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.

Streetwalker

Danielle Courtney looked stunning in her wizardly dress. The predominately black overtones brought out her dark side, but it was the green and purple flame patterns that struck fear into the hearts of overzealous men. And yet, she needed the attention of as many men as possible given her nightly profession, so her mysterious dress had a long slit in her left leg and a low-cut top as well. Her outfit alone told any potential client that she could make their dreams come true, but also their nightmares if they got too frisky. With black lipstick, flowing black hair, and red ruby high heels to complete her ensemble, tonight was the perfect night for some fun.

The cool and crisp evening had been one of clear streets and loud partying from within the bars and taverns. Danielle could easily scope out clients from within those bars, but given their inebriation levels and her limited magical abilities, the night might not go according to plan. She kept walking the streets in her killer heels until she spotted a rather muscular looking man standing at the corner with his brawny arms folded and his villainous smile concentrated on her.

As soon as Danielle got closer into the light, she could make out the man’s features much more easily: a black Mohawk, clean shaven beard, and pieces of meat stuck between his teeth. This man was a celebrity in this town. He was Ryan Brock, a barbaric warrior who spent his days hunting gigantic animals in the woods and bringing the carcasses back to sell as meat to the highest bidder. Clearly, Mr. Brock was looking for a different kind of fresh meat judging from his devilish grin, which struck a little bit of fear in Danielle Courtney’s heart.

“You look stunning in that dress. Hell, you’d look stunning no matter what you were wearing. I bet you smell good too. Let me ask you something, miss: how much are you?” said Ryan. There were several other ways he could have phrased that question that would have been less offensive. “How much for your services?” would have been nice. “Can I have some company for the evening?” would have been even better. But “How much are you?” really got under Danielle’s skin. Nevertheless, she had a job to do if she wanted to stay in wizard school.

The lady of the night smiled right back at her new client and said, “One-thousand gold pieces should do just nicely.”

Ryan laughed and said, “Goddamn, you’re driving a hard bargain. If I have to pay that much money, it must mean you’ve…done this before!” There he went again with another vulgar expression that made Danielle feel cheaper than the price she was offering. Nevertheless, he tossed her a sack full of gold coins and said, “It’s a done deal.”

Danielle opened the pouch and counted her money. All one-thousand pieces were there. “Very good, Mr. Brock. I trust your meat sales are doing nicely. Come with me. There’s an inn across the way we can stay at.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” said Ryan before he gripped his new woman’s hand tightly. “I’ve got an even better place to do this. It’ll be nice and secure and you’ll…get more business out of it!”

The wizard prostitute used her free hand to cast a spark spell on the barbarian’s hand, the sharp pain forcing him to release his painfully tight grip. Both client and businesswoman shook the pain out of their hands and got some blood flowing yet again. Danielle said in a stern voice, “Let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Brock. I don’t care how much of a celebrity you are around here. I don’t care how many people you’ve killed in your so called ‘epic battles’. My rules apply to you as well as every other man who propositions me for business.”

Ryan Brock laughed out loud and said, “Alright, little lady. We’ll do things your way. But if you use any of that hocus pocus shit on me again, I might have to break more than your ‘business rules’. I’m not the kind of guy you can afford to miss if you throw one of them fireballs at me from your fucking fingertips.”

Danielle tossed the bag of money back at her now former client and said, “You know what? I don’t need this shit. I’ll find another client, probably one who isn’t anywhere near as disgusting as you!”

“Bitch, you’re in the wrong business if you think you can cherry pick your own clients,” said Ryan. “Hell, I don’t get to choose who I fight most of the time. They just come to me looking to throw down and if I don’t give them what they want, they’ll leave me bloody and bruised on the sidewalk. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Except you don’t want any part of that, because you’re too much of an arrogant bitch.”

“Here’s the deal,” said Danielle while folding her arms in contempt. “I’m going to turn around and walk away. If you come after me, I’ll have no choice but to…”

“But to what? Throw some more sparks at me? Give me a break, woman,” said Ryan while cracking his knuckles and slowly approaching the lady of the night. “This is going to be a cakewalk. I don’t normally get the chance to fight a magical bitch like you. But trust me, pumpkin: this won’t last eight rounds!”

