Saying Dumb Shit to Writers

***SAYING DUMB SHIT TO WRITERS***

Art in general is frowned upon in a society where we love to be entertained. Let that statement sink in for a few minutes. Because we’re not as exalted as the STEM lords, artists get a lot of dumb questions and a lot of dumb statements. It never gets easier with time. In fact, when people ask me what I do for a living, I just tell them I’m unemployed rather than brag about my author career to someone who clearly doesn’t care. I’ve had my fair share of dumb statements from small talking extroverts, grannies, and a combination of both. These are the six worst things said to me during my career as a writer:

“We need some good stories out there, not blood and guts.”

I was so pissed at this statement that I came close to creating a bloody story in real life with the woman who said this to me. I never let my anger show; I just silently seethed on the inside. An R-rating doesn’t make for an automatically bad movie or novel. Saying otherwise shows off a level of ignorance like a beacon in the night. Okay, so maybe you don’t like violent stories. Fine. Don’t read them. Don’t watch bloody movies. Don’t force your narrow-minded opinion on another writer. That’s not helpful advice. That’s conformity. Writers don’t conform very well and if they did, they wouldn’t have careers. The woman later asked me if I was interested in joining a college group for Catholics.

“Are you going to be a teacher?”

When someone asked me what I majored in while going to college (it was English), this was the most common follow-up question. Let me tell you right now that you wouldn’t want me as your teacher. I don’t command a great deal of authority without screaming when I reach my breaking point. And when I explode like a car bomb, I go from being the victim to the villain. I directed a play in high school that was an adaptation of Pulp Fiction. None of the students listened to my orders; they were only in it for the easy A. The only way I could have gained their respect was through raw physicality, which isn’t allowed in high school. Story of my life: my only problem solving skill is using violence and violence is illegal. A true Catch-22 scenario if I’ve ever heard one.

“You know what I’d like you to write? A book about World War II.”

You couldn’t pay me enough money to write a book about World War II. It doesn’t pique my interest in the same way that a fantasy or sci-fi story would. If you want someone to write your WW2 novel, pay them handsomely and don’t expect them to do it for the exposure. Writers don’t work for exposure. That’s a myth and it’s about damn time someone debunked it. Even if I did take a mild interest in World War II, I don’t know enough about history to be 100% accurate with my tropes. Social studies wasn’t a favorite topic of mine when I went to school. I got the good grades I wanted, but it still wasn’t a fascinating topic to me. Then again, I never did like school no matter what grade I was in. I got my good grades, kept my mouth shut, and soldiered on despite it all. And now I’m an English major (not a teacher).

“We don’t need more sequels to movies.”

This one was ranted about by a group of old ladies who clearly had a bias against superhero movies. Maybe they too should commission an author to write a World War II book since that’s all they can seem to remember. Just like with the blood and guts example, it’s not right to force your interests and views on a budding author. We are all different. We have different needs. We see the world through different lenses. Respect that and be on your merry way to a game of cribbage.

“You should write a story about the relationship between a seal and a little boy.”

Again, not a topic I give two shits about. Seals are cute and cuddly, don’t get me wrong, but blood-soaked fantasy battles take higher priority. Maybe the seal can one day don spiked metal armor and charge into the battlefield with a jousting lance. Maybe the seal can wear a sparkling wizard’s hat and cast magic spells until the end of time. Maybe the seal was made to be a seal because of a witch’s curse. Those scenarios sound a lot more appealing to me than dicking around with a little boy. This ain’t Free Willy, motherfucker.

“Don’t go to Hollywood to write movie scripts. There are drugs and prostitutes there.”

