I Need a Break

This was posted in the Good Reads group "Weekly Short Story Contests and Company":

Hey, everyone. I’m sure you all have noticed last week that I wasn’t a part of the short story competition. It wasn’t solely because I didn’t want to write The Uromancer anymore (though, that’s a huge part of it). This pandemic has been terrible for my mental health. More often than not, my brain will crap out on me when I need it the most. I’ll have one day of creative work then a gazillion days after that of exhaustion. I need my brain to be at 100% if I want to get anything done. That’s why I’m about to announce that I’m taking a break from the WSS. How long will this break last? I don’t know. All I know is that if I can’t use my energy to write a halfway decent short story or poem, then I should use it to finish rewriting my fantasy novel Beautiful Monster. I only have three chapters left before round three of edits/rewrites is over. Then it’s on to round four…and five…and six…and god knows how many after those. I also want to get some reading done, watch and review a few movies, and put together Lego sets I’ve kept in boxes since Christmas. It’s not that I don’t think the WSS is important. On the contrary, most of the stories in American Darkness and Poison Tongue Tales were entries for this very group. But I’ve been putting off a lot of projects lately and I don’t always have the energy to do them on a consistent basis. Thanks for understanding.

Barbarians and Wizards

***BARBARIANS AND WIZARDS***

My brother James and I have this running gag in our conversations where all of my thoughts revolve around barbarians and wizards. Am I writing a new novel? It’s about barbarians and wizards. Am I watching a TV show? It’s about barbarians and wizards. Am I taking Lego pictures? They feature barbarians and wizards. While my brother is technically not wrong, he’s also only half-right. Beautiful Monster’s main character is a warrior elf who lashes the shit out of his opponents with a chain whip. Is he a barbarian? In fighting style only. The main villainess of that story is a seductive sex trafficker who rapes him. Is she a wizard? Not physically, but she’ll put a spell on you anyways. Okay, maybe James is right more than half of the time.

Even my contemporary short stories and novellas have elements of barbarian and wizard dynamics. My most recent first draft, Incelbordination, features an angry, pugilistic dwarf as its main character. Is he a barbarian? Well, he can rage like one, especially when he’s being bullied or deprived of romance. So at the very least, he’s an emotional barbarian. But what about the main villain of that story? Well, he’s a cult of personality whose followers subscribe to the incel culture. He’s got his minions by the balls and he won’t stop until the main character’s mind belongs to him. Is the villain a wizard? If brainwashing is a magic spell, then yes, he could be a contemporary version of a wizard.

What about the contemporary novella that came before Beautiful Monster and Incelbordination? It’s called Silent Warrior and features an emo high school senior with an eating disorder and a head full of trauma. Is he a barbarian? Not physically since he’s a hundred pounds soaking wet while holding an anchor. Emotionally? He very well could be. He’s got anger and disrespect for authority down to a science. What about his social studies teacher? While not a leader in any sense of the word, he still has a negative, conformist influence over his students, much like the math teacher from Pink Floyd the Wall. Is he a wizard? Again, brainwashing could be a spell, so yes, the social studies villain could technically be a wizard.

Of course, my brother is clearly joking when he teases me for being obsessed with barbarians and wizards. We both get a good laugh out of it. But where did this obsession come from? Well, I’ve always liked the fantasy genre ever since I watched James play Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy VI, and Chrono Trigger on the Super Nintendo back in the 1990’s. But my barbarian and wizard obsession didn’t start with those games specifically, although Ayla from Chrono Trigger and Umaro from Final Fantasy VI could fit the barbarian role to a fault. My obsession didn’t even come from playing Hero Quest as an even smaller child (because the main classes the player could be included the barbarian and the wizard).

I have Diablo II: Lord of Destruction to thank for my obsession, specifically with barbarians. As a lover of RPG’s, I’ve always enjoyed playing as the physical, in-your-face, melee range warriors. It didn’t matter if their mana was drained, because physical attacks didn’t require it and even if they did, the warriors could keep going and going in spite of it. Once a wizard runs out of mana, he’s fucked, because he’s not strong enough to go toe-to-toe with his enemies. Warriors, on the other hand, exemplify self-sufficiency to the nth degree. The barbarian in Diablo II was always lauded as an unequaled melee-range fighter. He could use two weapons at once, he could withstand a shit-load of punishment, and he could dish it out like nobody else.

Later in life, I would find out that the paladin was a nastier brawler than the barbarian. Paladins can strike multiple times in one sitting and they have magical auras that don’t cost a damn thing. My favorite aura to give the paladin was cold elemental, which froze my enemies and slowed them down to unbearable speeds. Plus, it added damage to my multiple attacks. The paladin actually did more damage than my dual-wielding barbarian. But if I had known this as a teenager, I probably would have developed an obsession with paladins instead of barbarians.

Without my barbarian obsession, there would be no Deus Shadowheart. Who is Deus Shadowheart, you ask? He was my Gary-Stu killing machine, that’s who. He had been the main protagonist of my stories long before I knew that Gary-Stu was a pejorative. He hacked off limbs, he ripped flesh like it was Christmas paper, and he bathed in blood with every swing of his axe. But unfortunately, this doesn’t make for a relatable character and if there’s one thing readers love, it’s someone they can relate to. As of today, he’s a character in a Poison Tongue Tales story called Deus Ex Machina, where being a Gary-Stu works to the story’s advantage. Be sure to pick up a copy of Poison Tongue Tales at your favorite online retailer! But seriously, I’m glad Deus found a home he can be comfortable with.

My barbarian obsession didn’t end with just story characters. I lived the gimmick as well. Okay, so I didn’t cannibalize and maim everybody in my path, but I’ve got the attitude down pat. I scream in anger whenever little things go wrong with my computer. I swear like a sailor whenever the phone rings and it’s for me. I eat every meal like a pig and get pieces of food stuck to my shirt. I burp and fart in public without saying “excuse me”. I used to watch professional wrestling religiously before it started sucking and the wrestlers themselves could be considered barbarians. Hell, the current WWE Raw Tag Team Champions are a pair of Viking warriors named Erik and Ivar. Even the Authors of Pain were barbaric in their fighting styles and muscular body types before they were relegated to bodily function jokes (AOP is short for Authors of Pain and can also be made fun of by saying AOPee-Pee).

The one part about barbarian life I will never agree with is the refusal to learn how to read and write. As a semi-professional author, knowing how to read and write is a part of my fucking job! Hell, this blog entry wouldn’t exist if I was illiterate. My college degree wouldn’t exist either. But yeah, because barbarians exist on the fringes of society, they don’t have the same access to education that the nobles would have. Would being educated hamper a barbarian’s ability to rage? Not really. Once a barbarian, always a barbarian. If anything, they’ll do what I did with my career and write crappy novellas about wrestling and, you guessed it, violent battles involving barbarians and wizards.

So why am I writing this blog entry to begin with if my barbarian obsession was already obvious to everyone here? Because even though I (allegedly) think about them 24/7, I need a reminder every now and then of where my creative fuel comes from. Whenever I have days where I’m bored out of my mind and mentally exhausted, I can feel my creativity dwindling away. I want to energize myself and beat the shit out of the mentally ill demons that hold me down, so this is what I have to do. Does it always work? No. Does my depression, schizophrenia, and litany of mental illnesses get in the way sometimes? Absolutely. It’s the reason why I can’t sustain an aggressive writing career, so I have to work from the shadows. It sucks. It sucks badly that my life is hampered by mental exhaustion and mental illnesses, but there’s not a whole lot I can do about it…except for energize my creativity through barbarians and wizards…and apparently orcish prostitutes, which was one James recently added to my list of obsessions. Hehe!

I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I know not what weapons World War III will be fought with, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

-Albert Einstein-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Actually, a barbarian might feel at home fighting with primitive weapons such as sticks and stones.

Comedic Obligations

***COMEDIC OBLIGATIONS***

When you’re a writer and you feel obligated to include certain elements in your story, you can often find yourself not knowing what the hell you’re doing. For example, there’re a lot of TV shows, movies, and books out there that have shoehorned romances, so you feel like in order to stand a chance of being above average, you too have to have a romance despite not having the necessary experience or interest. The same thing is true with comedy. Although George Carlin remains one of my strongest comedic influences, not even his material is capable of making me into a carbon copy of him, which he wouldn’t want anyways because of his strong individuality. I can be funny sometimes, but when I feel obligated to make a joke in my stories, the writing suffers badly and I have to go through yet another round of editing. Tonight I’m counting down the three cringiest examples of jokes or cleverness gone badly in my stories. Why three? Because that’s three cringes too many.

