Emilio, One Half of the Iconic Duo "Emilio & Marigold"

 

Ozzie the Wise, Dementia-Stricken Wizard from "Rainbow Ranch"

 

Callie the Wildfire, Ozzie's Ex-Lover from "Rainbow Ranch"

 

Rainbow Ranch, Chapter 2

Lucy could have searched the entirety of Rainbow Ranch up and down and it wouldn’t have done anything but make her lonelier. Not a friend in sight. Not even a piece of driftwood came from that flood. The more she traveled, the harder she hugged herself for warmth. She became dangerously close to creating her own flood with the tears that she held back. Her old fur parents wouldn’t have faulted her for crying. She could have done it all she wanted when she was abandoned on this island with many others. Razor Ripley didn’t want “weakness” in his ranks, but Loki the Skull was even more discouraging of vulnerability due to the insane king that haunted his soul. King Harrison wanted Lucy the Hammer to bear a grudge against her abandoners, but all he succeeded in doing was making her resent him instead.

 

The frosty wind gathering around Lucy did nothing to ease her resentment. “That mean old jerk!” she muttered to herself through shivering breaths. With the power station knocked out, there was nothing to guard against the chilly weather that made Lucy shake harder than any sorrow ever could. She had been wandering aimlessly for so long that she failed to take in her surroundings. There was indeed harsh snow dusting the ground and making the air nip at her fur harder than fleas. “Where am I?” she asked. “Where are my friends? Where’s my tennis ball? I want my mommy and daddy…”

 

With very little meat on her bones (armor notwithstanding), she knew she would perish in this weather and was strangely okay with it. This was what abandonment meant to her. Rainbow Ranch was a lie. Her dumpers were right all along. And as long as Razor Ripley was upset with her, she would never prove them wrong. Debating wasn’t where she excelled in life despite having a yappy bark, which she missed using in the presence of her squad mates.

 

And then…a warm breeze passed over her, putting a tiny smile on her face. The more she felt this, the harder her tail wagged. Lucy yapped and barked as she dashed toward the source of this heavenly heat. Among the uncaring frost was a tiny grotto which radiated a warm orange glow. Hopefully, whoever dwelled in this place was as warm as the heat radiating from within. It would have been easier for Lucy to knock, but her happy zeal carried her past the entranceway regardless, romping inside like a wild stampede.

 

The minute the heat warmed her aching bones, she breathed a sigh of relief and plopped down on her butt. There could have been a fire-breathing dragon in this grotto and Lucy wouldn’t have cared as long as she could feel this heat forever. Though the breeze was no substitute for a mother’s hug, it came pretty close. Her eyes widened at the sound of a phonograph playing gentle guitar and violin music. As if the relaxation couldn’t be more blissful, now she was going to be lulled to sleep by the sweet strums of guitar strings and graceful glides of violins. Lucy yawned before placing her paws behind her head and smiling her way into the dreamworld.

 

Her subconscious vacation lasted as long as one of her kibble dinners as a pup. The record scratched and the new age lullaby was replaced by the hisses and growls of an angry cat. Lucy gulped and slowly opened her eyes to see an elderly anthropomorphic cat standing over her. The cat flashed her cutting fangs, balanced a golden knife in her hands, all while hogging the warmth for herself in her orange knitted armor with brown leather boots.

 

“Are…are you Ozzie the Wise?” asked a trembling Lucy before turning her head away in anticipation of a scratch.

 

“Ozzie the Wise is nothing more than a myth,” the cat growled in a feminine voice. “I’m Callie the Wildfire and you’ve crossed into my domain. What makes you think you’re welcome here? This is not a stray shelter. Move along, fleabag!”

 

“Wait, wait, wait!” begged Lucy before nipping up. “You don’t understand! I’m a member of the Shut Up Stupid Dogs! I’m here to help you! There’s a wizard on the loose and…”

 

“And you led him here, didn’t you.” Callie’s arms were crossed, blade still balanced in her paw.

 

“No, no! It’s not like that! You see, my…um…my squad mates were all…” Lucy gulped in an attempt to come up with an answer that never came.

 

“Let me guess: they met a cruel and unfair end at the hands of this wizard,” Callie said coldly.

 

“Um…yes…I mean…I hope not…” The tears were harder for Lucy to fight, but fight them she did.

 

“This is what happens when one of your kings decides to turn perfectly happy animals into monstrosities. This was always the plan for him. You think you’re the only one who misses your mommy? I miss mine too! I never had responsibilities and I don’t want them now. And yet, here you are begging for my help when my generator is sputtering and flickering.”

 

“Please, Miss Callie!” Lucy got on two knees and held her hands together like a prayer. “I can help you fix your generator if you just let me stay a while! Besides, you’re in danger! So is Ozzie the Wise!”

 

Callie tucked her head and turned her back to Lucy. “Ozzie the Wise is a danger to himself.”

 

“What do you mean? You know him?”

 

“I used to. He and I were supposed to be beddy-buddies in our fur parents’ humble home. We did everything together. And then…you know by now what King Harrison did. Ever since then, Ozzie became obsessed with responsibilities that were never his. He learned how to use magic and the more he used, the more his mind shut off. He’s not the man I loved so many years ago. I don’t even know who he is. HE doesn’t even know who he is. If he hasn’t gone down the same path as King Harrison with his insanity, he sure as heck is on his way there.”

 

Lucy stood up and hung her own head. “I’m sorry to hear about that, Miss Callie.”

 

“Don’t feel sorry for me, little pup. Animals never had a say in their own fates anyways, whether we were human-like or not. If our destinies are going to be chosen for us, then at the very least they should be chosen by people who undoubtedly care for us.”

 

“That’s…that’s so sad…”

 

Callie sighed and faced Lucy once more. “When you’re as old as I am, sadness becomes part of the norm. You’re not there yet, but you’ll get there someday. Your joints will ache. Your body will break down. Your mind will cannibalize itself. And then…we all fall down and die.”

 

“Why not speed up the process?!”

 

Lucy and Callie gasped before turning to find those words came from Loki the Skull, lightning swirling his hands and poison dripping from his fangs.

 

“So…you DID lead him here, didn’t you! Foolish oaf!” screamed Callie before she pulled out her knife to confront Loki.

 

“Callie, wait!”

 

It was too late; Callie already engaged her enemy with the fastest of stabs. Her paw blurred and flashed because of this speed, which left Lucy wide-eyed and awestruck. “Cool,” Lucy whispered to herself. Soon enough, her stabs began chipping away a the stone walls of her own grotto. She for sure had victory well within hand…until Loki blasted her with an energy ball and send her crashing into her record collection.