As opposed to the place I live now which is squeaky clean? Get out of here with that shit. Every city has its own demons whether you live in Hollywood, Seattle, Tehran, London, or good old fashioned Chehalis. Besides, if you really wanted to deter me from going to Hollywood, you would have played the Harvey Weinstein card. That’ll scare the shit out of anybody! Or if you need something creepier, try to keep budding screenwriters away from Nickelodeon, especially in the wake of Dan Schneider being a potential pedophile with a foot fetish. Come to think of it, that alone would make good enough creative fuel for a horror movie script. Then you can sell it to Hollywood while getting cozy on Harvey Weinstein’s leather couch. Ugh…

If there’s one lesson you can take away from this blog entry, it’s that micro-aggressions against writers aren’t just minor incidents. Writers hear this shit all the time and it boils them alive with rage, so much so that they’ll probably use you as murder fodder in their stories if you push them too hard. It’s the closest we’ll ever come to committing violent acts without getting thrown in prison. You have no idea how satisfying that is to us. If you don’t know what to say to an author, that’s okay, because as introverted professionals, we appreciate a good moment of silence here and there. Not all conversations need to be had.

And when the conversation does go south, it’ll be because you forced your values on the author without giving them room for their own individuality. Whether you’re a STEM guy, a hairdresser, an old lady, or someone who automatically assumes all English majors become teachers, a little silence can go a long way. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight! And yes, the sign off phrase I use comes from a TV show about blood and guts. Deal with it.

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

(RE: Categorizing books in the prison library.)

HAYWOOD: Treasure Island by Robert Louis…

ANDY: Stevenson. Fiction: Adventure. What’s next?

RED: I have here Auto Repair and Soap Carving.

ANDY: Trades, Skills, and Hobbies. It goes under Educational, the stack behind you.

HAYWOOD: The Count of Monte Crisco.

PRISONER: That’s Cristo, you dumb shit.

HAYWOOD: By Alexandree…Dumass…Dumbass?

RED: Hahahahahaha!

ANDY: “Doo-MAH”. You know what that one’s about? You’ll like it; it’s about a prison break.

RED: Well, we ought to file that under Educational too.

-The Shawshank Redemption-

***POST-SCRIPT***

Well, what do you know? Another R-rated classic! With blood, but not guts! Suck it, random Catholic lady!

Beach Ball Z

“Ladies and gentiles! The summer season is here and you know what that means: beautiful sunshine, beautiful women, and beautiful ass-beatings! If you’re ready to watch Zoku and Jeeta beat the living hell out of each other, let me hear you scream!” The bombastic announcer got just what he wanted from the crowd at Takanori Beach: loud, energetic, beastly cheers from a pumped up audience.

While Zoku stood in one corner of the ring egging on the crowd with waves of his arms and a shit-eating grin, Jeeta stood in the opposite corner with his arms folded and a gorgon death stare locked on his opponent. I will end you once and for all, Karrottop. Jeeta refused to call Zoku by his government name. It was a matter of pride in the Sojo race, which both Zoku and Jeeta belonged to. That was all they had in common that day, spiky hair and monkey tails be damned.

Jeeta’s jaw tightened in annoyance not only with Zoku’s pandering to the crowd, but also the fact that the announcer in an obnoxious yellow suit refused to shut the hell up as he named off various sponsors for this fight. One of the products was for a pesticide spray that targeted cockroaches, which seemed appropriate considering Jeeta’s thoughts on the announcer. Another product was for Marlboro Cigarettes, though Jeeta considered the announcer’s voice to be more toxic than anything a tobacco company could produce. And the other one was…

“Shut the fuck up and get on with it!” shouted Jeeta, firing a laser beam from his fingertip at the microphone and shattering it into pieces. The audience gasped in horror while the announcer nearly wet himself as he wiggled his hand in pain.

Only then did Zoku get serious about this fight. He unleashed a mile long stare straight into Jeeta’s soul, though the latter responded with a sadistic smile rather than quaking in his boots. As soon as the announcer high-tailed it out of there, the two warriors met in the center of the stone ring and continued staring daggers into each other’s eyes. Zoku cracked his neck on both sides while Jeeta popped his knuckles and wrists even louder.

The audience remained stunned in silence after the microphone was destroyed, but instantly picked back up into high gear once the battle music played over the surround-sound speakers: a heavy metal tune called “X” by HELLYEAH.