I should go ahead and say that all three major examples come from Poison Tongue Tales, the first drafts at least. You won’t find the jokes there now, thank god. Let’s begin with the major money line from Stone Cold, a short story within that tome about a barbarian (surprise, surprise, surprise) who wants revenge on a warthog sorcerer and a female dark paladin for killing his wife. The barbarian wins the battle, but not without feeling like his heart is going to explode and a vein in his brain is going to pop like a balloon. While the female dark paladin is laying on the ground on her way to the afterlife, the barbarian leans down and says to her in a sexy voice…”Maybe I’ll get some practice on you before I meet my wife in heaven.” Practice doing what, you say? Well, if you can’t figure that out, I’m not going to tell you. Either way, you should be appalled at that, which is why that line no longer occupies my story.

And then the other two examples come from the same story within PTT. That story is called Streetwalker and that title alone should already have you feeling anxiety bubble up in the pit of your stomach. The main villain, another barbarian (what a goddamn shock), wants to buy the services of a wizard prostitute to celebrate a major victory in battle. The prostitute turns him down, so instead of paying the full price, he tries to get it for free by attempting to rape her. Being that she’s a wizard and that she’s using her prostitution money to fund her magical education, the hooker throws every kind of elemental spell at the barbarian’s way. Fireballs, lightning bolts, poison bubbles, shadow spears, glacial spikes, you name it, she’s throwing it. She thinks she’s won the fight, but the spells have absolutely no effect on the barbarian. So what does the would-be rapist say? He says…”In order to cast the spells properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!” In the words of my beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps, “Why doesn’t he just shoot her already? I’d rather get raped than listen to another one of his bad jokes.” You and me both, Babe-a-Licious Mondo. You and me both.

That Emmy Award-winning zinger should have been the end of it for Streetwalker, but it wasn’t. Instead the audience was treated to yet another “clever” piece of writing. It wasn’t really a joke nor was it intended to be misogynistic. It was just my obligations creeping through yet again. So what happens in Streetwalker (SPOILER ALERT) is that the barbarian has his way with the prostitute and leaves her bloody and bruised in a dark alleyway. Yes, she managed to knock is money bag loose (his actual money bag, not his testicles, you fools!), but even with all of that gold at her disposal, she still feels guilty for “allowing herself” to be raped in the first place. As part of this self-imposed guilt trip, I, the narrator, describe her ordeal as…(gulp)…I’m not sure if I should say this, but I’m going to if it means proving my point…the prostitute’s rape was…”a permanent part of her resume”. I can hear the dry heaves coming from miles away. Absolutely barferrific. No call for that. It got so bad that when Marie was writing her critique notes, she said, “Let’s keep this between you and me.” I couldn’t agree more, but here it is out in the open.

I didn’t count down those three examples because I wanted a laugh track to magically appear in my room. I counted them down because I wanted to be free from my obligations of putting comedy and/or clever lines in my writing. Yes, comedy is nice every once and a while, but only when done by a true master. Whenever I get into a heated argument with someone, my brain shuts down, so I can’t quickly access a savage one-liner to defeat my opponent. Why should I expect the same thing from my characters? Because Hollywood told me to do it? Because they do it so well in the WWE (which I still don’t watch anymore)? Why can’t two people just have a passionate conversation full of vitriol and curse words? Why does everything have to be funny all the time?

Now that I think about it, the funnier a movie or book tries to be, the more it comes off as bathos to an otherwise emotional moment. Bathos is defined as a descent from emotional highs and it’s usually achieved through comedy. Marvel movies have been accused of doing this a lot, especially with anything featuring Iron Man and his actor Robert Downey, Jr. When you rob your audience of an emotional high, you’re stealing a major part of the movie-watching experience. I don’t know about the rest of you, but when I get hit in the feels, I don’t want my attacker to use kid gloves. That’s why I like books like The Perks of Being a Wallflower and The Savior’s Champion. Sure, they have witty dialogue peppered here and there, but it doesn’t diminish the dramatic action of their respective stories.

I have not yet mastered the balance between (good) comedy and punches to the feels. I’ve been an amateur/professional author since 2001 and I still can’t do it. Is this something I should work on or should I abandon it altogether? Is comedy really that important or should I emancipate myself from the chains of obligation? See? Even that last line sounded too over-the-top to be considered comedic gold. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like laughing at bad jokes, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Chapter seven of this ongoing rewrite is edging towards the horizon. Windham managed to free himself from the shackles and now he needs to not only escape Shelly’s castle, but beforehand has to draw blueprints from the inside and collect a handsome payday from Shadow Asylum. Can he keep his emotions in check long enough to not spoil his escape? Can he watch one of his own being sold to a paying aristocrat without snapping again? Whatever the case may be, I’m free from the chains of comedic obligations, so there won’t be any jokes about Nickelodeon Slime Cannons or some shit like that (some of Shelly’s sex slaves are teenagers).

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

If Fred Durst started his own airline company, would he call it Air Bizkit? It makes me worry about the cabbage and broccoli platters he’d serve to the coach passengers. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about the plane running out of fuel, although the weather would always be cloudy up there.

***POST-SCRIPT***

Okay, so I’m not completely emancipated.

Extremism, Vol. 2

***EXTREMISM, VOL. 2***

You will learn a lot of things under the teaching tree of Marie Krepps, CEO of Hollow Hills. One of those valuable lessons relates to protagonist sympathy. If you want your readers to side with your protagonist, he or she cannot, I repeat, cannot be worse than the story’s villains. This sounds like common sense to a lot of people, but it’s a lesson I’ve spent a lifetime learning. I’m the same guy who once wrote a piece of high school fiction where the lead character gets a D- in history and then confesses to his girlfriend that he now relates to the Columbine kids. Yeah, let that sink in for a minute.

Extremism of this caliber is not uncommon in this wacky world of ours. I tried to express that in a Poison Tongue Tales story called Thunder Zell, where the lead character, Jacob Tate, crashes his cheating girlfriend’s dinner date…by driving a goddamn tank through the walls of a Chinese restaurant. Now, let’s see here…cheating girlfriend…tank-driving boyfriend…cheating girlfriend…tank-driving boyfriend…which one could possibly be more life-threatening? Which one seems less reasonable out of the two? Although there are some jilted lovers out there who would enjoy the idea of driving a tank into their ex’s personal space, that’s probably not something you want to admit in real life.

Speaking of jilted lovers, here comes a wrestling example of extremism! Yay! You know, because I can’t shut up about wrestling since it’s all I think about 24/7? Back in 2009, WWE Hall of Famer Hulk Hogan was going through a rough divorce with his wife and during that time she was dating a 19-year-old friend of their daughter’s. Here’s the exact quote Hulk Hogan gave to the media: “I could have turned everything into a crime scene, like OJ [Simpson], cutting everybody’s throat. You live a half a mile from the 24,000 square-foot home you can’t go to anymore and you see some 19-year-old kid driving through downtown Clearwater [Florida] in your Escalade, and you know that 19-year-old boy is sleeping in your bed with your wife. I totally understand OJ. I get it.”

Now let’s see here…cutting people…dating a 19-year-old…cutting people…dating a 19-year-old….It was obviously a trying time for Hulk Hogan and he was frustrated beyond belief. But then he starts channeling OJ Simpson and…yeah, not good. Not good at all. What other horrible people could be channeled? Let’s say you’re a dude working up the courage to ask a girl on a date. She calmly says no to you, so you go online and say, “I could have turned that whole neighborhood into a crime scene, like ER [Eliot Rodger], shooting everybody in the face.” Yes, rejection hurts, but it shouldn’t hurt badly enough that you feel like shooting people in the face. Besides the fact that women are allowed to say no to whomever they want and that’s how it should be, you’re not going to be the hero of your story if you can’t keep ER’s name out of your mouth.

But I’m just talking about bad judgment when giving media or online statements. What about actions to back those threats up? It still stands to reason that no hero should behave worse than the villains they’re fighting. To use a real world example that hits close to home for a lot of people, police brutality. The police are hailed as these superheroes who can do no wrong no matter how violent they are, yet there are some bad apples in every department who abuse their power and murder their suspects for minimal shit. Whenever a police officer commits murder or assault, he or she is almost always acquitted and praised as a hero by the public at large. While not all officers are like this, enough of them are, so many in fact that the Black Lives Matter movement became a necessity in the first place.

