his sorrowful thoughts as he plopped down on the sidewalk with his fist against his chin. He shook his head and once again asked, “What’s the point?” The answer was easy: there was no point in him being here anymore. He hadn’t the spine or testicles to ask a woman to dance with him, because rejection was more painful than loneliness. It always had been and it always would be.

He could have talked to a counselor. He could have confided in a best friend (which he had none). But instead he pulled a marijuana roll out of his trench coat and smiled for the first time this evening. The smile faded when he frisked himself in search of his lighter. “Goddamn it, where the fuck did I put it?” The longer he went without it, the more frantically he searched for it, even taking off his coat and shaking it out.

“Need a light?” said a startling baritone voice, nearly causing Oswald to jump out of his skin. The gentleman also wore a black trench coat a la The Matrix, complete with sunglasses (at nighttime?) and a bald head like Morpheus, sans black skin. If he was any whiter, he’d be clear.

“What are you, a cop? You going to turn me in for having this? I have a prescription for it, you know,” said Oswald.

The gentleman chuckled, “Don’t be silly, I wouldn’t dream of ratting you out. I love a good roll of green as much as the next guy. Here, let me light that for you.” He struck a match and kneeled down to light Oswald’s marijuana.

The dwarf puffed away until the fresh night air became dense with sweet cannabis smoke. “Thanks,” he said before relaxing on the sidewalk again.

“Don’t mention it,” said the stranger, who parked his ass right next to him and gazed around at nothing in particular. The silence between them grew tense until he said, “Not a good night, I take it.”

“To say the least,” said Oswald as he laid back on the concrete peering at the stars above. Those little pinholes in the dark looked lovelier than intended, as did the full moon. “Goddamn, this is some powerful shit.”

“I should get a prescription for that too,” said the stranger. “It’s funny how alcohol is called liquid courage, yet the only thing it encouraged anybody to do was smash a car against a tree. Meanwhile, people get locked up for having weed around the house. Makes about as much sense as any chick in that gym turning down Supreme Gentlemen like us.”

“Uh-huh…wait a minute…” Oswald sat up and rubbed the glaze out of his eyes. “Did you just call us…Supreme Gentlemen?”

“Of course I did. What else would we be? I’ll bet if you ask that question to any of the Chads and Stacys in there, you’ll probably get a much more derogatory answer.”

“…Ch…Chads and Stacys?”

“Oh yeah, that building’s loaded with them.” The stranger snatched the roll out of Oswald’s hands and puffed it a few times before handing it back. The little person’s eyes widened at the brazen gesture. “Oh, excuse me, where are my manners? I never formally introduced myself, did I. Here you go, bud.”

Oswald took a business card out of the stranger’s hand and read it out loud. “Antero Magnus…that’s an interesting name...Leader of….” The dwarf gave him an incredulous look before reading, “Incelbordination, a Support Group for Involuntary Celibates.” The wide-eyed stare returned as he handed Antero his card back. “What…the…actual…fuck?!”

“I know, right? It’s hard to believe anybody out there actually wants to support us. But it’s true: sometimes we need to talk about our feelings and nobody’s there to listen. Every heartbreak…every downfall…every swallow of the black pill…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…the…black pill?”

Taking his sunglasses off to reveal horrifying cyan eyes, Antero leaned in and said, “Oh yes, my little friend. We don’t take blue pills or red pills. We take black pills. We see the world for what it really is: an ugly hellhole. You know it, I know it, and every Supreme Gentleman who’s ever been picked on knows it too. You smoke that shit for a reason and it’s not because you want the stars and the moon to look prettier. You’re feeling the sadness. You’re feeling the hurt. Sometimes those Stacys like to crush your heart right underneath their five hundred dollar high heels.”

If Oswald’s eyes could get any wider, they’d pop out of his skull. The little man shook his head and asked, “Who the fuck talks like that?! You’re insane!”

Antero belted, “Insane?! Hah! That’s blue pill talk to me. Paul Mauriat was a fucking liar. Love ain’t blue. It ain’t red either. It’s black, baby. You’re not going to find the truth smoking that roll all night long, buddy. You’re not going to find love in a building full of prudes either. Join Incelbordination. You’re perfect for us. You’re brilliant, you’re thoughtful, and you can use those things to combat the injustices against us. You have what it takes to affect change in this world. Take the black pill. Take it!”

Taking another puff of Mary-Jane and ignoring Antero’s remarks about it not helping, Oswald said, “Well, Antero Magnus, if that is your real fucking name…as long as we’re ripping off The Matrix to make points about women owing us everything…I’ve got a Matrix reference for you right now. How about…I give you the finger…and you never talk to me again. I don’t need this Gestapo crap. I’d ask for a phone call right now, but I ain’t got nobody to call…because the only other person who will listen to me is the leader of Incel-Abortion, or whatever it’s called.”

The dwarf got up to leave when Antero called out, “You’re making a big mistake, Oswald!”

The marijuana roll dropped from Oswald’s lips as he slowly turned around and asked, “How did you know my name? I didn’t give that shit to you!”

Antero shook his head and chuckled, “Man, you’ve really got to stop leaving your personal information on Face Book. You think you’re invisible? Bitch, I can see you from miles away with a face like that! But in all seriousness, I do think you’d be a perfect fit for us. You’re unloved and distrusted. I bet that shit eats you up inside. If you ever change your mind, remember: I’ve got an open door policy when it comes to my Supreme Gentlemen.”

Pointing an accusatory finger at Antero, Oswald demanded, “Don’t ever call me a Supreme Gentleman again. That’s fucking creepy. And while you’re at it, don’t stalk me on Face Book again either. That’s double creepy. I’m not like you, Antero. I’m a dying breed!”

Antero’s chuckles grew more defined as he doubled over and clapped his hands. Despite the marijuana kicking in only minutes ago, Oswald could feel his heart thump like a bass drum in his chest. He turned around and ran as fast as his stubby legs could take him, though no distance could ever drown out Antero’s villainous laughter.

He fished in his trench coat and pulled out his MP3 player and headsets. Maybe some good old fashioned heavy metal would shut Antero up. Oswald struggled to keep the headsets on as he hurriedly scrolled through his songs to see what was best. “Strength Beyond Strength” by Pantera always got the job done. Nothing quite as entrancing as listening to Phil Anselmo scream his ass off about legalizing weed. Oswald blasted the volume up to maximum levels and he could still hear Antero laughing in the background despite the distance he had gained since then.