That was the warriors’ cue to get in their fighting stances and surround themselves in glowing gold aura. Zoku’s spiked purple hair and green martial arts gi flapped and fluttered in the energy-induced wind while Jeeta’s green spiky hair did the same. Jeeta’s purple Sojo armor clung tightly to him as it was his last line of defense against this suddenly serious-looking fighter standing across from him. Now the audience would see who the real badass was.

When HELLYEAH’s lead singer Chad Gray burst into a fit of heavy metal screams, that served as a cue for Zoku and Jeeta to stop powering up and commence the ass-beatings. Before the first punch was thrown, an inflatable beach ball bounced off of Zoku’s face and he was back to his goofy smiling self.

Jeeta on the other hand expressed his rage with an ursine growl and a hard stomp of the beach ball, popping it like he wished he could have popped Zoku’s dome right at that instance. As the audience erupted into boos, Jeeta pointed at them and shouted, “If I see one more fucking beach ball in that crowd, someone’s getting my boot jammed in their fart box!” Instead of being intimidated, the crowd and Zoku laughed their asses off. The audience even chanted “Fart Box!” over and over again.

“Come on, Jeeta, these guys are having a good time. They paid good money for this. They can do whatever they want!” said Zoku, trying to suppress his laughter to make a point.

“If they want to play with their balls so badly, they can do it behind closed doors like every other pervert out there!” belted Jeeta, earning another round of laughter from the immature crowd. “What the hell are you sacks of protoplasm laughing at now?!”

“Dude, we literally go hunting for Dragon Nuts to make a wish. You don’t get to make testicle jokes.” Zoku couldn’t contain his laughter anymore. He even doubled over and slapped his knees for extra effect. As if Jeeta didn’t have enough reasons to tighten his jaw again, more beach balls were being bounced around within the crowd. “Guys, over here!” Sure enough, one of the audience members bounced a beach ball Zoku’s way and he lightly spiked it back at them.

Jeeta held his head in his hands and attempted to squeeze the headache out like a glob of toothpaste. This sacred fighting tournament had been reduced to childish antics and easy distractions. This was supposed to be the culmination of a heated rivalry between two badass warriors. Instead, they were just “having a good time”. One of the beach balls struck Jeeta in the back of the head and his muscles tightened once more.

“That’s it! I’ve had it with you pieces of shit!” The audience and Zoku watched in awe as Jeeta got into his fighting stance again and weaved golden energy around himself, this time his hair changing colors from green to gold and his spikes standing up straighter. He had gone full Super Sojo and could end this fight with a massive energy blast to his naïve opponent. All of this nonsense could be over in a heartbeat. But then another beach ball bounced off of Jeeta’s head.

Rather than choosing to end this fight, Jeeta flew around the arena and punched the shit out of every beach ball in sight, popping them louder than hand grenades. Children cried. The elderly were on the verge of suffering heart attacks. Mothers and fathers hugged each other and their children for fear Jeeta would commit genocide upon the entire human race. Beach balls exploded left and right until the entire arena was void of distractions. Jeeta had the fearful attention of everyone in sight, including Zoku, who quivered in his green karate trousers.

Slowly Jeeta stalked his opponent, his golden energy glowing brighter and brighter with every angry step taken. Jeeta also formed a monstrous grin as he pantomimed a choke hold with his gloved hands. This would have been sweet comeuppance for a decade-long rivalry. The only way this could have been a more satisfying conclusion was if Zoku shit his pants, which unlike some members of the crowd, he didn’t do…yet. And then…

“I’m sorry, Jeeta,” said the announcer through a new microphone. “The rules clearly state that once you’ve exited the ring, the match is over. This isn’t wrestling and you don’t get a ten count. Therefore, the winner of this match as a result of ring-out: Zoku!”

The crowd erupted into cheers while Zoku pranced and leapt in the air like his disqualification victory was the greatest one he racked up. Jeeta’s jaw went from tensing up to being on the floor. His eyes widened at his own stupidity. All it took for him to lose this match was being distracted by a few beach balls.