Danielle kicked off her high-heeled shoes and ran barefoot in the other direction, but Ryan was monstrously athletic and caught up to her with so little effort. He bear hugged her kicking and screaming as the two of them went into a dark alley together. Danielle had to think of a spell to cast quickly, but she was only a novice at what she did and had a limited range of what she could cast.

Ryan threw the wizard on her back hard against the concrete, taking the wind out of her while the barbarian smiled evilly at her from above. “You want to say no to me?” he said. “We’ll see how those two little letters work out for you from here on in.” With Danielle still trying to regain her breath, the warrior laid on top of her and held her arms down with almost crippling force.

And then…her first idea for a spell came to her. She obviously couldn’t use her arms, so she shot lightning bolts out of her eyes, burning a hole in Ryan’s forehead. After he got off of her and danced around holding his wound in pain, Danielle thought she had it all figured out, that she would just get up and run away from all of this.

She was able to stand up after catching her breath, but at that same time, Ryan had said, “Just kidding!” and stopped hopping in pain. He removed his massive hand from his forehead and revealed that the ashen wound didn’t even penetrate his skull. It looked more like a cigar burn than the result of a magic spell.

Danielle clenched her fists and her teeth tightly knowing she was in a fight for her life. Orange energy swirled around her as she got the inspiration for another magic spell. Ryan continued his arrogant posturing with his sarcastic facial expression and hands on his hips. It would appear he would pay for his mockery when the wizard threw a rainstorm of fireballs, lightning bolts, and glacial spikes his way.

A multi-colored magical aura formed around Ryan like this deadly spell was going to consume him completely. Danielle continued to throw energy until she was so exhausted from doing so that she fell to her knees and panted heavily. She didn’t want to look up to see if her magic had actually worked this time. She just knelt down on the pavement and sobbed to herself.

She had even more reason to sob when she felt an ashen, yet muscular hand on her shoulder with the same gravelly voice that said, “That was a hell of a light show, honey. But you forgot one important thing. In order to cast a spell properly…you need the world’s biggest magic wand!”

With a mixture of tears, trauma, and darkness washing over her, the next few moments were a blur for Danielle Courtney. She seemed to stay in that state of numbness for eternity and she had no illusions about what Ryan Brock was doing to her. It was vile. It was disgusting. It was the longest period of misery she had ever experience. She may have had sex for a living, but being raped and molested was not part of her resume until that night.

Danielle finally came to hours after the dirty deed had been done to her. She was sore all over and her beautiful dress was torn to shreds. She was bleeding heavily from her groin and sobbing hysterically as she saw the remains of what was once a delicate flower. Even though Ryan Brock was gone and couldn’t hear her, she said in a slow whisper, “You will pay for this. You…must…die!”

The broken prostitute crawled on her hands and knees and painfully dragged herself over to where Ryan dropped several bags full of gold coins. Except he didn’t drop them on purpose. Danielle actually had a plan in mind. In her magical flurry of madness, she aimed most of those projectiles at his sash and belt, where the money was kept. He had more than one-thousand gold pieces on him. In fact, carrying that much money could have counted as strength training.

Ryan took off without ever knowing he left that much money behind. And now it all belonged to Danielle, who swore to herself that she would spend the money not only on wizard school tuition, but also for advanced and doctorate classes. By the time her studies were over, she would be the most powerful wizard on the planet. Then and only then would she be able to exact her revenge on the ultra-powerful Ryan Brock.

Learning magic of such a high degree would take years. At first Danielle didn’t think she could handle that much schooling. But after tonight, her focus was tighter than ever. She would hold the image of Ryan’s disgusting face in her mind for as long as she was attending classes. That was her motivation to graduate: knowing one day she would be a powerful enough wizard to rain Armageddon flames down upon the one man who ruined her life. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And hell was waiting patiently for Ryan Brock.

New Orleans Vacation: Round Two

***NEW ORLEANS VACATION: ROUND TWO***

Next Friday, as in October 30^th, the day before Halloween, Mom, Dale, and I are getting on an airplane to New Orleans for a Halloween vacation on Bourbon Street. I’ve been to New Orleans before and that was in 2011, when I was also on a cruise ship trekking through South America. The necromantic party animal culture of that city is very appealing despite me being a hardcore introvert. I’ll fit right in when I put on my navy blue jumpsuit and Slipknot mask for a night of Halloween fun. I’ve been meaning to take a selfie of me in my Slipknot costume, but I don’t have a smart phone and I haven’t been able to get anybody to take the picture using my regular camera. Don’t worry, the picture will come in due time. Plus, since I’m wearing a creepy mask, it won’t matter if I smile or not. Hehe!