Obviously, some of these examples of extreme behavior are worse than others, but if you’re in the writing business like I am, take notice. As an author, it’s your job to make your protagonist as relatable and sympathetic as possible. That doesn’t mean he or she can’t be a villain at heart. It doesn’t mean that he or she can’t do questionable things every now and then. But if your protagonist is just one big bucket of gore for no rhyme or reason and your antagonist is more relatable by comparison, your readers are going to tune out and you’ve got lots of one and two-star reviews to look forward to. I learned this lesson the hard way many times in my career and hopefully the lesson will stick this time around. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I never cared about the money, never really needed fame. You think it would have changed me, but I’ve always been the same. My label tried to sue me. TMZ tried to screw me. Blabber Mouth can fuck itself ‘cause they never fucking knew me. Everybody seems like they’re waiting for me to die. Talk shit behind my back, can’t look me in the eye. They say I’m overrated, that I should have already faded. Don’t give a shit about it all because I love to be so hated. I barely get to eat and when I finally get to sleep, I get dragged out of bed for another meet-and-greet. I shake the hand of every fan and put on a happy face. I’m spread so fucking thin that I’m all over the place. I hate riding on the bus. I hate flying in the plane. Sedating myself just to kill the pain. I have no life, gave up on hope. The whole thing’s turned into one big joke. I mean no disrespect, but I ain’t picking up the check. Taking selfies on your phone while you’re breathing down my neck. It’s getting pretty fucking old and I’m almost nearly done. I’m glad that you were happier when I was number one. All in all it’s a good life. I got what I want. I can’t complain. I’m living the good life. A toast to you now. It’s all sham pain.”

-Five Finger Death Punch singing “Sham Pain”-

Garrisonian Tropes

***GARRISONIAN TROPES***

Whenever Ashley Uzzell/Marie Krepps and I get together for a critiquing session, she always jokes about common tropes that end up in my writing and I laugh along with her. She recently wrote an awesome review for American Darkness where she describes my characters as being constantly pissed off about everything. I thought that was funny as hell. Plus, I’m grateful for all three of my stars. Would you guys like to see some of these tropes and how I analyze them? I’m sure you’d love that, so that’s what I’m going to do since I’m all about customer service.

***MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL***

Debra Winter from Occupy Wrestling (published) and Kelly McVeigh from Filter Feeder (first draft) would be the exceptions to this rule, but from Watch You Burn on, every female supporting character I had falls under the Manic Pixie Dream Girl category. Every fucking one of them. In case you don’t know what this pejorative term means, it’s a supporting female character whose sole purpose in the novel is to boost the self-esteem of the brooding male protagonist. Jessica Harley (Watch You Burn), Raven Triscloud (Demon Axe), Adrienne Simpson (Silent Warrior), and Tarja Rikkinen (Beautiful Monster) are all shining examples of the trope. There’s supposed to be some sort of psychoanalysis as to why male authors write these characters, but I don’t quite know what it is. If any of you would like to pick my brain, that’d be wonderful. I swear I’m not writing these characters to be a sexist pig. I didn’t even know this kind of character had a pejorative term until after I started writing Beautiful Monster. I’m so far down the rabbit hole with that novel that I might as well see it through to the twenty-first chapter and fix it all later.

***FAT VILLAINS***

Ashley loves to joke about this one a lot and I can definitely see the humor in it. Most of my fat villains come from American Darkness and Poison Tongue Tales, but Rinehart from Beautiful Monster could fit this trope too. I swear I’m not writing the characters out of self-hatred (because I’m fat too) or because I’m secretly into fat-shaming (I’m not). You won’t even have to pick my brain in order to find out what I’m talking about. If you follow politics, you’ll notice that there are a lot of politicians and pundits out there who are universally hated and also happen to be on the pudgy side. Donald Trump, Newt Gingrich, Alex Jones, Chris Christie, and Rush Limbaugh are all shining examples of this. Villains by their very nature are to be hated, so what better way to hate someone than to compare them to a despicable political figure? I’m sure there are a lot of cartoonists out there who do the exact same thing.

***ANGRY CHARACTERS***

It seems as though every other piece of dialogue in my writing has an exclamation point, a swear word, or an insult attached to it. Plus, it doesn’t help matters that my characters are constantly beating the living shit out of each other. It would be easy to attribute this to my love for WWE since professional wrestlers are constantly cutting angry monologues against each other. Or maybe it’s because I too have a hair trigger temper at the little things in life. I scream like a barbarian whenever the phone rings. I go into swearing fits whenever Maggie shits on the floor or Smokey barfs on my bed. I once spit on my computer screen because my computer was slowing the fuck down and freezing all the time. Maybe there’s something about having schizophrenia that makes me irritable all the time. Maybe I just need a chair massage and a day at the spa.

***SAGGY JOWLED DOGS***

American Darkness and Poison Tongue Tales are where the saggy-jowled dogs live. My step-dad’s dog Maggie has a set of saggy jowls on her, so that’s where I get it from. She’s a mix between a Springer Spaniel and a Bassett Hound. She’s also sixteen years old as of today. She’s older than Herbert’s dog on Family Guy and gets around just as well. Maggie eventually became her own character in a Poison Tongue Tales story called Maggie’s Wisdom, where she played the role of a pilgrim trying to calm down a pissed off monk named Brock Dempsey. Well, what do you know? Another angry character! Wow! Spoiler alert: Brock finds his inner peace by scratching Maggie’s fuzzy belly.

***SENSITIVE CRY BABIES***

It doesn’t matter if the character is a muscle head barbarian or a gentle poet: chances are good they’ve shed a few tears in my stories. Crying actually became part of Windham Xavier’s character development in Beautiful Monster. He’s so afraid of appearing weak in front of his peers that he holds his tears in, forever conforming to male stereotypes that his girlfriend Tarja tries to shatter. But even before that, I’d have macho men crying all the time, most specifically Daniel Mercer from Demon Axe. Then again, Daniel was a heavy metal singer with years of pain behind him and PTSD from watching his band mates die, so he’s excused…I think? Maybe? I don’t know? In case you think this is a self-insert trope, I haven’t had a full-on crying spell since 2007, when I thought my only option for college was going to Evergreen in Olympia, where I would basically be a 24/7 student with no free time to myself. Haven’t cried since then. I did have sore eyes and a little bit of water trickling out whenever I watched old Never Ending Story videos on You Tube, but nothing that resulted in real crying.

***ASSHOLE PROTAGONISTS***

This one can be blamed on shades of gray logic where characters are supposed to have flaws, so I made one of their flaws asshole behavior. Big mistake. I had to edit Occupy Wrestling multiple times because the main character Mitch McLeod appeared too dickish for the heroic role. And now that I look back on Watch You Burn, the main character from there, Mario Bryan, is also a huge douche canoe, which probably makes readers wonder what Jessica Harley (Manic Pixie Dream Girl) sees in him anyways. There’ve been many debates among authors over what constitutes a good protagonist whether it’s flaws, snappy dialogue, average characterization, or whatnot. Some protagonists out there can be assholes without turning the reader off too much. I haven’t mastered that art yet, so maybe I’ll just stick to having friendly characters…who are pissed off all the time…and have saggy jowled dogs as pets…and are dating Manic Pixie Dream Girls….okay, that’s enough. Hehe!

***CONCLUSION***

It could be that I’ve left a few tropes out, but I’m sure they’ll pop up right after I post this blog entry online. They always do. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Some people live their dreams. Some people close their eyes. Some people’s destiny passes by. There are no guarantees. There are no alibis. That’s how our love must be. Don’t ask why. It takes some time. God knows how long. I know that I can forget you as soon as my heart stops breaking, anticipating. As soon as forever is through, I’ll be over you. Remembering times gone by, promises we once made. What are the reasons why nothing stays the same? 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.”

-Toto singing “I’ll Be Over You”-

Same Shit, Different Story

***SAME SHIT, DIFFERENT STORY***

In my last blog entry, I said something that I never thought I’d hear myself say in a million years: nothing ever grows in the comfort zone. For the longest time, I’ve been living in my own personal comfort zone and justified it by saying that leaving would end up being another bad decision. Well, you know what happens when you start coasting with your writing? You adopt the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” mentality. While that philosophy may seem like a good idea on paper, you get in the habit of using the same formulas over and over again. As a result, every short story, novel, and poem will blend together like masked children from a Pink Floyd music video. I know this because…it happened to me.

If you follow me on Face Book, you would have seen me post status updates about how some of my American Darkness 3 characters have the same first name. I’ve had multiple characters named Matt, Tony, Vikki, Daniel, and Marcus. I have since changed these names and updated the changes to my Deviant Art account. For example, Matt Ramirez from “Escape From Kentucky” is now known as Marvin Ramirez. My niece Reina kept joking about how the name Matt wasn’t reflective of a half-black, half-Mexican character. She’s not wrong. Marvin Ramirez actually sounds like it could fit the bill. Plus, there’s one less guy in my stories named Matt.