As Zoku was being presented with a bronze trophy by some bikini clad ladies, Jeeta once again held everyone’s fearful attention by shouting, “This is bullshit!” He breathed in a raspy voice while tense silence hung over the sandy arena. “This whole thing was a sham from the beginning!” Pointing an accusatory finger at Zoku, Jeeta said, “You put those beach balls there on purpose just so you can get an easy victory! How much did you pay those jackasses, anyways? A hundred? A thousand? A hundred thousand?”

Zoku chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. “More like five hundred thousand.” Jeeta’s jaw was on the floor once again. “Yeah, I kind of had to teach you a lesson there, buddy.”

“A lesson?! There’s not a scratch on me! You didn’t do anything! You just sat there and played with your ball…I mean…you just fooled around throughout the whole match!”

“Exactly! And you took the bait, Jeeta,” said Zoku more confidently with his arms folded. “Whenever we go hunting for Dragon Nuts together, you’re always getting distracted by our opponents taunting you. You don’t know how to control your temper, so it costs us every time. We could have wished for anything we wanted if we had those Dragon Nuts. But somebody else took them away because you were too busy choking on your pride. What would you have wished for anyways? Immortality? A higher power level? A cure for your wife’s cancer?”

The crowd gasped while Jeeta’s golden energy dissipated and his head hung low. Even his spiky hair stopped flapping and returned to its normal green color.

“That’s right, Jeeta, you should be ashamed! You let everyone down at your own expense! It’s sad I had to go through all of this just to teach you that. I would rather you learn this on your own, but you’re too thick-headed!”

The crowd chanted Zoku’s name while the lonely Jeeta let out a sigh, his pride and his ego deflated by words that have never been truer. He had to learn his lesson. He had to turn a new leaf. He couldn’t let it go any longer. But no…He powered up yet again and sent the crowd into a terrified hissyfit. “I’m going to kill you anyways, Karrottop!”

That didn’t happen. A beach ball bounced off of Jeeta’s head and he turned around to pop it. But the minute he bent over, Zoku rushed up and kicked him in the ass, sending him flying through the air. Zoku teleported and double axe handled Jeeta in the back, kneed him in the stomach, and punched the shit out of him until Jeeta’s body launched into the sand like a lawn dart, his legs sticking out and kicking frantically.

“Get me out of here!” shouted Jeeta with a mouthful of sand.

“Sorry, Jeeta…I can’t help you anymore. You couldn’t even help yourself. You fell for the same trick over and over again and didn’t learn anything. Now I’m fucking the porn stars and you’re getting the crabs!”

The audience laughed as crabs came up to Jeeta and pinched his legs, causing the prideful Sojo to scream and yelp more painfully than when Zoku was pounding him. The only reason the crabs left Jeeta alone was because the tide came pouring in, adding some gurgles and bubbles to his already muffled dialogue. Jeeta did manage to get one piece of coherent dialogue out before he was declared the ultimate loser: “I FUCKING HATE BEACH BALLS!”

Chain Whip (Beautiful Monster Theme Song)

VERSE 1

The seasons change and so does my mood

What good does it do to sit around and brood?

I’ve got a chain whip curled up on my hip

I’ve got enemies who need an afterlife trip

They took my soul and my intelligence

In my mind they took up permanent residence

Took my creativity and everything with it

How many chain lashes must be given?

CHORUS

One! Two! Black and blue!

Three! Four! Let’s go to war!

Five! Six! Suck it, bitch!

Here comes the chain whip!

VERSE 2

Maybe whiplashes aren’t the answer

Strangulation doesn’t seem much faster

Chokehold suplex tickles my fancy

The anticipation makes me feel antsy

I’ve got a psychotic grin on my face

As your blood splatters all over the place

Your skin shredded, your bones broken

Your thick skull has been split wide open

CHORUS

One! Two! Black and blue!

Three! Four! Let’s go to war!

Five! Six! Suck it, bitch!