The heavy metal tune carried Oswald through his anxiety-induced workout and landed him into the recesses of the forest, his dorm building not too far away. He stopped running and leaned palm first against an oak tree, huffing and puffing like he had just had a noose wrapped around his neck. He coughed some of the marijuana out of his lungs and wheezed some more.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” he wondered in between heavy breaths and burning lungs. “No woman is worth this much bullshit.” His legs wobbly and sore, he trudged back to his dorm building and decided enough was enough for the evening. Although, it was never easy to close his eyes to sleep when they were red and puffy. “Too much weed…too much fucking weed…love ain’t black, Antero…love is green!”

Beautiful Monster Play List

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PLAY LIST***

Because music has a powerful influence over me and my art, I thought it was only right to put together a ten-song play list for my current WIP, Beautiful Monster. Mind you, this isn’t music I use while writing it. I always listen to wordless new age music whenever I write so as not to get easily distracted (except when writing blogs, of course, in which case, I’ll listen to anything). The play list in question has more to do with the songs’ influences on the story. For some of the songs, I use their lyrics as dialogue, while others just seem to fit perfectly with the events. Enough gum flapping. Let’s get right to the first track! And for the sake of keeping everything organized, the songs will be listed in alphabetical order by their band name. Starting with…

***BRIAN KENNEDY: DRY YOUR EYES (COVER SONG)***

This song was originally done by Mike Skinner a.k.a. The Streets, but to be honest, I like the Brian Kennedy version better. Let’s look at the title for a moment: Dry Your Eyes. Being unable to cry in front of people is a common theme with Windham Xavier’s characterization. Yes, he’s a male. Yes, he’s a hardened warrior. According to society, both of those things make crying a social taboo. There are many times in the novel where Windham would have been justified in unleashing his biblical flood of tears, but he chooses not to because he doesn’t want to give his attackers a reason to humiliate him. He only saves his tears for those who truly deserve them.

***BULLET FOR MY VALENTINE: TEARS DON’T FALL***

Another song about being unable to cry? Sure, why not? Although since it’s Bullet For My Valentine, there’s going to be a lot of screaming and rage. This song could technically be a battle theme for when Windham goes up against Torger and Shelly. It’s heavy, it’s badass, and it gets across its message perfectly. And just to clarify, Torger and Shelly are deemed undeserving of Windham’s tears despite the fact that they’re the reason he feels the way he does.

***DELAIN: COME CLOSER***

The phrase “come closer” is used a lot in my novel whether it’s Shelly’s hypnotic voice seducing Windham into captivity or Tarja urging him to open up and bare his soul to her. I might even have one of the characters sing the lyrics to this song, I don’t know yet. “Winter shadow cools you, white before your eyes. Summer shadow soothes you, nothing on your mind.” I don’t know what it is about the winter/summer shadow lines, but those are my favorite in the whole song.

***NIGHTWISH: WHILE YOUR LIPS ARE STILL RED***

The dramatic tension within Beautiful Monster is clearly urging Windham and Tarja to love each other, so this Nighwish song is the perfect anthem for their eventual romance. “Kiss while your lips are still red.” It’s just a more loving way of saying “kiss before you die”. With Windham’s chaotic mind and suicidal thoughts, you don’t know how long this is all going to last for him. Even after hooking up with Tarja, he still has to tell his story of captivity to the Commander. It’s doubtful even Tarja’s loving gestures could help him out with that one considering how insensitive and cruel everybody at Paladin Cross seems to be.

***OTHERWISE: BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Of course, where would this story be without its namesake? The phrase Beautiful Monster accurately describes Shelly Atwood along with the woman she draws inspiration from, Lucy Butler from Millennium. They’re both attractive as hell. They’re both the epitome of all evil. The only difference is, Lucy’s seductive ways are a means to an end while Shelly’s seduction is the end game. Lucy wants to create an army of brainwashed mediocre teenagers while Shelly wants all the free sex she can handle. These brutal features are evident in the opening lyrics of the song: “There’s something about the way that she makes me hate myself. I could run away but I don’t want no one else. Say what you want. It’s already done. It’s Russian Roulette and love is the gun. You don’t know her, you don’t know her like I do.”

***PANTERA: THIS LOVE***

It’s pretty obvious by the story’s actions so far what will go down in chapter ten. I won’t say what exactly, but the writing is on the wall for Shelly Atwood. Her time is running out. And what will Windham say to her? “I’d kill myself for you! I’d kill you for myself!” Phil Anselmo sounds like a total badass when he says that in this song. Windham, though not as stereotypically male as Phil, will hopefully sound just as brooding and cold.

***THE POLICE: I BURN FOR YOU***

Hopefully, Windham will get the opportunity to sing this lovely song to Tarja, the one woman who deserves his tears. “Now that I have found you in the coolth of your evening smile. The shade of your parasol. And your love flows through me. Though I drink at your pool, I burn for you. You and I are lovers. As nighttime falls around our bed. In peace we sleep entwined as your love flows through me. Though and ocean sooths my head, I burn for you.” This is by far The Police’s most romantic song. I could listen to it over and over again and picture having a beautiful woman to sing it to. Okay, Garrison, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here.

***SARA AYERS: ARE YOU COMING HOME?***

You know that meme that says, “Great writers steal”? Well, maybe I’ve taken that lesson too much to heart when it comes to this new age song, which can’t be found on You Tube unfortunately. The lyrics “crush the bones, burn the bodies” are what Windham sings to himself when he watches Shelly’s castle burn to the ground. The question “Where are you going, beautiful boy?” is also from that song, albeit said by Shelly during her seduction of Windham. There’s something powerful about Sara Ayers’ voice that makes any lyrics seem like pure heaven. That’s probably the point of her music.

***TOTO: I’LL BE OVER YOU***

Imagine having to sing this heartfelt breakup song to your female rapist. Luckily, Windham won’t have to do that. But the lyrics fit like OJ Simpson’s glove. “There were the nights holding you close. Someday I’ll try to forget them, as soon as my heart stops breaking, anticipating. As soon as forever is through, I’ll be over you.” No kidding, Windam. No fucking kidding!

***WITHIN TEMPTATION: FROZEN***

No, I’m not talking about the Disney princess song. I’m talking about a Within Temptation song dealing with the topic of domestic violence. Sharon Den Adel sings about how she can’t feel her senses, how she can only feel the cold. That’s what Windham feels when he’s watching the castle burn, as entertained by it as he is. That’s what psychological trauma does to the human brain: it dulls the senses and makes zombies out of the sharpest minds. Poor Windham. Poor, poor Windham.