If you’re still paying attention to the shit that I say on Face Book, you would have also seen a post about how my American Darkness 3 stories have similar themes and plots among each other. I’ll give you one example of that. After looking over all sixteen stories I’ve written so far (and that doesn’t include the synopses I wrote for future stories), three of those stories are about home invasions: Dark Skills, Crow Cop, and Duct Tape Princess. One home invasion story would have been just fine. But then I also have two different stories about domestic violence: Brandi and Belts & Welts. And then I have three different stories about the media: Disneylodeon, Defamation, and Age Against the Machine. Marie Krepps likes to joke with me about how all of the dogs in Poison Tongue Tales have saggy jowls. What’s going on in American Darkness 3 is a lot more serious.

And you know what else? It’s not just American Darkness 3 that suffers from this sameness. Both installments of Poison Tongue Tales follow the same basic formula of two people trying to beat the shit out of each other (not unlike a WWE wrestling match). Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage, Necrograph, and what will soon be Lunatic Justice are all dominated by songs and poems about anger and angst. While there are hard rock and heavy metal bands that thrive on this formula, I’ll bet you anything their entire catalogue of songs doesn’t have the kind of frequency that’s found in my own poetry. Don’t get me started about Occupy Wrestling and all the other novel ideas I have fleshed out; they’re just Poison Tongue Tales stories with a higher word count.

Something has to change in my writing. I don’t know exactly what that could be, because as much as I hate to admit it, I do have limited experience when it comes to the world. I’ve never had a paying job, never been in love, never had a serious social circle outside of the internet, didn’t receive my first kiss until 2014, never had sex, and have only been around the world a handful of times. When I was a kid, my creative fuel came in the form of violent entertainment whether it was videogames, wrestling, or martial arts movies. Sure, I’ve seen plenty of other genres like romance, but without having a realistic picture of what true love is like, I can’t be an authority on the subject in my writing.

Having said everything that needs to be said, I’ve come to a decision regarding American Darkness 3. As of today, January 7^th, 2018, American Darkness 3 has been suspended indefinitely, which means I’ll have to find something else to do not only for the WSS, but also for my creative life as a whole. Pretty much all of my developed synopses for novel ideas fall under the category of ass beatings and unexplained magic, not unlike Poison Tongue Tales and its sequel.

Meanwhile, I have nine different novel synopses that could be considered modern day drama. While these ideas do have their fair share of violence, the violent confrontations don’t saturate the entire story to where every chapter sounds the same. Would you like me to list them off? Sure, why not?

1. Chicken and Fries (working as a concessions clerk in an arena full of abusive customers (could be considered Clerks-Lite by critics))
2. The Has-Been Society (going to a school that slashed its art classes budget and continues to promote conformity)
3. I Won’t Forgive You (getting revenge on an abusive father who now lives with a new family)
4. Is This Weird? (romance with a man who has three different weird fetishes: duct tape, feet, and diapers)
5. Memento Mori (pissing off an entire conservative town with offensive standup comedy)
6. Never Conform (refusing to obey prison guards and getting tortured for it)
7. Silent Warrior (navigating a tough high school as a traumatized introvert)
8. Suck It, Double Dork (scaring children for life with perverted drawings of cartoon characters getting raped)
9. Tender Loving Intensive Care (putting a sexually harassing ex-girlfriend in the ICU as a form of healing)

If these nine stories are the keys to the next kingdom, I have to figure out which one will open the lock to new horizons. Or maybe I could ask you guys, my lovely audience, for feedback as to which of these stories sounds the most interesting to you. There’s nothing wrong with a little artistic democracy every now and then. What do you guys think? I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you soon!

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What nickname did Snoopy’s bird friend earn when he waited outside Peppermint Patty’s house for hours with a pair of binoculars?

A: Would Stalk.

2017 In Review

***WRITING***

Earlier this year, I published a collection of fifty micro-stories in the sci-fi, fantasy, and horror genres called Poison Tongue Tales. If it wasn’t for my awesome beta reader Marie Krepps, this publication wouldn’t be possible. I know I brag about her a lot, but that’s just an illustration of how wonderful of a friend she is to me. Pointing out weaknesses and possible solutions in my stories while maintaining a silver-tongued sense of humor is a valuable skill to have. It makes the editing process virtually painless when you’re dealing with someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing. So far Poison Tongue Tales is sitting pretty at a three-star out of five rating on Good Reads and Amazon. Then again, it has only been reviewed once, so I’ve got a lot of marketing ahead of me.

Whenever I’m not standing on a street corner and shouting about my book like a madman (is that how marketing is done?), I’m usually pumping out more first drafts. In 2017 alone, I’ve written micro-stories for American Darkness 2 (contemporary) and Poison Tongue Tales 2 (sci-fi, fantasy, and horror), poetry and songs for Lunatic Justice (a future publication that’s currently being beta-read by Marie), and a psychological heavy metal fantasy novella called Demon Axe. While trying to come up with the next novel idea, I’m currently pumping out more stories for what will be American Darkness 3.

I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love the writing business so much that I want to build my entire life around it. It may not be the most profitable venture I’ve ever embarked on, but who gives a shit? I could have just as easily obtained an engineering degree, but I’d be bored to tears at whatever job I got with it. The writing business doesn’t owe me anything. I owe the writing business everything.

***MUSIC CONCERTS***

Another thing I’m grateful for is the fact that I’ve seen five music concerts in 2017. It all began with Roger Waters at the Tacoma Dome during my birth month of June. The special effects, the poignant music, and of course, those creepy ass putty face masks, they made Roger Waters’ performance a special one. It was my fourth time seeing him live and this was easily my favorite performance of his. Just over a week later, I got to see the Pink Floyd tribute band Brit Floyd and they’re every bit as satisfying as the real deal. That’s a lot of Floyd in just a short time span. Then again, as long as someone is singing “We don’t need no education!” in my ear, I’m a happy motherfucker.

The other three concerts I went to in 2017 were spaced throughout the month of August. First on the list was Green Day at the White River Amphitheater. The second was Metallica at Century Link Field. And the third was Incubus, also at the White River Amphitheater. All three of these bands along with the openers brought their fucking A-games. I’ve never been prouder to be a metal head than in August 2017. Onstage antics, badass music, special effect gimmicks, and the sense of siblinghood I felt with the people sitting next to me at all three shows, they were worth the long rides home.

In 2018, I’ve scheduled myself for even more shows: Pop Evil and Starset in February (separate shows) and Papa Roach and Soulfly in May (also separate shows). And of course, every year at the White River Amphitheater, there’s the obligatory Pain in the Grass festival with an ass-load of bands (tickets aren’t available yet, but I’m fixing to snatch one up once the musicians are announced).

***COMEDY SHOWS***

This year has also seen a great deal of hee-haws and belly laughter, compliments of guys like Garrison Keillor, Brian Regan, Jason Mewes, and the cast of Capitol Steps. I know how bleak Garrison Keillor’s performance looks in hindsight considering he was exposed as a sexual predator in the #MeToo movement, but I went to see him long before the allegations surfaced, so I was able to enjoy a night of poetry and giggles with him.Brian Regan has been a favorite of my biological dad and brother James for a long time now. Going to see him was like a pilgrimage for them and I tagged along to get a few laughs in too. And then there was Jason Mewes’ Q&A session, where my James Bond-esque laugh got a huge pop from the crowd in attendance as well as Mr. Mewes himself. I got to meet Jason Mewes after the show and he couldn’t have been more cordial and fun to be around. To close out the giggle factory, there’s Capitol Steps, an ensemble cast of political figure impersonators who made the Donald Trump circus in 2017 bearable and laughable at the same time. In 2018, I’m planning on taking my mom with me to see Trevor Noah and Bill Maher (again, on separate shows), but I haven’t purchased the tickets yet.

***VACATIONS***

Sitting on airplanes or in cars during long trips can be summed up with the phrase “six hours of ass torture”. The vacations themselves, however, were worth the sore asses. The first vacation of 2017 was a Mexican cruise book-ended with a few days in California. I got to pet a manta ray, snuggle with a sea lion, ride a banana boat, and get my picture taken with Spiderman. The trip to Seaside, Oregon shortly after was a little more low-key with window shopping and beach strolling, but I like low-key all the same. And then I spent some time in New Orleans, where I ate pralines (and other delicious meals), bought Legos, got a table massage, and ventured onto a plantation to learn about the horrors of black slavery. Mom’s going to try and get a job as a teacher again so that we have extra income to go on more of these wonderful trips.