 

Lucy gasped as Callie picked herself up to fight again. But once she saw her records and phonograph destroyed, she collapsed to her knees and trembled in sorrow. “Oh no…no…Ozzie loved this music…and it’s gone…All of it’s gone…” She hugged her possessions and tried her damnedest not to break down in front of her mortal enemy. The last connection she had to her past, gone. All gone. Maybe she really should have “sped up the process”.

 

“YOU BIG FAT MEANIE! I’M GOING TO SMASH YOU GOOD!” An enraged Lucy drew her war hammer and charged at Loki with all of her scrappy might. Spittle flew from her lips like rabies and the warmth of the grotto was replaced with hellfire rage for her sworn enemy. She swung. She smashed. She pounded. She gave the old “one, two, buckle your shoe”…and her hammer went flying once again, jutting into the stone wall.

 

Loki, who dodged every shot Lucy gave, mockingly pulled the hammer out of the wall and dangled it in front of her. “This yours?”

 

“Give it back, you sick little mutt!” Every time Lucy jumped up and reached for it, Loki held it out of her way. Bored with this dog-exclusive game of cat and mouse, Loki zapped Lucy in the chest with a thunder bolt and send her barreling across the grotto. She coughed and wheezed at the damage while Loki continued to taunt her with the hammer.

 

“You want this back? Come get it. It’ll be waiting patiently for you in Ozzie’s home!”

 

“YOU LEAVE OZZIE ALONE, YOU PIG DOG! AND GIVE ME BACK MY HAMMER!” shrieked Lucy.

 

Loki ignored her command and teleported out of sight, black dust following him out.

 

Defeated and humiliated, Lucy dropped to her knees once more and pounded the dirt ground with her fists. “It’s not fair! It’s just not fair! Why does he get to have all the magic and all I’ve got is this stupid hammer?!”

 

“Magic?! What’s all this about magic?!” snapped Callie as she stood up to collect herself. “Ozzie the Wise has plenty of magic! He’s beaten King Harrison before and he’ll beat him again! You want your hammer back?! I want my past back! Come on, let’s got them both!”

 

Bewildered, Lucy asked, “So…you’re not mad at me anymore?”

 

Callie placed her paw on Lucy’s shoulder and stretched her claw. “Let me put it this way: I’m madder at King Harrison than I am at you. I’ll deal with you another time. But for now…” She held up a piece from one of her broken records. Lucy gulped in fear, but understood the mission at hand.

Dear Aunt Ruth 2023

Dear Aunt Ruth,

 

Thank you so much for the $20 check you sent me for my birthday. A little extra money will always be helpful to me. My kitty girl Piper had to go to the vet and the bill took a lot out of me. But she’s very much worth every penny. I love petting her and listening to her purr while she rubs her head against me. I hope to keep her for a long, long time even though she’s in her elder years now. She’s my little grandma kitty!

 

In a year full of creative burnout and generally low productivity, I did manage to find some silver linings in the first half of 2023. One of them was a rock concert in Seattle put on by Nothing More with Crown the Empire and Thousand Below opening for them. I had no idea who the openers were prior to going, but they delivered when it came to putting on a damn good show. I hope to own their entire discographies someday. Nothing More (yes, that is their band name) brought out the big guns with their energetic performances and emotional brand of rock and roll. They even have a machine made out of auto parts called the Scorpion Tail, which is used to create electronic sounds and basically give the lead singer something to go crazy on. This was my third time seeing Nothing More, with the previous two times being when they opened for Papa Roach in 2018 and opened for Ghost in 2019. Now that they had the stage all to themselves, they proved why they deserved to be headliners for many years to come. The fact that Nothing More has so little exposure just makes them criminally underrated. Anyone who likes heavy rock and roll should give them a listen. They won’t regret it.

 

But of course, not all of my silver linings can be about going out in public and mingling with strangers. Sometimes my introversion takes over and I need a good book to read. One of those good books was a collection of poetry and photography by Rachel Oates called “Reflections on Healing”. If you don’t know who she is, she’s a British Youtuber who make video essays about feminism, left-wing politics, atheism, and sometimes book reviews. She also occasionally shows off pictures of her Staffy dog Kyra, who has these saggy jowls and a permanently happy face. As good as Rachel’s poetry is in her book, the subject matter was incredibly heavy as it dealt with topics like psychological trauma, domestic violence, and growing up poor to name a few. But even with these difficult parts of her past, Rachel Oates has grown up to be a loving and kind human being, forever breaking the cycle of all the evil things that have happened to her. We celebrate cycle-breakers in this family, so her book gets five stars out of five, no question about it. Because the book contains poetry and it’s less than a hundred pages long, the reading experience goes by quickly, but the emotional connection stays with you forever.

 

Another book I read over the summer was a graphic novel called “Ghostbusters: Spectral Shenanigans, Vol. 1”. If you’ve ever watched a Ghostbusters movie before, then you know what you’re going to get out of this book: smart-ass characters, paranormal goodness, and a nice combination of comedy and drama. What fascinates me a lot about the Ghostbusters franchise as a whole is the names of the lead characters: Peter Venkmann, Ray Stantz, Egon Spengler, and Winston Zeddemore. I don’t know how the creators of the franchise came up with these names, but the style is definitely something you associate with Ghostbusters. Same thing when the 2016 all-female movie came out and had characters named Erin Gilbert, Abby Yates, Jillian Holtzmann, and Patty Tolan. Yep, those sound like Ghostbuster names to me. As an author myself, character names are interesting to me. I sure as hell won’t have any of my fictional characters be named John Smith or Jack Anderson. Boring! Anyways, before I get lost in my tangent, the graphic novel gets an easy five stars out of five. It was good, simple fun that didn’t appear to have any major flaws that I’m aware of. Sometimes that’s all a book has to be: good, simple fun.

 

The progress on my own writing has been slow due to constant burnout, but then again, resting up is just as important as the work itself. That’s something I have to constantly remind myself every time I feel like beating myself up. I’ve often referred to the 2020’s as the Golden Age of Tiredness, because everybody’s feeling exhausted due to one thing or another. We’ll get through this together. We’ll have up days and down days, but the exhaustion isn’t permanent no matter how many times it feels that way. I’ll have my day of victory, even if it’s not today or tomorrow. That $20 check will go a long way in making sure that happens. Thank you, Aunt Ruth. Thank you so much!