Here comes the chain whip!

VERSE 3

If war is the answer, what’s the question?

What other solutions are even worth mention?

Should I shake your hand and call it a truce?

Should I suck your dick as even further proof?

Should I give you a hug? Accept your apology?

Or is this another instance of reverse psychology?

An iron head butt for your pretty little head

A hundred lashes even after you’re dead

EXTENDED CHORUS

One! Two! Black and blue!

Three! Four! Let’s go to war!

Five! Six! Suck it, bitch!

Here comes the chain whip!

Seven! Eight! Bring on the hate!

Nine! Ten! Your reign will end!

Eleven! Twelve! See you in hell!

Thirteen! Fourteen! Scarlet dreams!

Keep on counting the lashes!

Dust to dust! Ashes to ashes!

WINDHAM’S DIALOGUE

It’s not that I don’t believe in love. It’s that love doesn’t believe in me. FUCK LOVE!

"Fight" by K.L. Cottrell

BOOK TITLE: Fight

AUTHOR: K.L. Cottrell

YEAR: 2014

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Urban Fantasy

GRADE: Extra Credit

When last we left the Light Force, a new breed of enemy from the Dark World was next in line to bring chaos and destruction to this world: the Tatts. Inked up magic users along with their demonic brethren the Hellions have made life miserable for those who don’t conform to their evil agenda. Marienne and Gabe, along with the rest of the Light Force, refuse to go down without a fight. They have the tools, they have the know-how, but most importantly, they have each other and will do anything to protect what is sacred in their lives. There will be blood and death, but there will also be victories and love. Who will survive in this classic clash between good and evil?

Yes, this book is about slaying monsters. Yes, there’s a lot of violence. Despite it all, however, this book maintains a positive vibe from the beginning to the end. The way the Light Force treats each other is refreshing to anybody who wants a break from the drill sergeant mentality so prevalent in fantasy and sci-fi fiction. Don’t get me wrong, I love a dark story as much as the next sicko, but even I need a breath of fresh air every now and then. This book delivers on that front and so much more. You can create conflict in a novel without having your beloved good guys constantly at each other’s throats. The author proves that over and over again. The Light Force isn’t just a group of likeminded people. They’re family. They’re friends. They’re lovers. They’re everything they need each other to be…except Rafe, who’s a total jerk.

As long as we’re keeping the positive vibes going, let’s talk for a bit about the romance between our two narrators, Gabe and Marienne. I’ve read a lot of novels in my day with romantic subplots and I can safely say that these two are my favorite couple, hands down, end of story. They’ve got more chemistry than a periodic table. They can kiss and be physical with each other without being hokey. They’re equal to each other in terms of respect given and how well they perform in fights with Hellions and Tatts. Everything that can go right in this relationship does go right…and I love it to pieces! You know who else I can love as a couple? Wes and Beatrix, who are just as lovey-dovey and just as respectful to each other as Gabe and Marienne. I’m feeling giddy even as I write this review!

But with every hero, there are villains waiting in the wings to bring the happiness to a grinding halt. Though not technically a villain, Marienne’s ex-boyfriend Rafe is painful to read about due to his obnoxious and jealous behavior (which makes me wonder why he’s not secretly a Hellion or a Tatt). Claire, Marienne’s sister, has always been nasty and malicious with her salty dialogue and newly acquired demonic tone. If there’s one villain you have to look out for more than others, it’s Leuan Cain, Tatt billionaire. Yes, he has dark magic and fighting abilities equaled by nobody, but that’s not what’s scary about him. He’s scary because he’s charming to ordinary people. He gives civilians hope and love and in return they give him their free will. He’s a typical politician without ever once landing a position in the White House. In the same way Donald Trump appeals to white nationalists, Cain appeals to the weak and frail. That is one way to make a villain believable and formidable at the same time.