***CONCLUSION***

So that’s all I have for you today. If you have any other ideas for what you’d like to see added to this list, let me know in the comments section. You can even go on You Tube and check out the songs that are on the list now (save for the Sara Ayers song, because it’s not there). I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***PUBLIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

CHOIR TEACHER: Our next song that we’re going to perform is called “Didn’t My Lord Deliver Daniel”.

JAMES: (doing a blunt affect Garrison voice) I hate religious songs.

GARRISON: Hahahahaha!

Incel Terrorism

***INCEL TERRORISM***

….Guys…we need to talk…we need to talk right fucking now…

I don’t know if anybody has told you this before, but murder, sexism, and rape are all bad things. Well, not just bad things. They’re awful things. They’re horrible things. If you’re an “involuntary celibate” or incel for short, you’re not going to attract women by committing acts of terrorism. In fact, by the time the “revolution against the Chads and Stacies” is over, you will have absolutely nothing you want. You will either be in prison or dead and you still won’t have a girlfriend.

Don’t get me wrong. If anybody gets the frustration of being single, it’s me. Loneliness sucks sometimes. But do you know what sucks even more than that? Being a murderer. Being an online troll. Being an all around negative human being. If you kill somebody else over sexual frustration, there’s no coming back from that. If you post hateful rhetoric online, you lose opportunities and you lose respect. Imagine that! Women actually enjoy being with men who treat them as equals! Wow! What a concept!

And if you think I’m writing all of this just to get laid, well, as Johnny Carson once said, “You’re wrong, ozone killer breath!” I’m writing these words because I don’t like watching murder stories on the evening news. I’m writing these words because every time an incel murder happens, it makes people who actually struggle with shyness look like fools. Murderers aren’t doing a service to anybody. I mean, seriously, are you fighting for love or hate? Do you hate love? Do you love hate? What is it you want?

Do you want to know what I do when I feel lonely? I create art. I draw pictures even though they’re crappy as fuck. I write first draft novels even though by their very definition are also crappy as fuck. I write poetry. I write songs. Loneliness can be a huge motivator for someone who wants to put their psychic energy to good use. Just ask Ricky Nelson, the guy who sang “Lonesome Town”. Just ask the Statler Brothers, who performed “Flowers On the Wall”. Ask Pink Floyd, who wrote such classics as “Hey You” and “Don’t Leave Me Now”, which are both about, you guessed it, loneliness, shyness, and isolation. And don’t give me this weak crap about how you’re not good at creating art, therefore you won’t do it. Everybody starts somewhere! Stephen King didn’t come out of the womb writing bestsellers. He worked at it! If you work at your craft, you might be surprised by how therapeutic it is.

If you need something a little more immediate than art, then I’ve got two words for you: Porn Hub. If you can dream it up, you’ll find it on Porn Hub, guaranteed. For instance, if you want to find a video of two lesbians scissoring each other while wearing diapers, it’s there. Wow! If you want to find a video of Tifa Lockhart from Final Fantasy VII giving an unknown man a blowjob, it’s right fucking there. Holy shit! If you want to watch a chick give her stepbrother a foot job, by all means, go for it. It’s right fucking there! All you need is a computer and some privacy. Make sure your door is locked and your shade is drawn. Hell, you can do what Billy Connolly does and pile furniture against the door. But believe it or not, visiting Porn Hub for a night of fun is actually an option! While it doesn’t provide the same intimate feeling as a full-on relationship, it’ll tide you over until then. Don’t believe me? Ask The Who, a band that performed a song about jerking off called “Pictures of Lily”. Wow!

And speaking of music, did you know that listening to it can provide a channel for your raw emotions? Holy shit! Where did this factoid come from?! If you’re angry, you can listen to “Fucking Hostile” by Pantera, a band fronted by a guy named Phil who’s pissed off at EVERYTHING! Or maybe you’re feeling a little more romantic and you want something lighter. No problem, just look up a song by Spandau Ballet called “True”. Or you just want to relax and forget about it all. May I suggest “Inamorata” by David Arkenstone and Charlee Brooks. Music is a drug more powerful than cocaine and more philosophical than weed. Try it!

My point is, there are lots of channels for your broken heart and violence sure as shit isn’t one of them. Be nice to the women in your life and they’ll be nice to you. Treat them like shit and you’ll be treated like shit as well. This is not the Middle Ages anymore. You actually have to treat the world with the same respect you want to be treated with. Progressive change is a function of time. The more we learn, the more we put those lessons into action. You want to be loved? Then show some love yourself.

And when you show that love, don’t do it with the end game of getting laid. Do it because you’re a good human being and you’re better than the murderers and rapists of the world. I assure you that there are more important things in life than getting your junk greased, and this is coming from a guy who openly admits to being a 32-year-old virgin. Yes, loneliness sucks from time to time, but it doesn’t have to dominate your thoughts like a schizophrenic ghost. And on the day that you’re told “no” by a beautiful woman, listen to her and walk the fuck away. I’m Garrison fucking Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

Wrestling With My Mind

***WRESTLING WITH MY MIND***

One day of creative inactivity is unacceptable to me, let alone four. Creating blueprints for my next novel idea doesn’t count, because that shit was too easy. I’m so close to putting the finishing touches on Silent Warrior. Only four more chapters to go and my racecar ran out of gas. I know I originally said three more chapters, but I’ve decided to add another one to make sure all of my loose ends are tied up. You want to know what I’ve been doing during those four days of inactivity aside from creating blueprints? Wrestling with my mind. It wasn’t a schizophrenic attack, but rather a creative struggle within my soul.

Wrestling with your creativity can be good for coming up with story ideas, but when it takes the place of actual work, that’s not a good thing. I used to do this all the time when I was a teenager. I’d wrestle with my mind and never get around to writing something that would amount to a Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex fan fiction. Back then I wanted to do a self-insert fic where I was the subject of unrequited love for Makoto Kusanagi. I ran a bunch of different scenarios through my head and eventually popped something tangible out. Looking back now, it’s not very good, but at least some good came from the constant inner turmoil.

In the case of my most recent four days of nothingness, this running of the gauntlet was a long time coming. It began in mid-February when I researched an episode of Millennium called “A Room with No View” due to nostalgic curiosity. I’ve beaten this topic to death with a lead pipe, so to give you the Cliff’s Notes version of why that episode was upsetting to me, it was a unique version of the kidnapping trope, this time a beautiful woman kidnapping a handsome high school boy and giving him lovey-dovey treatment while in captivity. I saw the Wikipedia article for this episode and figured, I want to do a story like that too, though with my own spin on it. Thus a novel synopsis for “Beautiful Monster” was born. But blueprints aren’t anywhere near as valuable as an actual novel, so it’ll have to be shelved for now.