 

 

Love,

Garrison

Bone Popping Good Time

The Eastern European Chihuahua known as Ren shivered and trembled as he stepped into the waiting room, his feline friend Stimpy guiding him by the arm. Stimpy patted his bestie on the head, which did very little to stop the fearful convulsing. “There there, Ren. You’ll be okay. It’s just a little adjustment to help you out. You’ll feel nothing at all.”

Salt water welled up in Ren’s puffy red eyes. “I…I don’t want to go the chiropractor!”

“It’ll be okay, Ren. He even works with little children.” Stimpy waved his hand across the room to reveal small children who were shaking as hard as he was while their Karen moms read magazines and ignored the red flags.

Ren and Stimpy took seats in the lobby with the rest of the patients, Stimpy picking up a copy of Playboy magazine and picking his nose while “reading it for the articles”. The red flags were already a darker shade than Stimpy’s fur and nobody but the children and Ren seemed to care.

And then…the waiting room shook harder than any fearful patient ever could. Thunderous footsteps crunched and crashed behind the main office door. The children tried to get up and run, but most of them were on leashes held in place by the willfully ignorant mothers. Ren clung onto Stimpy’s arm for support and only let go when he realized his friend was still reading the copy of Playboy (in a family practice).

The door swung open and a hulking monster of a man stared out into the waiting room arms akimbo. His medicine ball muscles were barely able to be contained by his tight polo shirt and yuppie khakis. His military crew cut and square jaw caused the color to fade from Ren and the children’s faces, giving away a Navy SEAL drill sergeant vibe that had no place in the world of chiropractics.

He thudded and tromped across the floor, making kids cry along the way, still to the concern of nobody, least of all the parents. The chiropractor towered over a curled up Ren, held out his hand, and introduced himself. “Howdy, little guy! I’m Dr. Dennis Hanover! Nice to meet you!” Ren reluctantly accepted the handshake, which produced the sound of glass shattering as Dr. Hanover squeezed like he was making orange juice. When he let go, Ren’s now much bigger pink hand throbbed and pulsated. “Right this way, buddy!”

The ogre-like Dennis and the twerpy gnome Ren headed back to the office together, Stimpy smiling and waving like it was a final goodbye of sorts. Ren gulped as the door was slammed and bolted shut behind him. The chiropractic table looked comfortable enough with vinyl padding, but the skeletal models surrounding the room looked like something from a horror franchise. Ren’s knees knocked together as a rumbling in his tummy sounded like it could shoot off ammunition out of the wrong end at any moment.

Dennis patted the table and waved Ren over. “Come on, it’ll be fine. I promise you’ll feel like a million bucks afterwards.” The tan Chihuahua crawled to the table as though he was dead long before any adjustments took place. His once clear complexion was now icy blue. And then Dr. Hanover gave him gentle karate chops across his spine, playing him like a glockenspiel of sorts. Ren started to relax and the color was coming back to his face. Dennis kneaded his back like pizza dough and his patient nearly fell asleep on the table.

“Breathe in…and out…” After Ren did as he was told, Dr. Hanover pressed down on his spine and made his office sound like a war zone complete with bombs and machineguns going off.

The hard adjustment caused Ren to jump up and scream his head off, the background morphing into spotted colors with each successive yell. One long scream, two short ones, and one long one again until he was almost out of breath. Ren rushed to the door trying to escape while Dennis held onto his ears. The Chihuahua even pounded on the door with his fists and begged, “Let me out of here! Open the door! Please let me out! Somebody! HELP!”

Dennis finally detached Ren from the doorknob and the door wiggled like a piece of rubber. Dr. Hanover then held his patient down with skin-reddening force and duct taped his mouth shut. Ren used both hands to try to regain his first amendment rights, but the tape was too strong and all he could do afterwards was surrender and shake some more.

“Hold still, little guy. We’ve still got more work to do. It’ll only take a second.” Dennis clutched Ren’s head and snapped his neck in both directions. The Chihuahua’s muffled screams still managed to echo off the walls and knock over some artwork. His neck pulsated and thumped on both sides like a dying heartbeat. And then Dr. Hanover pulled Ren’s fingers, making his joints sound like a pistol duel. His toes sounded like those pistols were upgraded to AR-15’s. His wrists sounded like his chiropractor walked on a snowfield of broken glass.

“One more adjustment! You’re doing great!” As Ren continued to try to free himself from the gag, Dennis pulled out a black leather Y-strap and secured it around Ren’s head. The Chihuahua could do nothing but shake his head as his final plea for help. “Relax your shoulders, and…” Dennis yanked on the Y-strap and every single bone in Ren’s body popped and crackled with deafening volume. The duct tape could no longer muffle Ren’s screams, for he did it so loudly this time that the gag floated through the air into the garbage can. After his last rallying cry, Ren did a literal cry as his entire body melted into a slimy tan puddle.

“There we go! All set! You did great, little buddy!” Dennis patted Ren’s head a little too roughly, nearly giving him a concussion and almost liquefying that part of his body too.

Ren slithered and slimed back into the waiting room while his chiropractor got the table ready for his next patient. The children watched him make his defeated reentry with wide tearful eyes themselves. Stimpy finally stopped picking his nose long enough to notice. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing….”

“How come you’re sad?”

“I’m fine….”

“You don’t sound fine….You look like you’re about to cry…”

And cry he did. The pain was so horrible and so fiery that Ren thought he had died and gone to hell. In reality, hell was already on earth and Dr. Hanover was the devil. The square-jawed military nut marched out into the waiting room and sat next to Ren on the floor. “There there, little pup. I know just the thing that’ll help you. When my dad caught my crying like a girl, he gave me some words of wisdom I still carry to this day. ‘You know, son…Japan had an earthquake…Haiti had an earthquake…Australia had a wildfire…California had a wildfire…and you’re sitting there whining about life?’”.

“Hey, that’s mean,” said Stimpy with saucer eyes.

“Mean? Nah, that wasn’t mean. I gave your boyfriend a bone popping good time back there. He’ll man up in no time at all.”

“B…boyfriend?”

“Yeah, boyfriend! I knew you two were Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell violators the minute you walked through the door. You looked like you were taking him to the prom with your arm around him.”

As Stimpy and the subsequent children cried at the remarks, Ren’s slimy puddle form started to bubble like a pot of spaghetti, though his regenerating limbs were anything but spaghetti. For the longest time, he didn’t feel like his old self, which was why he came to the chiropractor to begin with. He was too scared to be the villain Stimpy knew and loved (in whatever way he wanted to). But that anxiety turned to skin-purpling anger. Steam blew out of his ears. His body returned to its strong roots. He smiled for the first time in his many depressive weeks, but not out of happiness. This was pure psychosis fueling him like diesel.