I could go on and on about how much I love K.L. Cottrell’s Light series. I could make a laundry list of reasons why this book in particular deserves five out of five stars, a grade I don’t give out so freely. But when you finally pick up a copy of this novel, it’ll all become clear to you in a heartbeat. You feel the love and positivity right away with the opening speech about our fights in life. You want to be best friends with everybody in the Light Force (except for Rafe). You want to see Cain and other villains get their comeuppance by the time the third novel in this series is over. Those things by themselves are enough to convince me to give any book five stars. But together? Oh man!

Small Talk

VERSE 1

I don’t care about the weather, not now, not ever

Even in a blizzard, I can think of a topic much better

I don’t give a shit about how your day is going

I could go my whole life without once ever knowing

I don’t give a fuck about where your ass is from

Could you think of a question that isn’t so dumb?

I don’t give a damn about who your family is

I’m not a part of it nor someone you will miss

CHORUS

Fuck small talk! It’s boring!

All these words you’re storing!

I want peace! I want quiet!

I want motherfucking silence!

VERSE 2

I don’t give a rat’s ass about where you work

But telling you to fuck off will label me a jerk

I don’t give a flying fuck about your childhood

Sleep in your fetus jar like every child should

I don’t give a good goddamn about your car

Get your ass in it and drive away really far

I’d rather shoot myself in the fucking skull

Than listen to you give your string another pull

CHORUS

Fuck small talk! It’s boring!

All these words you’re storing!

I want peace! I want quiet!

I want motherfucking silence!

VERSE 3

An introvert’s dream is a Gracie Films shush

That goes unchallenged, not even a little push

An introvert’s paradise is a cat and a novel

Away from those who flap their gums and waddles

I’m not sorry for standing up for my own peace

I’m not sorry for making this conversation cease

Meaningless words fell on the deafest of ears

I don’t care if this makes me awkward and weird

EXTENDED CHORUS

Fuck small talk! It’s boring!

All these words you’re storing!

I want peace! I want quiet!

I want motherfucking silence!

Fuck small talk! It’s annoying!

There’s nothing worth enjoying!

I need rest! I need sleep!

Now beat it, you fucking creep!

Eat My Beef

VERSE 1

I had a lunch date with Ronald

We ate just like The Donald

And then he whipped it out and said

“EAT MY BEEF!”

VERSE 2

We had some chicken nuggets

And then we said, “Fuck it!”

The Colonel from Kentucky can

EAT MY BEEF!

VERSE 3

We ate some salty fries

And then some salty guys

Tried to shame us, but we told them to

“EAT MY BEEF!”

VERSE 4

We drank a lot of Coke

Until we almost choked

My cholesterol’s a joke, so

EAT MY BEEF!

VERSE 5

We slid into the ball pit

Even though we didn’t fit

If you really give a shit, then

EAT MY BEEF!

VERSE 6

I say fuck the heart attacks

We need a fucking snack

We’re addicted like crack, so

EAT MY BEEF!

Intro: When I Was Young

When I was young, I could tell the world to fuck off with little to no consequences.

I could throw the first punch.

I could bruise the biggest egos.

I could walk among giants.

And then one day…the world fought back.

A shade of purple underneath my eye.

A shade of red in my tunnel vision.

A shade of gray in my foggy mind.

Ever since then, I broke down my own walls just to make others feel comfortable.

I gave you all comfort you didn’t deserve.

You took full advantage of that and more.

The only way you left my life was on your own terms.

Did I give you permission to walk all over me? Don’t answer that.

I don’t care if you think I’m a boring person.

I don’t care if you think I’m an awful writer.

I don’t care if you think I’m too ugly for love.

I stopped caring what you think the minute you haunted my mind like a schizophrenic ghost.

I learned how to cope using positive thinking.

And then you gave me permission to feel bad.

I guess I was only just fucking myself.

The day will come when I’m able to rise up and tell the world to fuck off once more.

It won’t be today.

It won’t be tomorrow.

But one day when you’ve pushed enough of my buttons, I will strike.

I held back too many times for fear of fucking everything up.

But when I unleash my full strength…I’ll take every one of you motherfuckers with me to hell.