Just like with any vacation I take, my time in a new city will mean time away from the internet. For Deviant Art, that means no new pieces of art will be uploaded during that time. For the WSS group on Good Reads, it means I’ll take a one-week sabbatical from the contests (though I still plan on competing in the “Patterns” prompt). For Face Book, it means my “heavy metal for the day” and “Ungrateful Mind Rewired” posts will be nonexistent (sorry, Jamie!).

But just like all good things, my vacation in New Orleans will eventually end and I’ll be back home to get the creative juices flowing yet again. I leave on Friday, October 30^th and I return home on Wednesday, November 4^th. As much as I love spending time with my online family, a break from the everyday grind is just what the doctor ordered. I opted out of the Steamboat Springs vacation back in September, though that was the right choice because sitting on my ass during long car rides would have driven me fucking nuts. New Orleans will be a better choice for me, so I’m definitely getting on that plane.

If you’re planning on robbing my house while I’m away, there are two things you need to know. One, you’ll never find it in a million years. Two, even if you do, you’ll have a pissed off older brother and a spitfire niece to contend with. I don’t like your odds. Hehe! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: WRITING***

With the arrival of a new week at the WSS Contest and Company, I have a story on deck for their “patterns” prompt called “Streetwalker” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

Ryan Brock, Barbarian John
Danielle Courtney, Dark Mage Prostitute

　

PROMPT CONFORMITY: The patterned purple and green flames on Danielle’s predominately black dress give her an aura of mysticism and magic, which her customers either find appealing or intimidating.

　

SYNOPSIS: In a D&D setting, Ryan is looking for a prostitute as a way of celebrating his latest brutal conquest. He finds one in Danielle, who is using the money to pay for wizard school. When Ryan becomes too aggressive with her, Danielle shows him just how powerful her magic really is.

　

And then there will be a short story I’ll work on independently called “Born to Die” and it goes like this:

　

CHARACTERS:

　

India Malakar, Elf Monk
Jill Henderson, Space Mercenary
The “Born to Die” Space Mercenaries
Bartender

　

SYNOPSIS: Jill and her mercenary team are celebrating a completed mission where they burned down a village that refused to pay them protection money. While they’re drinking heavily at a bar, screaming loudly, and annoying the bartender, a young boy named India enters the bar seeking revenge for his fallen village brethren. There are many mercenaries and only one India Malakar. In order for the martial artist to win this battle, he has to learn to control his aggressive feelings and fight with a calm and clear mind. As long as vengeful thoughts take over his brain, he’s doomed to end up just like his fellow villagers.

　

***POISON TONGUE TALES: EDITING***

When I went to Random.org’s number generator and selected a short story to edit, the one it chose was…(gulp)…Death Blade. If you’re wondering why I nervously gulped just now, it’s because this short story was my first official entry at the WSS back in late 2013 and it’s the one I’m least proud of. I know we as authors always feel like our past works suck the most, but Death Blade really has me rattled. Even Marie thought it was a bizarre story and that’s saying something, because her imagination is even more colorful than mine. Wish me luck!

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

In the interest of continuing the theme of Villains Month as imposed by my good friend Zero Urrea, the next drawing to come from this series will be of Michael Demonkill. You’ve never heard of him before because he’s a Blood Brawl character who doesn’t appear until the middle of the novel. He’s an orcish dark paladin who dresses in even creepier clothes and has a nastier disposition than Ivan Blackstone. Hell, those two orcs are eventually going to meet and it’s going to be an R-rated gore fest. Yikes!

　

***DOMESTIC DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

SUSAN: Garrison, are you laying in the dark listening to foo-foo night-night music again?
GARRISON: Yep.
SUSAN: Garrison, that’s depressing! You need to find something fun to do!
GARRISON: Like what? Drawing a picture of Elmer Fudd cutting off Bugs Bunny’s head?
SUSAN: No! No yucky pictures!