“Uh-oh…” said Dennis the minute he realized he knew he fucked up.

Ren jumped on his chiropractor’s back and twisted his neck in a direction it was never meant to go, an obvious mockery of that genre of medicine. Dennis screamed while Ren taunted him. “JAPAN WAS HIT WITH AN EARTHQUAKE!” Ren bent Dennis’s legs into reverse L shapes. “HAITI WAS HIT WITH AN EARTHQUAKE!” He bent Dr. Hanover’s fingers off to the sides. “AUSTRALIA HAD WILDFIRES!” In his final “therapeutic adjustment”, Ren popped Dennis’s penis and testicles, which weren’t supposed to have joints in the first place. “CALIFORNIA HAD WILDFIRES! And you’re bitching about life?”

Gone were the days of macho muscles and towering ogre presences. In their place was a broken heap of screaming sticks with a garnish of waterfall tears, still known as Dr. Dennis Hanover, a name which was probably going to be carved into his tombstone sooner or later. The children’s sprinting momentum dragged the chairs their Karen mothers were sitting in by the leashes. Some mothers held on for dear life while others fell on their butts. Those that did the latter chased after their children with whiny demands and shaking fists.

Now it was Stimpy’s turn to convulse in pants-wetting fear. But since he was a cat who didn’t wear pants, the biological sludge stained the floor and mixed with Dennis Hanover’s broken remains. Ren patted his friend on the back and said, “I feel great, Stimpy! You were right! We should come here more often!” Stimpy swallowing a lump in his throat and out of his ass was the surefire sign that Ren was back in all of his glory. Chiropractic medicine was truly the stuff of gods, provided that god was one who worshiped destruction and war. “Let’s go home!”

Where's My Justice?

VERSE 1

I used to believe that karma was real

Until I saw my kitty cat under some guy’s wheel

Driver might be partying with chicks and drugs

While his mortal sin was swept under the rug

They say to just let God do his little thing

Assuming he’s not purchased by the far right-wing

They say the best revenge is living well

But I’d rather bust his gut with a shotgun shell

CHORUS 1

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my mercy?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! The gods curse me!

VERSE 2

Justice is only for those with fat banks

And a trillion dollars worth of army tanks

And brainwashed lawyers who’ll shine their shoes

And broadcast their ass-kissing all over the news

CHORUS 2

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s comeuppance?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! There’s no substance!

BRIDGE

When you try to find justice without a badge

By pulling your own trigger, killing them in a flash

They put you in a cage and say it’s all your fault

Because you couldn’t pick the lock on the money vault

When you write a bad check to the justice man

They take away your house so you can live in a camp

It’s just the way the universe is wired to work

Sorry if you don’t have a way to go berserk

CHORUS 3

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my payback?

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Yeah! Yeah! There’s no way back!

American dreams are for those who sleep

Forget counting them, you’re already a sheep

You can wake up an emotional wreck and upset

Yeah! Yeah! Where’s my justice?

Oswald

I see you everyday sleeping your life away

Losing time again, can’t convince you to stay

Your legs are so weak you can’t stand up

Is this your way of saying you’ve had enough?

I’ll miss you dearly on the day that you pass

I’ll miss your chubby belly, so much mass

I’ll miss you rolling over on your back

I’ll miss you munching on a chicken snack

Miss your precious face, expressions so sweet

Miss your pretty eyes, close them as you sleep

The Rainbow Bridge is waiting for you

Make lots of friends for me, old and new

I hope your life was one worth living

My love for you was well worth giving

One of these days, we’ll cross paths again

Even in death, you’ll be my sweetest friend

Until next time, my Buddha-bellied feline

Until next time, my little oinking swine

Soon you will be free of your elderly pain

You’ll be missed so much, our eyes will rain

Losing fuzzy friends never gets easier

Reincarnate one day into someone beefier

Butterscotch

The tear that burned Abby Cole’s purple and black eye was but a droplet in an ocean of sorrow and silence. Though she kept her head down as she walked hurriedly down the street, she was painfully aware of passersby staring at her wound. Whether it was in pity or disgust, she was too numb to figure out. Their stares made her feel like even more of an outcast than she already was. The difference between the gawking pedestrians and Daniel Park? Abby could easily forget the judgmental masses. After all, they weren’t the ones who threw the punch during school in the first place.

The more Daniel Park’s cold, demonic expression stained her mind, the more her colorful eye burned with pooling tears. His screams earlier that day were barely intelligible, but they were loud enough to leave her ears ringing. His fist was harder than a cinder block and almost put her into a permanent sleep. Getting rid of him would be an easy solution for the school administration, but it would imply that anybody cared. Judging from the cracked infrastructure and unwashed graffiti surrounding the school, the uncaring attitudes of those in charge were more obvious than the all-consuming wound across Abby’s face.

Abby couldn’t even think about anything else at that moment. If she tried to do math homework that evening, she would only be counting the pieces of her face she had to pick up. If she tried to do history homework, then she could justify putting so many violent wars in one textbook, hers chief among them. If she tried to write a poem, no words would come out, just like her current silence dictated. Forget A-pluses and scholarships. All she wanted to do was lie face down on her bed and drift into the darkness forever and ever.

She had passed a few neon signs in the street for barbecue joints and strip clubs and their obnoxious lights burned her eye as well. She couldn’t open it to full length no matter how hard she tried…until a little patch of fur came darting out of the alleyway. Nobody else was there to judge her and the tiny kitten. The cat stared up at Abby with pitiful eyes and let out a series of soft, high-pitched meows. His yellow and orange striped fur looked gentle enough to touch despite him being a street cat who no doubt had to fight for his food.

Abby’s smile was wide enough to burn her eye again, but this time she didn’t wince nor care. “Come on, little kitty!” she sweetly said while kneeling down on the ground and holding her hand out. “It’s okay, nobody’s going to hurt you. Are you lost? Do you need some snuggles and love?” The cat meowed at her some more before creeping up to her hand and jumping into her arms for a hug. He purred loudly in her ear while Abby stroked his velveteen fur. “I’m going to call you Butterscotch, because you’re sweet!”

Butterscotch licked Abby’s bruise with his rough tongue and caused some yellow leakage, but she didn’t mind as evidenced by her giggles and continued pettings. “You’re such a love bug!” she squealed to him. Forget laying in bed all night long. She could stay in these now empty streets for eternity if it meant loving and being loved by this tender creature. Butterscotch would never punch her in the face. He would never scream obscenities about pimping and prostitution. This kitty would never stare at Abby with evil eyes.