Less than a week later, I went to see Pop Evil at El Corazon, a nightclub in Seattle. The music was good and dancing to it was a lot of fun. Here’s what I didn’t tell you guys. While Black Map (one of the opening acts) was performing onstage, a cute stocky black chick tried dancing with me. She had her hand in mine. She had her hand on my shoulder. She was twirling around. For all intents and purposes, since I’m apparently so lovesick, I should be making moves on her too. But no. I was terrified. I just stood there frozen like Walt Disney while this chick was giving me sugar and love. It didn’t help matters that she shoved another woman with her elbow and got herself ejected from the building, but that’s beside the point.

I spent the next two days wrestling with the awkwardness and then the following Wednesday I saw Starset at the same venue without incident. But think about this for a minute: an episode of Millennium, an embarrassing moment at a concert, and a childhood of rejecting girls as a reaction to my father’s divorce troubles. Bad timing aside, don’t you think this makes for some emotionally raw creative fuel? You’re damn right it does. The creative fuel helped get me through ten more chapters of Silent Warrior, which is a story about an unconfident high schooler named Scott George getting into an unfamiliar romance with a younger woman. Pay attention to the theme of lacking confidence around women, because that’ll come into play multiple times during my creative journey.

Because of this creative fuel swirling in my brain, I became obsessed with certain songs in my music library. You all know about “Beautiful Monster” by Otherwise, but I also listened to a lot of “This Love” by Pantera. I also listened to a lot of heavy metal songs to bring me back down into bathos territory. And then I start watching Final Fantasy videos on You Tube and finding even more vicarious romances to set my mind on fire. Squall Leonhart and Cloud Strife are both emotionally distant characters who are colder than Walt Disney (man, I’m really laying that shit on thick!). When they went on dates with their respective love interests, I felt the terror building up in my stomach yet again.

And then the scenarios swirled in my head once more. I actually imagined Squall, Cloud, and Landon Bryce (Millennium) joining a group therapy session to get in touch with their feelings, y’all (as Dr. Phil would oftentimes say). And then I imagined myself in a college class introducing myself as someone who doesn’t open up easily. And then I imagined having a schizophrenic episode in the middle of a WWE ring with the girls of Absolution screaming for paramedics.

And while all of this nonstop nonsense is going on, I still have two novel ideas floating around in my head. One of them is Beautiful Monster as I’ve mentioned before. The other is Booger the Clown. Let’s compare and contrast the main characters of both stories. Windham Xavier is an elf paladin who gets kidnapped by a beautiful vampire named Shelly Atwood so that the two of them can have a black wedding together. Booger the Clown (real name Private Andrew Gale) is a depressed birthday performer who picks fights with orcs because he secretly wants to die. Both main characters are snarky. They’re both emotionally fucked up for life. They’re both being pursued by beautiful women. And whatever happy ending they achieve, they’re going to have to earn it through fire and fury.

Keep in mind that these ideas and dream scenarios are all invading my mind right when I’m ready to pull the trigger on Silent Warrior. Four chapters left. Four fucking chapters left, all of which I’ve played out in my mind many times before and therefore have a solid foundation for how I’m going to write them. Two chapters are going to be told through Tom Simpson’s point of view, one chapter is going to be told through Scott George’s POV, and the other one goes to Alan Young. You won’t get many spoilers beyond that, so cool your jets, as my mother once told me.

But let’s go back to this theme of being unconfident and afraid around beautiful women. This is a curse that has followed me for pretty much all of my life. Even when I was dating a Bremerton woman named Brianna, I could never bring myself out of the shadows for fear of offending the other person. I’ve been offended by women in the past and I don’t want to put anybody else through that. So in order to keep the peace between us, I give them a shield from my lovey-dovey behavior. Even if they don’t give me a shield, I give them a shield. Though the peace treaty is intact, our hearts are not. Careless overconfidence can lead to awkwardness. Nobody needs that. Shyness, on the other hand, is the greatest defense I’ll ever have.

But instead of rolling over and playing dead for a cold world, I use sexual inadequacy as creative fuel for my emotionally rawest stories. William Butler Yeats was once told by his crush that if they got together, he’d have nothing to write about. That doesn’t mean I don’t intend to date again when the opportunity presents itself. It just means I’m going to focus my broken heart on getting things done rather than being a perpetual angsty mope. Like I said, Silent Warrior is four chapters away from completion. I may write the twenty-fifth chapter today, depending on whether or not my brain wants to cooperate. I think it will. It’s cooperated with me long enough to get this blog entry out, so I think I’m good to go for Silent Warrior’s twenty-fifth chapter. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***NOVEL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I know it isn’t fair. I know how hard you try. But if you want love and affection in this world, you have to earn it by being a good person, not by throwing a fit.”

-Windham Xavier to Shelly Atwood-

Xanax and Perrier

VERSE 1

My weirdest dreams are of school it seems

Naked in front of the students and deans

A grown adult fighting it out with teens

Doing crystal math until my eyes bleed

Dreading the day I receive my grades

Failing every class, I cannot be saved

There’s always next year, no question about

It’s hard to speak up when my teeth fall out

CHORUS

Xanax and Perrier to end my day

My oldest kitty is snoozing away

Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays

Back to the theater, back to the craze

VERSE 2

My wildest dreams are of music and screams

Heavy metal menus in the strangest venues

Pantera tore it up in a grocery store

3DG in a lecture hall, I want more

Rammstein shot flames in a Chinese diner

Roger Waters at the Stonehenge, not bad, old-timer

Brit Floyd in a museum, not an easy feat

It’s hard to sing songs with loosening teeth

CHORUS

Xanax and Perrier to end my day

My oldest kitty is snoozing away

Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays

Back to the theater, back to the craze

BRIDGE

Sometimes all I want is to go the fuck home

But these dreamy busses are so damn slow

The foot ferries splash as they’re about to crash

The airplanes race into outer fucking space

VERSE 3

My nerdy dreams make me want to cream

Comic book shops on every street block

Libraries with dark fantasy sweetness

My dream theater knows my favorite weakness

Seeing my notebooks being sold on the shelves

Seeing my novels being read by elves

Hearing my poems being read by pixies

My dreams come true whether it’s now or sixty

EXTENDED CHORUS

Xanax and Perrier to end my day

My oldest kitty is snoozing away

Eight hours until I feel the sun’s rays

Back to the theater, back to the craze

Every youngster has the right to dream

Every adult can set them free

Never give up, never let it die

Spread your dragon wings and fly

Valentine's Day

***VALENTINE’S DAY***

Valentine’s Day is now in our rearview mirrors and for many single people out there, that’s a good thing. They like to call it Singles Awareness Day because they don’t have anybody to share their special day with. I used to be just as angry and bitter about it as anyone else who hated this holiday. And then when this year’s Valentine’s Day came and went, I realized something important for coping with future February 14^th holidays.

