My Name In Your Mouth

***MY NAME IN YOUR MOUTH***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER PROGRESS***

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

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

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

-Your Favorite Enemies singing “Open Your Eyes”-