Daniel Park, on the other hand, didn’t mind doing those things at all. His familiar gruff voice could be heard clearing his throat and just like that, Butterscotch leapt out of Abby’s arms and hid behind a dustbin, leaving her with a mild scratch on her bare arm. Abby began to feel conscious about any other body part that could be easily revealed to Daniel. Her flannel skirt showed off her legs. Her high heeled shoes gave away free foot content. She pulled on her black T-shirt to keep it from looking too tight on her.

With his victim trembling before him unable to speak, the leather-jacket-wearing, face-tattooed Daniel lit up a cigarette and slowly approached her with a tightened fist. “So…have you thought about my offer from earlier? Are you ready to make me an ass-load of money? I want that ass, Abby. I got horny bastards that’ll pay good money for an ass like that. What do you say?” No answer, only trembles and tears. “Are you deaf?!” he roared before taking another drag of his cigarette and stomping it out.

“Uh…uh…uh…Daniel? I, uh…I can’t do that.” Abby had a hard time steadying her body, almost to where she was going to fall over.

Daniel grabbed a hold of Abby’s shirt and caused her to yelp. “Shut up, bitch!” he screamed as he raised his fist in the air. “I was asking rhetorical questions when I made you that offer. I’m not giving you a choice, bitch. You either come with me and sell some ass or I’ll leave you laying in the fucking street. It doesn’t matter to me either way. Bitches like you are a dime a dozen!” He lifted up her skirt and she could only tremble some more. “Since you won’t be able to use that mouth of yours for a while…I was wondering if…”

Butterscotch emerged from behind the dustbin and hissed at Daniel. He asked, “Who’s that little shit stain? Friend of yours, Abby? You wish your pussy was that small?”

“L…l…leave Butterscotch alone!” Abby flinched in anticipation for another punch.

“Butterscotch? Is that what you’re calling him? Shit, I don’t even have to beat your ass again. I’ll just wring this little fucker’s neck, how about that?”

Abby collapsed on the ground and sobbed as Daniel slowly approached Butterscotch, pounding his fists and earning hisses and growls for his intimidation tactics. “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty!” he said in a creepy voice. “Maybe I’ll take my phone out and play some Sarah McLaughlin music or some shit. That’d make a hell of an ASPCA commercial, don’t you think?”

“Leave him alone!”

“Fuck you, cunt!” Daniel raised his fist in the sky and poised for another beat down on Abby. She tightly closed her eyes and held her hands up in defeat, so she only got to hear the action when Butterscotch screamed and scratched Daniel hard enough that he let out a monstrous, “Ouch!”

The double-tracked yell plus the goopy noise emitting from Daniel’s wound caused Abby to open her eyes to see what was up. Green ooze leaked from his palm while his eyes glowed neon red. He stared down at her and said, “That’s right, bitch. I’m a motherfucking demon. We’re everywhere! Ever wonder why nobody gives a shit about your sorry ass? Demons don’t give a shit about anyone, so don’t feel too left out.”

Abby’s breathing intensified and her heart rate sped up to dizzying heights as it lodged in her throat. She was just going to lay there for her attacker while Butterscotch snuggled up against her chest. Demons ran this world whether she accepted it or not. Demons weren’t in the business of fixing schools or policing criminals. They were in the business of creating even deeper bruises on people more vulnerable than her. They were in the business of selling ass and literally raising hell.

Abby didn’t want to live in such a world anymore, but realized that if she gave up now, she wouldn’t be able to hold sweet kitties in her arms wherever the afterlife took her. A coffin was no place for a grieving cat. Her body was no place for a demon’s hands, which had developed wrinkles, hair, and claws as they reached down to grab her. Butterscotch swiped at Daniel again and opened his palm gash even wider, causing more green goop to spill.

“Goddamn it, you little bastard! I’m going to rip your tail off and shove it up Abby’s pussy!” Daniel wrapped his good hand around Butterscotch’s neck and was poised to make good on his threats.

Abby remembered that there were no sweet kitties in the afterlife. Butterscotch needed her here and now. If she wasn’t going to fight for herself, she had to fight for her new furry friend. She saw an opening…mainly the one in Daniel’s hideous hand. In one swift motion, she grabbed the demon’s wound with her manicured nails and opened it wider and wider with every slash. Tears poured down her face and blinded her from the green goop spilling everywhere. Her ears bled from the demon’s screaming in pain. Her ears also took a pounding from Butterscotch growling as he bit his attacker.

Soon enough, Abby ripped off an entire strip of demonic skin. And another. And another. Her heart rate could barely keep up with her tearful rage. “Die, you motherfucker! Just die already!” she screamed as she ripped more flesh from the gaping wound. She pulled out muscle fibers and organ pieces. She ripped a piece of bone out as well after some hard tugging. She had to stop her rage for a moment to wipe her eyes, but when they were clear, they widened at her handiwork.

Daniel’s red devil arm was stripped completely of skin and muscles. His green goopy blood sprayed all over the ground and leaked into the sewers. His screams grew silent and more pathetic as he crumpled to the ground dying. His string of obscenities remained unintelligible, but not because of traumatic blocking. He bled and broke until his monstrous, muscle-bound, leather-skinned body was just a heap of crap lying on the sidewalk, no different from one of Butterscotch’s constitutionals. To put it mildly, Daniel Park was dead.

Abby’s body still shook in a combination of shock and trauma. Her painful eye was still wide and achy. Her mouth kept trembling as she spoke. “I did it,” she said in amazement. “I killed that bastard. He’s gone…” She leaned down to extend her demonic-ooze-covered hand to Butterscotch and he licked the fluid off for her. “You saved my life, little guy. You’re just a baby. You shouldn’t have to save people like me. You should be cuddled and loved forever. Dad would never let me keep you.” That last sentence caused more tears to scorch her purple wound.

“Don’t worry, baby Butterscotch. I’ll find you a nice home. I’ll get you away from these demons…if there really are more out there. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if my good-for-nothing dad was one himself. He’d never believe me if I told him what Daniel did to me. He’d just be like, ‘Suck it up! Rah-rah-rah-rah-rah!’”

Butterscotch rubbed his head against Abby’s ankle and she rewarded him with scratches behind the ears. Only then did she notice that his claws were marked with weird-looking runic symbols. They were long, too. And jagged. Did this cat know what he was doing all along? That gave Abby an idea…

“Hey, Butterscotch…would you like to meet my daddy? Of course you would! Hehe!”