How is this day different from any other? It doesn’t have the magic and joy of Christmas. It doesn’t have the dark fantasy charisma of Halloween. It doesn’t have the food devouring of Thanksgiving. It’s just a normal day of the year. Yes, it’s love themed and there are a lot of chocolates and candy available. But if it’s sweet treats you want, get a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups at your local convenience store. If you want a stuffed teddy bear, buy one on Amazon any other day of the year. If you’re in a relationship and you have to wait until February 14^th to get some true romance in, there’s something wrong with your chemistry. To my way of thinking, celebrating romance one day a year is like celebrating any other mundane activity whether it’s doing laundry, washing dishes, or going to work.

Would you like to take any guesses as to how I spent my Valentine’s Day? I can tell you that it wasn’t anything like last year where I ate my sorrows away with a large Pizza Hut pizza. Sure, my “heavy metal of the day” on Face Book was “This Love” by Pantera, but that’s not the point. I spent February 14^th doing laundry, not only my own, but also my parents’. My parents are Baby Boomers who can’t climb the steps as fast as they used to, so they rely on me to ferry clothes up to the garage to wash and dry them. Not only do we now have fresh laundry, but my mom has gained a lot of appreciation for having me around the house (not that she didn’t already have it to begin with). In between doing loads of my parents’ laundry, I watched WWE Smackdown and ate take-out sushi that my brother James brought home.

I find as I get older that I appreciate low-key events more often. I like low-key holidays, low-key vacations, and low-key concerts. Yes, most of the concerts I go to are heavy metal and hard rock, but instead of getting fucked up in the mosh pit, I take a seat in the bleachers. Sitting down between bands is easy on my legs, which is why I can no longer attend shows at the Showbox venues in Seattle or Studio 7 in the same city: they don’t have chairs. I even asked if I could bring my own beanbag chair to the Showbox and though the nice lady agreed I should be able to do that, they can’t accommodate me in that department. At 31-years-old and tipping the scale in the 300 district, I have to start thinking low-key, which includes being in a neutral mood on Valentine’s Day.

It’s funny, because I posted a synopsis in my folder at the WSS about a short story dealing with Valentine’s Day in a negative light. The story would have been called “I Don’t Believe In Love” and would be about a theater student doing a passionate monologue on how exclusive the holiday is. Instead of writing that short story, I wrote a chapter of Demon Axe where Daniel Mercer a.k.a. The Lord of the Pit was tortured with his own genre of music. Great stuff, huh? It’s like something out of A Clockwork Orange. Or it could be like Tales From the Hood with fully-clothed characters.

The only Valentine’s Day thing I really did was buy a gift for my beta reader Marie Krepps. I brag about her every chance I get, so it’s only natural that I get her something nice from her Amazon wish list. In a way, she could be my valentine despite the fact that she’s already married with four lovely daughters. Then again, valentines don’t have to necessarily be love interests. One year I had my black cat Pete as my valentine. Pete has since passed on to the Rainbow Bridge. But goddamn, he was a sweet little valentine!

Depending on whom you are or what your circumstances entail, Valentine’s Day can either be the happiest day of your life or the most miserable. If you like this holiday, more power to you and I wish you infinite happiness. If you hate this holiday with a passion, you don’t have to. If you’re really that starved for romantic affection, masturbate to some sexy You Tube videos. That’s what I did one year and those endorphins came rushing in like…well, you see where I’m going with this. But if masturbating isn’t your thing, then find some way to occupy your time. As long as your mind and spirit are busy with something to do, Valentine’s Day will be just as neutral to you as it is to me.

We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***DEMON AXE, CHAPTER 15***

I’m getting closer and closer to the end of this first draft novel and I couldn’t be more excited! Chapter fifteen will start off with Daniel being released from his straps and knocking down the door to his room by bellowing into his microphone. Seems like a nice way to begin a chapter as far as I’m concerned, especially considering how Daniel Mercer has been easily-triggered throughout the whole story. He realizes how much responsibility he has on his shoulders and will now take this quest against Roger seriously. Or to put it in his oh-so-lovely terms, “Let’s fuck shit up!”

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I have to be honest with you guys for a minute. I haven’t been writing as many Poison Tongue Tales 2 short stories lately, which means my character roster for the Dark Fantasy Warriors series is rapidly depleting. The next one on the chopping block will be Marco Said from “Staple Gun Gangster”, but after that, here are all the characters I have left:

1. Bear Man, Human Bassist (Demon Axe)
2. Dijas Kai, Lion Samurai (Screw the Zoo)
3. Scott Percival, Cyborg Soldier (Shield Me)
4. Seven, Undead Prophet (The Theomancer)
5. Sonia Marquez, Human Mixed-Martial Artist (Demon Axe)

Your eyes do not deceive you. After Marco Said, there will only be five Dark Fantasy Warriors left, which will be just enough to complete my 100 Characters Meme by the time they’re finished. In this case, the meme will be used for drawings that I’ve done in color, which dates back to early 2016 (the year of death). I know doing Deviant Art memes isn’t the most exciting thing one can do with his or her time, but to my way of thinking, this will be my way of celebrating a milestone.

***CYBORGS AND SORCERY***

About a week ago, Marie Krepps asked me to beta read four short stories of hers which will ultimately be part of a published collection called Cyborgs and Sorcery. I’ve gotten through her two longest stories and she seemed happy with my snarky critiques. The next two stories are only three or four pages long, give or take, so on the day of my choosing I can blow through both of them and write a passing grade review for the collection the same day.

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What did Avril Lavigne say to Bullwinkle?

A: Hey, hey! You, you! I don’t like your squirrel friend!

Song of Myself

***SONG OF MYSELF***

This past Monday night, instead of watching WWE Raw, I went to the Showbox SoDo in Seattle to listen to the epic music of Nightwish along with their opening acts Sonata Arctica and Delain. It was a fun and exciting night, one that I will cherish as much as when I saw them in 2008 at the same venue, if not more so. Nightwish was one of the many bands that got me through a lonely life at college from 2007 to 2009. To repay them for their awesomeness, I will do another lyric journal, but with their namesake. “Song of Myself” was released on their 2011 album Imaginarium, the final CD to feature second lead singer Anette Olzon. While I don’t know if her departure was on sour terms, I do miss her a lot, but that’s not to take anything away from Floor Jansen, who’s just as awesome as her first two predecessors. But no matter who the lead singer is, she’ll have Tuomas Holopainen’s genius lyrics to guide her through every song. Let’s get busy!