***CONCLUSION***

The more grateful you are for the positives in your life, the more positives you’ll have in the first place. This sounds ironic coming from a guy like me who has a permanent resting bitch face, but on the inside, I’m feeling the gratitude, which can only be described as warm and fuzzy. The year 2018 will bring good things as well if you want it to. Even if it’s something as simple as a back massage or a meal at Red Lobster, don’t take it for granted. Life is too short for constant complaining and drama. Be good to yourself in 2018. Don’t let this year of silver linings pass you by. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

If there are two things American Darkness 3 is in no short supply of, it’s women named Vikki and women who are bound and gagged. “Duct Tape Princess” will bring you the best of both of those worlds. It goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Vikki Colt, Lounge Singer

2.      Nadia Rinehart, Street Fighter

3.      Johnny Rinehart, Nadia’s Gangster Husband

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: After putting on a seductive performance at a gangster bar, Vikki gets a visit in her apartment from a furious Nadia, who is convinced that Vikki was flirting with Johnny while onstage. Nadia has the fighting abilities to pummel anybody into powder, but instead she ties and gags Vikki with duct tape and holds her hostage in the apartment. The sexy songstress begins to think twice about choosing shady venues.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on the chopping block is Antonio Fujiwara, a giant ninja from a future Poison Tongue Tales 3 story called “A Bastard Sword in a Haystack”. Yes, you heard that right: a giant fucking ninja is attempting to blend in. He sticks out like a hard-on at the chalkboard, but that won’t stop him from at least attempting to find refuge in the dark forest, which happens to be full of tall trees.

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call it when a fireman and a paramedic blow each other at the same time?

A: 69-1-1.

The Real Game Excuse

***THE REAL GAME EXCUSE***

When I was still a member of Play By Web from 2001-2005, I would oftentimes create text-based RPG’s based on preexisting videogames such as Starcraft, Dead or Alive 3, and Final Fight just to name a few. The most frequent excuse someone would use not to join these games was…”Why don’t you just play the real game?” That irked me every time because I could never find a counterpoint for it. They were right to some degree. The videogames were right there ready to play and here I was attempting to capitalize off of them with text-based games. But I wanted so badly for people to join my games. Debating wasn’t and still isn’t my strong suit, because my opponents would come up with infinite talking points that I’d have no answer for.

Well, today in the year 2017, I have an answer for what I like to call “The Real Game Excuse”. It took me fifteen years to come up with a legitimate argument, but better late than never. While videogames have all of the graphics and gadgets to give their players a true vicarious experience, they’re limited in what you can actually do with them. Sure, you can hack the games and create your own levels and characters, but even that has its limits, especially for people who suck with computers. Text-based versions of these videogames offer endless possibilities with regards to character creation, storylines, writing expertise, and imagination development. Have you ever tried to create Megatron in a game of Diablo II: Lord of Destruction? No, and you never will. But in a text-based version of that game, you most certainly could if the referee allowed it.

But what if you don’t want to stick with just one game? What if you want to do a crossover series? Now the possibilities are REALLY endless! Take any two videogame titles, put an X between them, and you’re in business, buddy! Super Mario Brothers 2 X Diablo II: Lord of Destruction: holy shit! You’d have barbarians swinging battleaxes at Phantos, Lister the Tormentor blowing bubbles and getting killed with vegetables, sorceresses throwing lightning bolts at Clawgrip, Jesus Christ, look at all that! Try doing that with just a copy of a videogame.

Want another example? Sure, why not? How about Super Street Fighter II X Final Fantasy IV? Now you’ve got M. Bison psycho-crushing his way through an army of Calcobrena Puppets. You’ve got Chun Li doing a spinning bird kick while waiting for Kain Highwind to land from his jump attack. Hell, if Kain wanted to jump that fucking high, he can count on Zangief to help him out with a spinning pile-driver! What about the ultimate dream match between Ryu and Yang? The possibilities are…well, you get the drill by now. No need to overdo the talking point.

One last argument and then I’ll update you all on my creative projects. Making a decision between a videogame and an RPG is like making one between a movie and a book. With a videogame, you can see everything on the screen and you don’t need to engage your imagination. Movies are like that too. But with books and RPG’s, you have to create everything from scratch and actually put some work into your craft. Why do you think people brag about reading books more often than they do about watching movies? Granted, it takes a lot of work to finish a videogame, but once you’re finished with it, it’s over forever. If you were playing a pencil-and-paper RPG, you could go on for as long as you so desired and create new adventures.

I hope you guys aren’t getting the impression that I’m completely shitting on the videogame industry. I’ve played videogames since I was a little kid and even though I gave up on them in 2010, I still use them as a major source of creative fuel. They have their place society for sure, but they’re not an excuse to shit all over text-based RPG’s. Both mediums have their advantages and disadvantages, whether it’s cost analysis, creativity, simplicity of rules, or overall fun. I encourage everyone to enjoy both sides of this fence and live together in harmony. If someone has a pencil-and-paper version of Double Dragon handy, don’t mock them for it. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***BORN A CRIME***

The next time I delve into Trevor Noah’s memoir, I’m going to finish it off and review it. I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to give it an extra credit grade or a passing one. It seems as though I’ve been handing out extra credit grades like it’s Halloween candy. Maybe there really are that many books out there that can change my life. Born a Crime could very easily be one of them.

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

The fourth to last story in this series will be called “Gorgon Death Bitch”. Since the prompt in this week’s WSS contest is Radio, here’s how it’ll go:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Steve Jones, Frightened Boyfriend

2.      Kathryn Marsh, Angry Girlfriend

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The radio is blasting when Steve comes home.

SYNOPSIS: Steve and Kathryn had been dating for several months and are already living together. They’ve also been fighting a lot recently, giving Steve ideas of breaking up with his girlfriend. When he comes home late from work one night, Kathryn tears into him verbally, prompting Steve to give into his designs of ending the relationship. Kathryn bursts into tears on the couch and then transforms into a gorgon to terrorize her lover some more. Steve tries to talk some sense into her, but he’s too terrified to put words together. He’s also trying not to look Kathryn in the eyes lest he be turned to stone.

FUN FACT: Kathryn Marsh is going to be the next character to be drawn in the Dark Fantasy Warriors series.

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

If Poison Tongue Tales ever has its own page on TVtropes.org, these are the tropes you should probably be aware of. All of my dogs have saggy jowls, all of my male villains are fat and ugly, all of my muscle-bound heroes giggle like children, and all of my characters in general have hot tempers. Okay, so maybe not ALL of these tropes are 100% true…but enough of them are. Hehe!

Mexican Cruise

***MEXICAN CRUISE***

From March 26th (this Sunday) to April 4th (next Tuesday), I’m going to have a minimal presence on the internet due to a Mexican cruise I’m going on with my parents with a trip to Disneyland afterwards. It feels good to get out of the house every then and what better way to do it than by embarking on a Mexican cruise? Beautiful beaches, beautiful women, beautiful sunshine…beautiful everything! I might even bring home a pair of Mickey Mouse ears, hopefully ones that will fit over my gigantic head.

As I’ve said with past vacations, my online presence will be reduced to answering messages here and there and nothing more. That means for the next two WSS contests (including this one), I’m going to withdraw my participation. No Demon Axe chapters until I get back home in my own beddy-bye with my own kitty-pie. Heh, that rhymes. Maybe I’ll get pairs of mouse ears for my kitties and puppies. Can you imagine how silly Maggie would look with Mickey Mouse ears? She already looks like a Disney dog, so what more could we possibly do? Hehe!

Adios, amigos! Thanks for reading!

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

My paperback copy of Poison Tongue Tales has finally arrived in the mail today. Everything looks in tiptop condition, so I gave my approval for publication and it’ll be a few days before my book becomes available on Amazon. A lot of hard work went into editing the hell out of this collection of short stories. I know it’ll be well-received by those who decide to buy a copy. My biggest thanks goes out to Marie Krepps for her wise-assed critiques and awesome cover-designing skills. She did a lot for me over the past few years and it’s a debt I can never repay no matter how hard I try. Thank you so much, Babe-a-Licious Mondo!

***WRESTLING JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What did Roman Reigns say to Captain Jack Sparrow?

A: I thought pirates had cannonballs. It turns out you’re just smuggling some BB pellets.

Raggyd

***RAGGYD***

What do you get when you combine minimal reading experience, a massive ego, and four fantasy characters who have no earthly business being together? The answer is Raggyd, a medieval fantasy novel idea I had in 2004 when I took a creative writing class at Olympic College. As horrible as it ended up being, it was also the launching pad for my poetry skills. Ergo, if it wasn’t for Raggyd in 2004, I wouldn’t have published Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage in 2013 nor Necrograph in 2016. I’m halfway through another book of poetry called Prophecy, so that’s in my near future.