Emilio & Marigold Suspended

***EMILIO & MARIGOLD SUSPENDED***

The deadline for submitting final drafts to Hollow Hills’s anthology “The Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim” is today, August 31, 2019. I’m sorry to say that Emilio & Marigold will not be able to make that deadline. Even after all of the rounds of editing it has been through, it’s still not ready by final draft standards. The characters are still two-dimensional, the world isn’t descriptive enough, and the prologue I wrote for the story to increase the word count is a rough draft in and of itself.

Marie Krepps, one of the CEO’s for Hollow Hills, assured me that everything will be okay since she’s already in talks with Aurora Styles about next year’s anthology, which will be animal-themed. Even with Marie’s comfort, I still feel like I let a lot of people and myself down. I’ve never missed a deadline before today. I was always a good college student who turned in my assignments on time without asking for an extension. Must be the Impostor Syndrome creeping up on me again.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Emilio & Marigold, it’s a Jack and the Beanstalk parody that stars my former kitty Emilio instead of a young boy. Emilio passed away back in June due to renal failure and I wanted to dedicate my story to his memory. Looks like his dedication will have to wait a little longer. Remember, this project is suspended, not scrapped. Suspensions are temporary and can be lifted anytime I damn well please. Emilio & Marigold will see the light of day, just not today.

So the question now becomes, where do I go from here? Do I continue to send Emilio & Marigold to paid beta readers? Do I start thinking about editing Beautiful Monster instead? Do I keep pumping out short stories for Poison Tongue Tales 3 and American Darkness 3? Is there another story that’s on my mind? I need some way of keeping my writing sharp until Emilio’s day in the sun comes.

Luckily, I’ve found just the Good Reads group for doing that. In addition to writing short stories and poetry for the WSS, I’m also part of a group called Character Therapy, a role-playing game where characters go through, you guessed it, psychological therapy. Any guesses as to which character I chose? Any pointy-eared, green-skinned elves come to mind? Hmm…

Character Therapy allows players to create more than one character, including therapists themselves. World? Meet Jerry Frost, an art therapist with an extreme case of Impostor Syndrome and a strong passion for creative development. Will Jerry become a permanent character of mine to be used in other stories? If I develop him far enough, he very well could be. He can’t be any more confusing than Tristan Jealous, whom I’ve written a poem about back in 2018.

So here I am, a man without a country, a ship without a rudder, wondering what’s next on my agenda. I suppose I could keep pumping out micro fiction. That’s basically what chapters of a new novel would be since they meet my 1,500 word quota. I know I should be more worried about editing the first drafts I already have instead of pumping out new ones, but keeping my writing sharp is essential to my success as an author.

I haven’t always been this zealous when it comes to my writing, though. The past three days in particular have been the worst mental slog I’ve been through in recent memory. Normally when I’m going through a slog, I can at least concentrate long enough on other forms of reading and writing, like answering Face Book questions or writing two-sentence horror stories. I couldn’t even concentrate for those things. That’s how fucked up things got. This mental slog happened just as I was getting prepared to put together the final Emilio & Marigold manuscript, which wouldn’t have been accepted anyways, but it still would have been nice to get that done.

The point of this journal is to let you all know that this isn’t the end of Emilio & Marigold. It’s merely a roadblock on the way to my final goal. Emilio will be remembered. He will purr at me from beyond the Rainbow Bridge. My love bug will be immortalized one way or another. He really was a love bug. He head butted me, climbed up on my lap, slept on my chest, and purred in my ear. Just talking about him like this makes me miss him even more. Gone, but not forgotten. I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“God creates all men equal, but once they’re out of the womb, he starts playing favorites.”

-Vic Mackey from “The Shield”-

***POST-SCRIPT***

As long as I’m talking about releasing micro fiction to the public for free, here’s the next short story on my agenda. It’s called “Balls to the Wall” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Shane Herman, Game Show Contestant

2.      Ambrose Kaider, Corpulent Space Mercenary

3.      Georgia Cushing, Shane’s Girlfriend

4.      Morgan Burch, Game Show Host

SYNOPSIS: Shane is competing on an obstacle course game show called “Balls to the Wall” and due to his lack of athleticism, he’s failing horribly. He’s ready to throw in the towel when Morgan introduces a new twist to this game: Ambrose is holding Georgia hostage behind one of the obstacles. If Shane doesn’t man up and complete the challenge, Ambrose will take his plasma rifle and blow Georgia’s head off. Questioning the legality of all of this is not an option since Shane signed a Hold Harmless agreement prior to the taping of the episode.

Double Dare, eat your heart out! Suck it, American Gladiators! Eat a big one, Finders Keepers! Okay, you get it by now.

Captain Marvel

MOVIE TITLE: Captain Marvel

DIRECTORS: Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck

YEAR: 2019

GENRE: Superhero Science-Fiction

RATING: PG-13 for violence and language

GRADE: Pass

In the year 1995, the technologically superior Kree civilization is in a never-ending war with shape-shifting aliens known as Skrulls. When amnesic warrior Vers and her squadron of Kree soldiers botch a mission to rescue an undercover agent, she finds herself trapped on planet earth with familiar clues to her past. The more she investigates, the more suspicious she becomes of her own Kree brethren. Political conspiracies are unraveled to where Vers doesn’t even know who to trust anymore. Whatever it is she finds, she’ll have to prepare for the fight of her life, part of which includes wrestling with her emotions in the heat of battle.

I must confess, when I saw the first few minutes of this movie, I thought it was going to be another cut-and-paste superhero movie. But the thing with Marvel movies is that they always surprise you just when you think you’re comfortable with the formula. Sure, we get witty banter from the likes of Vers and Shield Agent Nick Fury. We also get the obligatory big fight feel with the future at stake. We also get a well-crafted conspiracy that gains new wrinkles throughout the movie. But what drives all of these fun parts home are characters we can actually care about instead of just being told to cheer because they’re superheroes. I cared about Vers’s lost memories. I cared about her friends. I even cared about the villains because of how cold and callous they were. This is a character-driven story about non-conformity; how can the audience go wrong?

Speaking of characters I care deeply about, how about the precious orange kitty Goose? Who’s a good kitty? Goose is a good kitty! He rubs his head against everyone, he purrs like a lawnmower, he floats through the air in zero gravity conditions, and he even has a little twist in his character near the end. I won’t say what the twist is, but when you get there, not only will it give you a good chuckle, but you’ll want to cheer for Goose even more. I wouldn’t mind having a kitty like him sleep next to me at night, semi-frightening twist aside. I would call him George and love him and pet him and hug him and squeeze him! If an animal can make me quote the Abominable Snowman from Looney Tunes lore, then it must be a special little critter.