The nightingale is still locked in the cage
The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs
An old oak sheltering me from the blue
Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves

A catnap in the ghost town of my heart
She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts
Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride
Raving harlequins, gigantic toys

A song of me song in need
Of a courageous symphony
A verse of me verse in need
Of a pure-heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

All that great heart lying still
In silent suffering
Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end
What is left for encore
Is the same old dead boy's song
Sung in silence
All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

A midnight flight into Covington Woods
A princess and a panther by my side
These are Territories I live for
I'd still give mt everything to love you more

A silent symphony
A hollow opus #1, 2,3

Sometimes the sky is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

Resting pipes, verse of bore
Rusting keys without a door

Sometimes the within is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street,
with a begging bowl in his shaking hand.
Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices.
I do, but walk by.

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic
It's half-light and he's in tears.
When he finally comes his eyes are cascading.

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me.
All pride has left his wild eyes.
I wish I had my leg to spare.

A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars.
She's never loved him more.

An obese girl enters an elevator with me.
All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck.
Terribly sweet perfume deafens me.
She's going to dinner alone.
That makes her even more beautiful.

I see a model's face on a brick wall.
A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill.
A city that worships flesh.

The 1st thing I ever heard was a wandering
man telling his story
It was you, the grass under my bare feet
The campfire in the dead of night
The heavenly black of sky and sea

It was us
Roaming the rainy roads, combing the gilded beaches
Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn
Bathing in places no-one's seen before
Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island
Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature
In early air of the dawn of life
A sight to silence the heavens

I want to travel where life travels,
following its permanent lead
Where the air tastes like snow music
Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden
I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture
I would bathe in a world of sensation
Love, goodness and simplicity
(While violated and imprisoned by technology)

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment
I used to experience true love
That love remains infinite,
as I'll never be the man my father is

How can you "just be yourself"
when you don't know who you are?
Stop saying "I know how you feel"
How could anyone know how another feels?

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar,
whore, politician, wrongdoer?
I am, you are, all of them already

Dear child, stop working, go play
Forget every rule
There's no fear in a dream

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?"
- a child asked me
"What's the colour of our lullaby?"

I've never been so close to truth as then
I touched its silver lining

Death is the winner in any war
Nothing noble in dying for your religion
For your country
For ideology, for faith
For another man, yes

Paper is dead without words
Ink idle without a poem
All the world dead without stories
Without love and disarming beauty

Careless realism costs souls

Ever seen the Lord smile?
All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man?
Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks?
Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is
All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground

I see all those empty cradles and wonder
If man will never change

I, too, wish to be a decent manboy but all I am
Is smoke and mirrors
Still given everything, may I be deserving

And there forever remains the change from G to Em


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Although I posted “Medicine Man” online yesterday, that wasn’t the one that will go into this week’s contest. I have different plans for the “paper hearts” prompt. It’s called “Ninja” and is named after a Skindred song, much like “Medicine Man” is named after a Pantera song. Here’s the synopsis to “Ninja”:

CHARACTERS:

DJ Rouge, African Assassin
Andrew Bradley, English Mercenary

PROMPT CONFORMITY: DJ leaves behind paper hearts as his calling card.

SYNOPSIS: Andrew is assigned by Babylon Bank to raid an African diamond mine in an attempt to bring them a priceless rock known as the Ninja’s Ruby. When he gets there, armed with an AK-47 and a belt of grenades, he begins slaying mine workers and rebel soldiers left and right with no absence of malice. The actual rock he’s looking for isn’t in the mine itself, but in the eye socket of a sword-slinging vigilante named DJ Rouge, who also came to the diamond mine, but to free the slaves instead of kill them. DJ and Andrew engage in a heated battle over the gem and the former’s quickness and stealth earns him the nickname “African Ninja” from his opponent.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on the barbecue rack is Courtney Robyn, the psycho-bitch serial killer from “Mastodon”. Is it strange to say that this murderer is scarier to be around than a raging version of the eponymous animal in question? Shit, I’d rather get stepped on by a wild beast than get stabbed in the chest by Courtney Robyn.


***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

KEVIN OWENS: What happened to the guy with the weird hair and the glasses?

MICHAEL COLE: Mauro Ranallo is ill this week.

KEVIN OWENS: Yeah, he probably got sick from listening to your commentary.

MICHAEL COLE: That’s nice.

Volcanic

***VOLCANIC***

This is awesome. Whenever I’m desperate for a journal topic, I could just talk about the lyrics to a powerful song I like. This is my third song blog since giving up the practice on Garrison’s Library so many years ago. As it turns out, it actually helps pain the picture for my readers when I post the full lyrics from top to bottom. What’re we looking at today? Formaldehyde. Necrolium. Nitro Benzine. This thing actually has over seven thousand chemicals. Don’t get me started on what they do to you. Stunted lung growth. Prematurely wrinkled skin. Tooth loss. Cancer. Okay, so I may have stolen that from an antismoking commercial. What we’re really looking at is a song that produces more smoke than any cigarette ever could. It’s called “Volcanic” and it’s by Death Angel. Death Angel normally produces heavy thrash metal, but “Volcanic” is soft and gentle. Here’s how it goes:


VERSE 1
Sick and tired of living with this grief
Done with all the sorrow and the pain
Asphyxiated can no longer breathe
Anesthetized until I've gone insane
So carry all this baggage when you leave
Swallow all those bitter pills you take
Blame it on the world, blame it on me
Tolerated too much of your game

CHORUS
Temperamental, unpredictable
The sky turns black when I exhale

VERSE 2
A change of weather come around too much
A sign of a deeper cut
Lying dormant on a bed of nails
Without warning, violently erupt
So bleed the molten river from my veins
Collapse upon myself, disintegrate
Shame upon the world and shame on me
Hate the player but don't hate the game

CHORUS
Temperamental, unpredictable
The sky turns black when I exhale

VERSE 3
So condescend and patronize my lead
Persecute the innocent again
Rain down on the world and rain on me
Ticking like a bomb that's got your name

CHORUS
Temperamental, unpredictable
The sky turns black when I exhale


Don’t you feel better already?