With an underdeveloped plot, Raggyd was little more than an excuse to use four characters I really had an affinity for. There was the pit fighting barbarian Graf Lunge, the gothic samurai Eron Putris, the acrobatic thief Baby, and the witch hunter zealot Futez Mysida. Somehow these four characters were going to come together to fight a super powerful enemy named…are you ready for this…Vine Wielders. That’s his name, folks. Vine fucking Wielders. Sounds threatening, doesn’t it?

The first chapter I wrote for Raggyd was an interaction between Baby and Futez. Futez wanted Baby to join his religious organization and Baby declined by making a smart-ass remark about how the only thing Futez plans on stealing is the altar boy’s virginity. Naturally, the witch hunter was less than pleased and sicked an entire squadron of ball and chain-wielding soldiers upon his would-be charge.

As much as the class enjoyed Baby’s dig about fucking altar boys, Raggyd was a critical flop among the students. They had all criticisms for me and no compliments. Other students had compliments for their stories, but I didn’t and that put a huge dent in my massive ego. What really set me off was when a fellow student named Patrick flat out said the story sucked. You know you have a hair trigger temper when the words “it sucked” causes you to blow a major gasket. Of course, I didn’t actually explode in the classroom, but I was boiling over on the inside. I needed some kind of revenge on Patrick in the worst way. Beating the piss out of him would land me in jail, so I needed something a little more…legal.

Around this time in my life, I was watching a lot of WWE (surprise, surprise). Since this was the autumn of 2004, John Cena was still over with the crowd during his white rapper gimmick. I’ll always tell people that hip-hop was the catalyst for my poetry career, but what a lot of people don’t know is that John Cena’s battle raps were the biggest source of inspiration for me. From those TV-14 insults, my revenge poem against Patrick was formulated. I would go on a lengthy diatribe about how I would impregnate Patrick’s mother, sodomize him, and give him up to the orcish horde (because he looked like Frodo Baggins). I would have read this out loud during creative writing class, but Patrick made a face turn and started being nicer to the class, so I pulled back at the last minute.

As far as Raggyd goes, just for the sake of spiting my critics, I wrote a 130-page movie script detailing the exploits of Graf Lunge and Baby. Had I continued this series, there would have been a script dedicated to Eron and Futez and there would have been another one after that dedicated to the final battle with Vine Wielders. For the time being, Graf Lunge’s story was about him getting kidnapped at an early age and forced to train as a pit fighter under drill instructor-style conditions. Baby’s story was about him being sick of his religious upbringing and joining the thieves’ guild, where his training was much nicer by comparison.

Raggyd had a lot of potential to be something big, but I eventually lost interest in continuing it due to the silence of my critics and a growing interest in other movie scripts. That means Graf Lunge, Baby, Futez Mysida, and Eron Putris are all orphaned characters. They’ll be used in other stories, no doubt, but what stories and when? I particularly grew fond of Graf Lunge because of his name (believe it or not) and his barbarian gimmick (naturally). And now that I think about it, Baby and Eron have different incarnations in other published stories. Over a decade later, Baby would become a child’s doll come to life in “Nail Bomb” and Eron would take the role of Floyd the sparring android from “The New Trainer”. Both of those stories will be published in Poison Tongue Tales. That leaves Graf and Futez without a home.

When I look back on the origins of Raggyd and the hurtful environment from which it came, a part of me wishes Olympic College wouldn’t have allowed that format to go on for any creative writing class. Apparently, this is a common occurrence for a lot of schools, not just OC. You read your story or poem out loud to the class and stay silent while the other students judge your piece. The other students can be as harsh or as nasty as they want with no consequence. It’s always been my understanding that school was supposed to be a place where students could grow and mature, not be taken down. But hey, I’ve watched Pink Floyd the Wall millions of times before, so I should have known better.

If I didn’t attend that class, I wouldn’t have written that battle rap about Patrick and therefore, I would have no poetry career. While I admit that my angry poetry got me in trouble more than once, I have no regrets about any of it, because I’d like to think I’ve improved since then. Maybe that’s why “Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage” holds a four-star rating on Good Reads and Necrograph holds a five-star rating on the same website.

The lesson of this blog entry is to live your life with no regrets, because if you change just one part of your personal history, the rest of your life will be completely different. Without the negative experiences of your past, you wouldn’t appreciate the positive ones you have now. Raggyd will see the light of day again sometime in the near future. When that is, I have no idea. Until then, adios, amigos! Thanks for reading!

***JOKE OF THE DAY***

Q: What do you call someone who masturbates to Maid Marian while watching through her window?

A: Rubbin’ Hood.

One Job

***ONE JOB***

I’m pretty sure you all have seen those “You had one job” memes floating around during your internet adventures. They normally end with, “And you failed” or “And you nailed it”. What I’m getting ready to talk about is something I believe will fit the criteria of the latter. Before writing this journal, my day has been just another “lazy day”. No creative work has been done, the plans to go to the Y have been cancelled, and the only productive thing I did in this 24-hour span was wash and dry my laundry. I could have just as easily spent some time under my oxygen mask and recovered whatever energy I lost that day, but no. There’s something deeper going on here.

I was beginning to wonder if I had too many tasks on my plate. Sure, I now have four major projects going on at the same time, but as long as my focus is divided evenly among them, I feel overwhelmed rather than in control. It’s the reason why I turned down an opportunity to review Andy Peloquin’s upcoming book, which is the third installment of The Last Bucelarii series. I felt bad about saying no to him, considering what an awesome writer he is and all he’s done for me and my brand over the years. He assured me that everything was still cool between us, so that makes me feel slightly better.

I’m starting to wonder if I should focus on these projects one at a time instead of all at once. And when I say focus on them, I mean finish them entirely before moving onto the next project. With this kind of sharp attention, it means I’ll have to miss a few weeks at the WSS because I won’t be working on Demon Axe those days. Everything else will have to take a backseat to the current project, but that’s what it’s been like even before I made this “One Job” decision. I kept worrying about what needs to take priority and if I work on one thing at a time instead of jumping between projects, I can finally get some shit done.

Earlier tonight, my always awesome and insanely beautiful beta-reader Marie Krepps has finished critiquing the last of my Poison Tongue Tales stories, which means it’s now my turn to make those suggested changes and polish it into a publishable book. But at the same time, I also have three other projects which need attention: writing Demon Axe, reading “What Hides in the Darkness” by KL Cottrell, and beta-reading “Benevolent Slayers” by Marie Krepps, which comes out in late May. I asked Marie if it was okay to put off beta-reading for her until I got everything sorted out and she said yes. In her infinite sweetness, she also told me not to push myself too hard when editing the hell out of those Poison Tongue Tales stories. I want to hug her right now!

Editing Poison Tongue Tales is so easy, a caveman can do it. It’s a matter of getting through all of those stories since I have so many of them. As far as Demon Axe goes, my most recent chapter is fifteen and there are usually twenty of them, give or take, in any novel I write. Finishing Demon Axe is also going to be easy as pie, but Poison Tongue Tales comes first since it’s closer to being a published book and Demon Axe is only a rough draft. That just leaves me with Benevolent Slayers and What Hides in the Darkness. Marie has always shown patience with me and I’m eternally grateful for that. As far as KL goes, don’t worry, babe, because I haven’t forgotten about you. In fact, I never forget about any of my creative commitments. It’ll be worth the wait!

It’s time to get into business mode, my friends. Four major projects and it all starts with Poison Tongue Tales, the easiest, yet longest assignment I have. Marie has a wonderful habit of making editing easy for all of her clients. That reminds me, I should ask her about her cover-making services since PTT is close to being published into a book. The question becomes, what will I want my cover to look like? I don’t know the answer yet, but it’ll probably involve a poisonous creature tongue. It is, after all, called Poison Tongue Tales.

Tomorrow morning, it’s game time. If I have to go to the Y to exercise that day and then take a nap afterwards, I’ll still have the energy to push through. If I’m exhausted that day, I’ll spend some time with the oxygen mask until I’m ready to go. I’ll heed Marie’s advice and be easy on myself while at the same time following my own creed of being a hardworking author. It’s been a whole year since I’ve published a book and that was my second poetry book, which is called Necrograph. In just a few short days, we’ll go from death writing to toximancy. Let’s get busy!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Well, I’m the king of Boggle! There is none higher! I get eleven points off the word quagmire!”

-King Adrock from The Beastie Boys rapping “Putting Shame in Your Game”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Funny story about that. It wasn’t Boggle, but while playing Scrabble, I once got 40 points from the word bitch and 70 points from the word goddamn. I won both of those games fair and square. I knew my English degree would be good for something one day.