And because this movie is set in 1995, there’s always that nostalgia trip down memory lane. Remember when Blockbuster Video was still a thing? How about Street Fighter II arcade cabinets? How about dial-up internet that took forever to load? Even if you’re not old enough to remember those things, you’ll still get a kick out of the 90’s soundtrack the filmmakers put together. “Come As You Are” by Nirvana and “I’m Just a Girl” by No Doubt were well-placed in their respective scenes, which is what all good soundtracks should aspire to be. If nothing else, you’ll get a good chuckle at all of these nostalgic references. They’re funny because Blockbuster doesn’t exist anymore. Laughing is the only thing you can do to keep from sobbing at your lost childhood.

Captain Marvel is certainly an enjoyable movie for more reasons than just the obligatory violence and witty dialogue. If female audience members want a role model to look up to, they’ve got Vers. If conspiracy theorists and mystery buffs want to piece together this puzzle that is the main story, have at it. If you have a prejudice against superhero movies because of how “low-class” they are (I’m looking at you, Bill Maher), then Captain Marvel will prove you wrong. A passing grade is what this movie gets.

Clockwork Orange Milk Over My Cereal

***BEFORE I BEGIN***

I know it’s been a while since you’ve last heard from me. And by a while, I mean only a few days, which doesn’t seem like much to the laymen in my life, but to me it’s an eternity. I’ve been busy lately. I currently divide my time between editing the shit out of Emilio and the Scratching Post (which I now want to rename to Emilio & Marigold) and taking naps in the middle of the day for no reason. The editing process has been just a tad overwhelming at times, even more so now that I’ve got a bunch of macro edits staring me in the face. But the good news is, I’ve learned how to create biographies for my characters. So now their actions have a purpose. Now my short story can be…a character-driven fairytale! Woo-hoo! Wish me luck! I’m going to need it! And now for a more lighthearted topic! We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

***CLOCKWORK ORANGE MILK OVER MY CEREAL***

“Alcohol: because no great story ever started with a glass of milk.”

(Cue the picture of Alex De Large from A Clockwork Orange drinking Moloko Velochek.)

The other night, I was eating a bowl of Life cereal and the milk reminded me of that opening scene from A Clockwork Orange. And that got me thinking: what if I actually poured Moloko Velochek over my cereal and ate it? No, I have no idea where this thought will take me. It’s nothing more than a good idea.

My obsession with drug-laced milk didn’t end there. Last night I ate hot wings at the Tracyton Pub with my brother James, his friend Blake, and their mutual friend Jeffrey. I ordered fifteen breaded wings of the spiciest flavor the pub had: Death Wish. My mouth was on fire, my nose was dripping like a waterfall, and the next day my asshole was leaking lava. Milk is the only thing that will calm down a fiery mouth, so I drank two glasses of it at the pub and multiple glasses when I got home. I couldn’t help but hear the Clockwork Orange opening theme playing in my head as I downed the milk. That quickly changed when James drove me and Blake home at a bajillion miles per hour while playing “Rollin’” by Limp Bizkit at maximum volume. For the record, James hates Limp Bizkit.

Luckily, I didn’t go out for a night of “ultra-violence with my droogs”, fast driving aside. I also didn’t get brainwashed into becoming a pacifist, which would suck if I still watched WWE on a regular basis. The thought of becoming violently ill at Ricochet’s aerial offence or Braun Strowman’s powerhouse slams would be depressing as fuck. While it is hard to feel sorry for violent criminals, it’s even harder to feel good about brainwashing the fuck out of them to where they can’t even defend themselves. And while we’re at it, was it really necessary to play Alex’s favorite music during the torture process? Imagine if that happened to me. Not only could I not watch pro-wrestling, but I also couldn’t listen to heavy metal anymore. What a big bag of suck life would be.

I don’t really have any philosophical thoughts beyond all of this. I didn’t even anticipate how short this topic would be. So I’ll just call it a night and post this sucker on my social media accounts. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like throwing up, keep listening to…nah, don’t do that.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Say when! We’re outlaws wanted dead or alive under the cover of a blood red sky. Bring a knife to a gunfight and we still win. Pale horse is coming. Retribution for sin. Skin that smoke wagon. I said throw down, boy. You going to do something or just stand there and bleed? If you want to die, say when. If you want to play for blood, just say when. Say when! Domination to anything that’s in our way. Life mowers are coming and stocking the graves. It’s futile to run and there’s nowhere to hide. So get down on your knees and pray for your life. Should I hate him? He reminds me of me. Now I know I hate him. So now it’s time to bleed. If you want to die, say when. If you want to play for blood, just say when. This is how the war is won. Cultivate the blood that we feed on. Sanguis! Credat apaella non ego. Eventus stoltorum magister. In pace requiescat. I want your blood. I want your soul. Do you want to play for blood? I’m your huckleberry. Sanguis! Credat apaella non ego. Eventus stoltorum magister. In pace requiescat. Just say when!”

-Hellyeah singing “Say When”-

Not Tonight

VERSE 1

All I want to do is lay on the couch

Keep the TV on while I’m zoning out

A precious fur baby on my chest

Relaxing this way is truly the best

Any other night would have been okay

Any other night, I wouldn’t want to stay

But for now it’s time to turn out the light

Not tonight, my sweetie, just not tonight

VERSE 2

All I want to do is read my novel

I shouldn’t even have to beg or grovel

I shouldn’t have to debate this with you

I’m an introvert and it’s nothing new

Any other night would be pure bliss

Any other night, I wouldn’t want to miss

But for now this isn’t worth a fair fight

Not tonight, my queen, just not tonight

VERSE 3

All I want is a bowl of ice cream

To satisfy my sweetest sweet tooth dreams

Peanut butter chocolate or plain vanilla

It’d be worth weighing more than a gorilla

Any other night we’d have a healthy meal

Any other night I’d submit to your deal

But for now sugary heaven just feels right

Not tonight, my lady, just not tonight

VERSE 4

You can call me lazy as I swim in gravy

You can call me a child innocent and mild

All I know is that I need my own space

All I know is that I need a comfy place

To rest my head and decompress my mind

Before anxiety crushes me from behind

I’m sure one day you’ll understand my plight

Not tonight, my lovely, just not tonight

Island Zealot

A mismatch from the very beginning

There never really was any winning

Nothing in common but our biology

Brought together through technology

I could show you my CD collection

The heaviest hard rock connection

I could show you my shelves of books

Obscure titles with exciting hooks

You could pet my elderly kitty cat

Earn head bumps and purrs just like that

We could talk about power to the people

And try to pretend everything is equal

We could play with my chest of Legos

Make them fight right from the get-go

I could write you a poem or story

That’ll leave your soul freely soaring

We could go for a walk to stuff our faces

With so much food from different places

But it was never really meant to be

I’m an island zealot, but what does it mean?