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

I’m definitely cutting it close when it comes to getting my entry in for this week’s contest, which is about “Last Words”. My main reason for a late entry has to do with going out in public the past few days and then feeling exhausted when I come home. Public life isn’t good for introverts, but working out at the gym is necessary for my health, so I go along with it. This week’s story is the first sci-fi/fantasy/horror one I’ve done since completing fifty stories for Poison Tongue Tales, which hasn’t been published yet. It’s called “Dancing with Mary Jane” and it goes like this:


CHARACTERS:

Frank Hennessy, Corrupt Cop
Sylvester James, Corrupt Cop
Tara Greenlee, Cancer Patient

PROMPT CONFORMITY: Tara’s last words are, “Justice will find you!”

SYNOPSIS: Frank and Sylvester confiscate medical marijuana from Tara and shoot her when she “resists”. The two corrupt cops go over to Frank’s house and smoke the marijuana themselves while throwing their own party. During the “festivities”, Frank and Sylvester see Tara as a ghost monster and think they’re just hallucinating. When the vengeful spirit proves otherwise, Frank and Sylvester are in a bloody fight for their lives.

FUN FACT: It’s only a coincidence that Tara, a marijuana user, has “Green” in her last name. No play on words here.


***CORNY HEAVY METAL JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call it when Phil Anselmo multiplies a bunch of numbers together?
A: Math For War.


***POST-SCRIPT***

If you don’t listen to Pantera, you won’t know why that’s funny. If you really need to scratch your head that badly, I suggest you wash your hair with Head & Shoulders dandruff shampoo.

In Perfect Harmony

***IN PERFECT HARMONY***

I have no idea why, but the lyrics to the Within Temptation song “In Perfect Harmony” made me dewy eyed when I read them online. That’s not the same is full-fledged crying, but it was close. I still hold the 2007 record for the last time I bawled like a baby. But if you all want to know what these lyrics are, keep reading. You might get dewy eyed too.


VERSE 1
In a world so far away
At the end of a closing day
A little child was born and raised
Deep in the forest on a hidden place
Mother never saw his face

CHORUS
Ancient spirits of the forest
Made him king of elves and trees
He was the only human being
Who lived in harmony
In perfect harmony

VERSE 2
The woods protected, fulfilled his needs
Fruit by birds, honey by bees
He found shelter under trees
He grew up in their company
They became his family

VERSE 3
A thousand seasons
They passed him by
So many times, have said goodbye
And when the spirits called out his name
To join forever, forever to stay
A forest spirit he became


The question of the day is: did anybody else become teary when they read that or am I just fluff and stuff? We’ve got ears, say cheers!


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

A new week means a new prompt. This time we’ve got “cabin” as our keyword and it turns out only one of my synopses fits the prompt. My story this week will be called “Cemetery Gates” (named after the Pantera song) and it goes like this:


CHARACTERS:

AJ Robbins, Traumatized Boyfriend
Eve Mills, Loving Girlfriend

PROMPT CONFORMITY: AJ and Eve are spending a weekend together in a cabin.

SYNOPSIS: AJ and Eve have been a couple for a long time now and all of the sudden Eve feels like her boyfriend is keeping secrets from her. When the two of them eat dinner together, she presses him about it and AJ becomes defensive. The secrets he’s been keeping are too traumatic for him to talk about and he prefers to keep those memories buried forever. AJ even refers to his mind as a cemetery gate since it keeps a graveyard of buried secrets underneath. The argument between this couple is a classic debate between having no secrets and respecting traumatic privacy.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The last drawing I did was of Levi Lincoln, who’s basically Bray Wyatt in a British Guard shako. Up next? Marcus Edge from “Stardust”, who’s basically Clinton “Skink” Tyree from Carl Hiaasen’s novels with druidic magic and a hotter temper. Mitch O’Connor (space mercenary from “Stardust”) could have worn all the armor he wanted to, but his ass was lunch meat the minute Marcus Edge laid eyes on him. Yikes!


***OCCUPY WRESTLING***

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t been moving any faster than a snail’s pace when editing these chapters. But getting them edited I’ve been doing and it will continue with chapter six and seven, where the police get a nasty surprise in the form of hooded druids with snake masks and magical powers. Where the hell is Marcus Edge when you need him? Better yet, where the hell is Mitch McLeod when Debra Winter needs him?!


***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do pop music and scissors have in common?
A: Rock beats both of them.

Islands

***ISLANDS***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

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

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Ambrose Volta, Witchdoctor
Kendra Callahan, Assassin

　

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

　

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

　

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

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

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

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

Cancellation

***CANCELLATION***

There’s been a change of plans regarding the vacation to Steamboat Springs. When my mom, step-dad, and I had dinner together, I just then found out that the vacation would involve many hours of car travel since Steamboat Springs isn’t the only destination. Wyoming and Denver were the other two places we were planning to go since there’s family in Wyoming and Denver is where the actual airport is. I can tolerate long airplane and car rides as long as they’re few and far between. This vacation in particular means I have to go for five or six hour car rides almost every day. I can’t sit on my ass for that long since I would get insanely bored, irritably impatient, and physically sore. I don’t care how loudly Phil Anselmo is growling in my ears or how many kick-ass matches Daniel Bryan talks about in his book, because books and music only make lengthy travel a LITTLE bit better. I’ve been on many vacations with my parents where long distance car travel plagued what was supposed to be a good time. Therefore, at dinner, I told my parents that it would be best if they went on vacation without me while I stay home and babysit the animals with my brother. The best part about making that decision was that my mom was very understanding about it and didn’t put up any resistance to it. I can even quote her as saying the exact words, “I often forget that what’s fun for me can be a trial to you.” She’s right. It’s the price of being an extroverted mother with an introverted son. But she accepts that and is okay with my decision to stay home.

Recycling Buildings

***BEFORE I BEGIN***

The last journal was about how I went to the Pain in the Grass festival in Auburn, Washington’s White River Amphitheater. In case you were thinking of asking, it was a badass concert from top to bottom. Three Days Grace was fucking awesome. Lamb of God was REALLY fucking awesome. I’m glad to be introduced to Bullet For My Valentine. But Slipknot? They were badass on a whole different level. The masks, the pyrotechnics, the devil’s mirror background, and most importantly, the music itself was a shit ton of fun. Aside from riding the shuttle bus with a bunch of drunken fans who butchered every jingle on the planet, I had a good time last night. I even had the cute clerk at the convenience store, Chelsea, tell me that she was jealous earlier today. That’s a damn good sign. Hehehehehe!