Poison Tongue Tales

***POISON TONGUE TALES***

The last time I published a book was in February of this year and it was a collection of dark poetry called Necrograph. I think I’m about due to publish another book. The next one on the assembly line will be Poison Tongue Tales, a collection of short stories from the science fiction, fantasy, and horror varieties. It’s currently going through another round of editing from my overly awesome beta reader Marie Krepps. I specifically told her to look for places where I can show instead of tell and she’s done a phenomenal job of pinpointing those areas for me. What can I say? She does a lot for me and I try to repay her as much as possible.

So far she has given me notes on 17 out of all 50 stories in the collection. If you want to be alphabetical about it, it starts with Acid O’clock and ends with Gates of Hell. Ordinarily, I could polish 17 stories standing on my fucking head. I could do all 50 stories while doing the splits over an alligator swamp. I could do Poison Tongue Tales and American Darkness while sitting on a bed of thumb tacks. If all of these obscene analogies aren’t getting to you, what I’m trying to say is that editing a short story isn’t that hard to do. It’s not like editing a novel, like Occupy Wrestling, where I had to constantly change plot mechanics on my way to the final chapter. These 50 stories are all standalone in nature and only add up to three single-spaced 11 X 8 pages per story.

That’s why it pains me to say that I haven’t edited a single solitary story since Marie Krepps did her most recent round of critiques. No Acid O’clock, no nothing. Not yet. My reason for this has nothing to do with real life obligations or even mental exhaustion. It has everything to do with fear. That’s right. Something as simple and irrational as fear has stopped me from getting started on making these changes to Poison Tongue Tales. If I had to take a guess as to what this fear is over, I’d say it’s a fear of having a huge task in front of me. These new changes are going to radically transform the way each story looks, but it’s still the same kind of labor as before, so what’s all the fuss about?

I have no reason to fear critique as much as I used to. In my younger years, I had an over-inflated ego that would burst at the smallest suggestions. Now that I’ve surrounded myself with people who give a damn and are with me for the long haul, my sensitivity to critique has gone down quite a bit. I might even say that I’m immune to it now. So again, what’s all the fuss about? If I actually enjoy listening to Marie and her advice (because she’s hilarious and thoughtful at the same time), where’s all this fear coming from?

For far too long, Poison Tongue Tales has been considered a backburner project, meaning the WSS, Demon Axe, and everything else took precedence over it, even the Dark Fantasy Warriors, for shit’s sake. I have all the time and energy in the world to complete this simple task of editing the shit out of these 17 stories that Marie has compiled for me. If you want to talk about energy, I somehow found the energy to read 30-40 pages of my Carl Hiaasen book per day. The last time I showed that much dedication to a book was when I read “The Absolute True Diary of a Part-Time Indian” by Sherman Alexie (I hope the movie adaptation will be good). If I have the energy to blitz through a Carl Hiaasen novel, I should have the same energy to blitz through Poison Tongue Tales. The energy is there, but so is the trepidation. What the fuck, brain?

I know that an unexplained fear seems like small potatoes to you, my readers. Hell, you’ll probably want to flood my Face Book page with R. Lee Ermey memes after reading something like this. But I assure you, I can get over this fear in due time. I have four books to show for my worked up courage, why not have five? And then after Poison Tongue Tales, I have five different ideas for what I’ll send Marie next:

• Filter Feeder (environmental urban fantasy)
• Watch You Burn (psychological urban fantasy)
• Demon Axe (unfinished heavy metal urban fantasy)
• American Darkness 2: Black State (unfinished collection of modern day drama short stories)
• Poison Tongue Tales 2: Warrior Spirit (unfinished collection of science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories)

On a side note, Marie once told me that I use the word “warrior” a lot in my stories. She even joked that if my characters took a huge dump in the middle of the road, they would be called “shit warriors”. Not only did I laugh my ass off at that remark, but it’s also one step closer to me actually editing Poison Tongue Tales and not letting some bullshit fear get to me. If it’s finally time for me to “cowboy up”, then I’m shooting from the hip. Adios, amigos! Thanks for reading!

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

As you guys can see, Sonya Demonic is now posted online. I showed my drawing of her to my mom and she said that Sonya looked strikingly like my ex-girlfriend Brianna. I can’t say she’s wrong. Hehe! What’s next you ask? How about Ronis Wakizashi from my most recent WSS entry “Fire and Fury”? Sounds about right. I’ve always wanted to draw a half-Japanese redneck sheriff with a big ass shotgun and fuzzy beard. Actually, this might be more daunting than editing Poison Tongue Tales. Wish me luck!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“This is the point from which I could never return and if I back down now then forever I burn. This is the point from which I could never retreat, ‘cause if I turn back now there can never be peace. This is the point from which I will die or succeed. Living the struggle, I know I'm alive when I bleed. From now on it can never be the same as before, ‘cause the place I'm from doesn't exist anymore.”

-Immortal Technique rapping “The Point of No Return”-

Happy New Year's 2016

***HAPPY NEW YEAR’S 2016***

The year 2016 is only hours away, which means it’s time to make some resolutions. Whether or not I keep those resolutions remains to be seen, but I’m keeping a positive attitude about it. The year 2015 was one of awesomeness for me with all the concerts I’ve been to, the Canadian vacation I went on, and all the creative work I got done from reading to writing to editing. I know 2016 will be all that and more, but with a few slight additions and modifications:

　

1. I spoke about this in a previous journal, but I’d like to lose weight and have good cardio again. My target weight is a long ways away, but I’d like to shoot for light heavyweight status, which if you follow UFC means I want to weigh 205 lbs. How do I plan on doing this? More water-walking, less fast food. It’s going to take a lot of discipline (which I already have) and more importantly, it’s going to take support from my family. I need someone to drive me to the gym every day and I need people to stop offering me burgers and fries. A Subway or Quizno’s sandwich is fine, but burgers and fries are no good. I am ready to be thinner and more energetic. I’m also ready to stay that way for the rest of my life.

2. I want to work with my beautiful beta reader Marie Krepps in editing Occupy Wrestling a second time so that it can achieve a higher rating on Good Reads and Amazon. Round two will focus on two different aspects: showing instead of telling and making the protagonists likeable. Showing is something that all authors struggle with, but it basically means to use sensory details, body language, thoughts, and dialogue to portray a character’s emotions rather than simply stating it. For example, telling would be, “Mitch McLeod is fucking pissed off.” and showing would be “Mitch McLeod’s eyes were bulging, his face was reddening, and his muscles were tensing up. His fists were clinched tightly like he wanted to knock someone’s fucking head off.” As far as likeability goes, Mitch’s emotions will focus on the guilt he feels after crippling Jack Finnegan and killing Jason Finnegan. It’s a long road, but I won’t travel it alone. I’ve got Marie Krepps by my side for another January in the trenches.

3. When Occupy Wrestling is in tip-top form, the next order of business will be Poison Tongue Tales, which will be comparatively easier since short stories demand less attention than full-blown novels. The show vs. tell principle still applies and having likeable characters will be a must. I’ve already edited a whopping six stories (eye roll) and I’ve only got forty-four more to go. When I had to do the same thing with American Darkness, I put myself on a “bulldozing schedule”, which means I edited three short stories a day until they were all ready for publication. No breaks, no vacations, just straight up hard work. It worked with American Darkness and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t work with Poison Tongue Tales.

4. Remember how I often say that I always keep my creative commitments? That includes reading and editing other people’s works as well. I told Zero Urrea countless times that I’d help him with editing his debut novel “Rake”, but I kept putting it off due to exhaustion or prior commitments. This time around, I’m going to push myself to get him a chapter-by-chapter analysis. Yes, his book is a doorstopper that could be mistaken for a medieval weapon, but that’s not an excuse for me to put it off. Zero, I said I would help you and in 2016, I’m going to make it happen. You’ve obviously worked hard on this novel and it should be the best that you can make it.

　

And then there are smaller goals like collecting more CD’s and books, building a bookshelf, and attending concerts and vacations. Those things are easy-breezy to take care of, so I’m not going to list them with everything else. Come to think of it, I’m not a very demanding person when it comes to New Year’s resolutions. My life is as relaxing, happy, and easy as it’s going to be and I’m grateful for all of it. For the things I want to get done, when I start dropping my weight, I’ll have more energy and I won’t be able to use mental tiredness as a crutch anymore. We’re going to do this and we’re going to do this right!

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Come on, Sheamus, I thought you Irishmen were supposed to have potatoes. Turns out you’re just smuggling some tater tots.”

-Roman Reigns-

　

***MOST DISGUSTING PROMOTIONAL TACTIC***

Once January starts getting into the 20^th days of the month, the Wrestling Observer Newsletter awards will be released. As you all know, my favorite award is the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic because I enjoy shocking the shit out of people. My prediction for 2015? It’s a no-brainer: WWE exploiting the death of Reid Flair. I’d bet money on it. Then again, I’ve been wrong before.