　

***RECYCLING BUILDINGS***

Apparently, going to a heavy metal show with a bunch of kick-ass bands inspired me to have a strange, yet poignant dream. In this dream, the QFC grocery store in my town was converted to a concert hall and Pantera got back together to play there. The freezers were replaced with seats, the checkout isles were ticket scanners, and the deli was replaced with one big ass stage where Pantera played “This Love”. And then I woke up and had a topic for a Deviant Art journal in mind already: recycling buildings.

When a business becomes defunct, it would seem like such a waste of construction to demolish the building. If you’re not going to use the building for a grocery store or restaurant, why not use it for a library or a toy store? This actually has a lot of merit in today’s world. In the cop dramas The Shield and NCIS: Los Angeles, both agencies use old churches and convert them to a fully-functional headquarters. Old churches, for shit’s sake. In Texas not too long ago, a Wal-Mart was closed and the building was abandoned until someone started using it for one big-ass library, thus turning Wal-Martians into wallflowers. The old headquarters in Wisconsin where Dungeons & Dragons was born was turned into a candy shop and a hotel after Gary Gygax lost the rights to his game.

Using old buildings for bigger and better things isn’t a new idea, but it’s one that should be spread more often. It would take a shit ton of imagination to convert something like a butcher’s shop into a nightclub (which has been done on an episode of Seinfeld). It’d be a lot of work, but it could technically happen. That QFC dream isn’t far off from reality. It technically could be converted to a concert hall and we could bring some heavy metal to Port Orchard, a city not known for such things. And what about the abandoned Taco Bell building on Mile Hill? Is it just going to sit there and do nothing or can it be converted to…a gaming shop! Can you imagine holding D&D sessions and reading graphic novels in a building that used to be Taco Bell? If your creative energies and imaginative juices aren’t flowing like a raging river, I don’ t know what to say.

Maybe this is all stemming from the fact that I see artistic merit in pretty much everything around me, including reusing condemned buildings, house flipping, and home improvement in general. In this case, the artists in question are working with a tainted canvas and making something beautiful out of it. It would be the same thing if I drew my picture of Daron Campos on the page of a Disney coloring book. It would be a tainted canvas, but it could be done….and it would be creepy to think about considering what Daron Campos is capable of.

Do you have any old buildings that could be something better in your neighborhood? Can you make a college out of a Wal-Mart? Can you make a wrestling school out of a Burger King? Can you make a barbershop out of an abandoned warehouse by a dingy dock? If your imagination is big enough and you’re having a constant flow of nerd-gasms, all of those things are possible. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***COMMERCIAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You will howl like a happy hound dog over these hushpuppies!”

-Popeye’s Spokeswoman-

　

***POST-SCRIPT***

Actually, no, I won’t. Popeye’s food is so bland and boring that I can picture one of their restaurants being converted to a record store slash punk clothing emporium. And we’ve come full circle yet again!

The Cowboys From Hell (Austin Carlo and Court Jackson)

For the next few blog posts, I’m going to take a character (or multiple characters) of mine and try to find stories for them to be a part of. I’ve been trying to do this for over a decade with a barbarian I have named Deus Shadowheart and it looks like he’s all set. In this blog post, I’m going to focus on two more people who need employment. Otherwise, they’ll just rot in development hell for the rest of their wasted existence. Their names are Austin Carlo and Court Jackson, better known as The Cowboys From Hell. No, I didn’t originally give them that team name, it just stuck with me after listening to Pantera a lot. Like Deus Shadowheart, Austin and Court were once part of a combat sports slash dark fantasy novel called Hardcore Hell (originally called Hardcore Hate until my overly sensitive family shamed me into changing it). Because the novel had too many instances of telling instead of showing as well as hyperbolic descriptions that smothered the reading pace, it eventually had to be dumped and all of the characters had to be locked away in development hell. Austin and Court’s role in the novel was to be the bodyguards of a religious CEO named Hammond Gibbons. Hammond was extremely preachy and could get under anybody’s skin just by the mere mention of a fiery Christmas tree lot known as hell. Austin and Court didn’t necessarily agree with Hammond’s agenda nor did they enjoy being around him. But the money was good and so they took the jobs as hired henchmen. Now for a little characterization. If you think Deus Shadowheart was the biggest baddest motherfucker in the whole story at 6’4” and 285 lbs, try Austin and Court on for size. They were both 7’ tall and weighed anywhere between 325 and 400 lbs at any given moment. They weren’t a couple of lard asses either, they were just big muscular henchmen. Yes, they seem stereotypical and they probably were. So why then would I want to give employment to a couple of washed up minions? Ever since calling them The Cowboys From Hell, I’ve given a new life to all the things they could be. Maybe they’re not just mindless bruisers. Maybe they’re sadistic psychopaths. Maybe they’re deadly gangsters. Maybe, just maybe they’re into heavy metal music. Can you see these two juggernauts forming a band together and touring the world? How about fighting with chainsaws? Or doing what Tyson Hardy did in my latest novel Brawl Mart: carrying magical machineguns. Characters can only be one-dimensional if you give up on them so easily. In fact, as a lesson to all you authors out there, characters can only put out what you put into them. If I want Court Jackson and Austin Carlo to be legitimate badasses instead of mindless drones, I’m going to have to do something a little bit extra with them. Something like, you know, exercise my wild imagination. Court and Austin will find a home someday. I know it. If nothing else, they could be a professional wrestling tag team and the Wrestling Observer Newsletter can name both of them the Most Overrated Wrestlers of the Year. It’s a dubious award, but at least they’re getting noticed!

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

VIC MACKEY: You’re married. Is your wife pretty?

LAWYER: She’s beautiful.

VIC MACKEY: How about I take your wife out for a weekend in Vegas, ride her ass hard, and put her away wet.

LAWYER: What?!

VIC MACKEY: Well, that’s about the level of cooperation I can expect from my captain on anything.

-The Shield-

　

***POST-SCRIPT***

I don’t know if I’ve advertised my e-books on here just yet, but if I haven’t, I’m going to do it now. But before I do, I want to let you all know that my original Lulu.com paperback books “Red Blood, White Knuckles, Blue Heart” and “Foe vs. Blade” are no longer available to be purchased. I couldn’t justify selling obscure mixed-genre anthologies for ten or twenty dollars each. So instead, I have an account with Smash Words and I’m selling genre-specific e-books at 99 cents a pop. My penname is still Garrison Kelly and these are my e-book titles:

Brawl Mart (two-act urban fantasy novel): https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/399435

Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage (rock song lyrics collection):
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/369154

Dragon Machinegun (sci-fi, horror, and fantasy short story anthology):
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/353531

Remember, ladies and gentlemen: they’re 99 cents a piece. What are you waiting for? Happy reading!