Wasteland

Sweat poured down Faye Blood’s dark skin like a desert rain. Her fiery red hair was pasted to her forehead like horse glue. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her baggy white pants were draining even more sweat her already exhausted legs. Her orange monk’s sash clung to her upper body like a wrestler’s bear hug. Then again, all of this was to be expected from wandering the wastelands with a short supply of water and a hunched over body. The sun’s rays punished Faye’s body to where everything hurt. And to think, this much foot travel was all in the name of making a pilgrimage.

Pilgrimage? What kind of cruel and sadistic god would ever encourage his followers to walk aimlessly through these unforgiving sands? Couldn’t said deity at least have the decency to splurge for some camels? What about barrels of ice cold water and buckets of dry rations, was that asking too much as well? Faye would be lying if she said these thoughts hadn’t crossed her mind at least one time. But as quick as they haunted her, she pushed them back out of devotion to Salaam, the God of Benevolence. Her religious zeal trumped any complaints she had about doing this much exercise in one day.

The things Faye Blood would do at that moment for even a teardrops of fresh, nearly frozen water. She could strangle somebody. She could disembowel them. She could commit genocide and completely ruin her zealous track record with Salaam. An hour of zombie-like walking later and she would have two reasons for sudden violence. Just to make sure it wasn’t a mirage, Faye rubbed her eyes with balled up fists. With clear vision, no, this wasn’t a heatstroke-induced illusion.

What Faye saw at that moment could have been described as sensually pornographic, even from her outside perspective. A blue tent had been pitched and judging from the shadows of the two occupants, a man and a woman, there was some serious hanky-panky going on in there. The dominant male rained kisses upon his lovely female and touched her in places that made her squeal with delight and giggle with pleasure.

She didn’t have a whole lot to puke up, but if Faye did, she would spill her breakfast, lunch, and dinner all over the desert ground. Public display of affection was more disgusting to her than a battlefield full of dead bodies. To make matters worse, the male in the tent opened what looked like a bottle of water and was pouring it all over the female’s chest and face, causing her to arch up in orgasmic ecstasy.

Now Faye was pissed off. That was valuable water that could have gone to anybody dying of thirst in this god forsaken land. Instead it was being used for a cheap aphrodisiac between two equally cheap people. The monk’s fists were clinched and her muscles were tensed. Any tiredness she felt beforehand was replaced with energetic rage. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like the river she so desperately wanted to drink from.

The religious warrior stomped over to the tent and jerked it open with one frustrated rip. The lusty couple jumped backwards in surprise and scrambled to put their clothes back on. All the male had to put back on was a black mesh tank top while the female had a black leather breastplate. Their lower halves were completely covered with black baggy pants and black combat boots.

Faye actually allowed these two the time they needed to dress just by standing there in her muscle-tensing pose with the ripped tent still in her balled up fists. She couldn’t stand looking at them half-naked anymore. She didn’t care how smooth and toned their “sexy” bodies were or how lovely their long hair looked. Faye was thirsty. Whether she was thirsty for water or blood was a question that couldn’t be answered just by looking at her viciously angry pose.

“I could snap both of your necks right now and nobody would even try to find you two nitwits,” said Faye through gritted teeth. “If you’re not going to use that water intelligently, then at least give it to someone who will. Show me where you keep your jugs of water and I’ll be on my way.”

The male paramour, identified as Marco Torres, drew a rather long blade from its leather sheath and said in a smooth Spanish accent, “Hold on a second, babe. Who the hell do you think you are interrupting a beautiful thing like lovemaking?”

“Trust me, macho-nacho,” said Faye. “There’s nothing beautiful about wasting water just so your little harlot over here can have a fifteen-hour orgasm.”

The female paramour, identified as Rook Maxwell, drew a claymore from its sheath and heaved up a metal tower shield before saying, “Now sugar bear, if it’s water that you want, you don’t have to threaten to rip our heads off. By all means, you can have as much as you want. You’re not getting it from those jugs, though. This kind of water comes from spending seven minutes in heaven with the two of us!”

Faye instantly knew where the source of “water” was supposed to be and screamed in disgust while covering her ears with her palms. She then sang an agonized, tone-deaf version of “La-la-la-la-la!” before Marco and Rook got annoyed and lunged at her full force.

The two lovers swung their respective blades full force and made heavy “woosh” noises as Faye Blood cart wheeled and back flipped out of the way of these deadly strikes. With two people attacking her at once, Faye couldn’t find a split second of offence and spent most of this battle acrobatically dodging attacks. If she kept moving around this quickly for much longer, she would have another reason to collapse in exhaustion other than her desert travels.

As Faye continued to tuck, roll, flip, and fly out of the way of Marco and Rook’s tireless slashes, the monk noticed how they were concentrating only on the upper half of her body. Therefore, Faye did the splits and went down low with five knuckles of death right into Marco’s testicles.

The Spanish thug doubled over and howled in a raspy voice before dropping to his knees and rolling around on the ground. With him dispatched of, it was only Rook Maxwell swinging her heavy blade at Faye Blood, who continued to flip and fly around the battlefield to avoid getting struck.

Evasion was much easier for Faye with one opponent, but not for long. Rook pointed her lengthy hunk of metal at her opponent and shot little black energy grenades that exploded into smoke. Faye could try to run, but the thick smoke enveloped her and she soon found herself on her knees hacking and wheezing, much worse off than being dehydrated in the desert.

Rook sauntered over to her vulnerable victim with a kinky smile and a clear path through all of her magical smoke. Faye was passing in and out of consciousness by the time Rook waved her sword and blew her own smoke away. The dark paladin held her blade against Faye’s coughing and bloody mouth with the intent to make the final kill.

“Look at it this way, sweetheart: at least now you won’t have to worry about dying of dehydration. I plan on making this as quick as possible, but only because I really like you,” said Rook.

She slowly positioned the blade to Faye’s throat when the monk shakily and languidly made it to her feet. Rook thought this was some kind of last ditch effort, a second wind maybe. But all Faye had to come back with was vomiting in the dark paladin’s face. Blood, ashes, and desert sand filled her stomach with enough contents to make the projectile vomit that much more disgusting.

All of that biological slop was enough to deter Rook Maxwell from carrying out a murder, however. She danced around and clutched her “beautiful” face as the stomach acids burned her eyeballs. Some of it even managed to go down her throat, so she was choking as well.

They weren’t dead, but Faye was satisfied with her combat results long enough to spot jugs of water with her blurry vision. “Must…have…water…” she said over and over again to herself when she crawled on her hands and knees over to the leather skins. She pulled the cork from one of them and chugged like it was her last chance at fresh water. And oh, did it taste fresh. It was like a waterfall of icy coldness soothing her throat and energizing her stomach. Chills went up and down her flesh as she gulped some more. This was heaven to Faye Blood. Pure, wonderful, lovely heaven.

“Thank you, Salaam. Thank you so much!” she said in a prayer position. But soon all of that heavenly coldness turned to drugged dizziness. Her vision was blurry and everything around her was spinning into darkness. The cool sensation was turning to uncomfortable warmth and sweat. Before long, Faye Blood passed out with her face buried in the sand.

It must have been hours before the monk awakened. When she did, she felt so weak and crippled that even opening her eyes took a lot of physical and mental energy out of her. All she could see was Marco Torres’s blurry face looking down on her while he stroked her sweaty hair. Every word he said to her from that point on had a little bit of an echo behind it with some reverberation off the walls of the tent.

“You feel that, my love?” asked Marco in a sensual voice. “That wasn’t water you drank. That was a cask of Salaam’s most magical wine. Granted, it was laced with other lovely drugs, but hey, you wanted to make your pilgrimage to the heavenly lands and now you’re here.”

“Wha…wha…what the fu…”

“Shh-shh-shh! There’s no need for talking, my sweet. Just relax and let Salaam’s holy cocktail wash over you. You often wondered what exactly it was you were traveling to. And this is it, my love. Your priests sent you on this mission to find me. I am Marco Esteban Torres. Rook Maxwell was one of my wives. But she won’t be joining us tonight. Salaam has taken her to a better place. But you, Faye Blood, will make a suitable replacement for my lost fifteenth wife. Welcome to the good life, sweetheart. This is the true definition of Salaam’s Heaven.”

The setup to be Marco Torres’ wife was sealed with a passionate kiss between himself and an unwilling, yet unresponsive Faye Blood. The monk would soon find out what had happened to her this whole time. And when she did, it was doubtful she would be so zealous to her religion anymore. “Fuck you, Salaam. Fuck you badly!” said Faye in her own mind.