It means I’m the only one in this room

Who follows my own interests to my doom

I can’t share them with you, you don’t care

You cut me down with a confused stare

All you cared about was my profile picture

Could your shallow intentions get any sicker?

You’d leave me once the beauty fades away

I’m sorry, but I didn’t come here to play

My hair and eyes are my best features, I’m told

But a handsome profile doesn’t equal pure gold

I need someone to be my very best friend

Give it to me or this conversation will end

I don’t need new hobbies or interests, honey

Don’t need a billion dollars worth of hush money

I’m good enough to be my own fucking man

I’m sorry I don’t fit into your devious plans

Hollow Hills Presents: Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim

***HOLLOW HILLS PRESENTS: TALES OF THE SIBLINGS NOT-SO-GRIM***

Every year the fine folks at Hollow Hills Publishing put out a new anthology and 2019 is no different. Last year it was Still Standing, a collection of short stories with an anti-bullying theme. The story I submitted to that one was Savage Beatings, a prequel to a novel I’m currently rewriting called Beautiful Monster. Copies of Still Standing are still available (why wouldn’t they be?) and all proceeds will be donated to the Crisis Text Line. What are you waiting for? Wait, I know. You’re waiting for me to start talking about what Hollow Hills is doing in 2019. Of course, silly me!

Tales of the Siblings Not-So-Grim, unlike Still Standing, will be lighthearted in nature. Comedy and romance are welcome, but they’re not required. This will also be a collection of stories with a PG rating, so there’ll be no excessive swearing, erotica, or ultra-violence. As you can probably guess from the title, each story will be a fairytale of some kind, though it doesn’t have to be a parody of an existing Grim Brothers Fairytale. It can be completely original or a parody of something else.

Of course, anytime Hollow Hills puts out a collection of short stories, I’ll want to throw my name in the hat. Yeah, I’m normally known for stories with excessive ass-beatings and over-the-top craziness and anger. But just for this anthology, I’ll temper myself as I write “Emilio and the Scratching Post”. It’s a clear parody of Jack and the Beanstalk except instead of a beanstalk it’s a gigantic scratching post and instead of a boy named Jack it’ll be my elderly kitty Emilio. Immortalizing my pets through my stories and poems is kind of what I do. I’m sure old man Emilio would love his own story. Right, cuddle bear?

Stories submitted to this anthology must be between 8,000 and 13,000 words long. In order to meet my minimum requirements, Emilio and the Scratching Post will be five chapters long and every chapter will be at least 1,600 words long, which is one hundred more than I normally do. Easy-breezy-lemon-squeezy! It’s even easier considering Hollow Hills will start accepting submissions between April 1^st and June 1^st. I’d love to get my story done before the first due date, but I’ve got a lot of time between now and then. Like I said, it’ll be a piece of cake. Or in the case of Emilio, a piece of pizza pie!

I’m announcing this new project for a couple of reasons. One, I need something to snap my five day streak of mental sluggishness. I already drew a picture of a novel character named Animal, so this blog entry was naturally the next step. The other reason is because all of my other creative projects will take a back seat to this one. Beautiful Monster, Incelbordination, and any WSS contest entries I write will have to wait for Emilio to climb the magical scratching post to the giant’s fortress in the clouds. I don’t mind putting those other projects on hold, because having a singular focus is better for me than having a cluttered workload.

Speaking of chaotic workloads, tomorrow night I’m headed to Seattle to see Within Temptation perform at the Showbox SoDo. If the Soulfly concert before it was anything to go by, then my sore legs, feet, and back will come back to haunt me the next day and I’ll want to continue the five day streak of laziness. Actually, this concert shouldn’t be anywhere near as tiring because it probably won’t go past midnight and there are only two opening behinds before Within Temptation. Maybe if I’m lucky I can write the first chapter of Emilio and the Scratching Post before I go to the show. I’ve done that before. I wrote chapter fifteen of Silent Warrior before going to a Starset concert back in February of last year, so why not?

The deal with this anthology is the same as the last one: I can’t post my chapters online since Hollow Hills forbids it. That’s something I can live with. They’re a business and they need to make money, so why should anybody have their books for free? Speaking of profits, this new anthology won’t be for charity, but you should buy it when it comes out anyways, because you’re awesome like that. Right? If you’re wondering why I’m not posting as often as I do, it’s because my attention is fully devoted to this new project. Plus, there’s that whole mental sluggishness thing I was talking about earlier. Wish me luck! I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Sunday morning I’m waking up. Can’t even focus on my coffee cup. Don’t even know whose bed I’m in. Where do I start? Where do I begin?”

-“Where Do I Begin?” by The Chemical Brothers-

***POST-SCRIPT***

The next time I post a blog entry, it’ll be about my favorite time of the year: the release of the Most Disgusting Promotional Tactic awards from the Wrestling Observer Newsletter! They came out yesterday and boy, were there some whoppers. One big winner and six runner-ups. Not as many as I anticipated, but still, these are pretty god awful. Get your barf bags ready! It’s going to get ugly! Hehehe…heh…heh….I’m on an island.

"Where's My Kitty?" by Ashley Uzzell

BOOK TITLE: Where’s My Kitty?

AUTHOR: Ashley Uzzell

YEAR: 2016

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Children

GRADE: Pass

Little Kassidy is playing outside and would love to have a furry friend to share her adventures. But she keeps asking, “Where’s my kitty?” She looks in all of the usual places from the forest to the bathtub to even his favorite spot on the living room couch. Where could the little munchkin be?

Because this book is short by nature, this review will also be a brief one. First of all, I’ll just say…aww! Actually, you’re going to be saying that throughout this reading adventure. The pictures of little Spunky (the cat) are adorable and it’s easy to see why Kassidy would want to snuggle and play with the fur baby sweetheart. Not only does she want to know, “Where’s my kitty?”, but you’ll want to know too. You’ll wish you could give the fuzzy rug-rat pettings behind the ear and across his back. You’ll wish you could hear his purr motor revving in your ear. You’ll wish you could see the look on Kassidy’s cheerful baby face when she finds him. I’d warn you about that spoiler, but you saw it coming from miles away. This is an all-around cute book and that’s what you should expect when you pick up a copy.

Although the book was published in 2016, it was written when the real-life Kassidy was just a toddler. Since then, Spunky has passed to the Rainbow Bridge and Kassidy has won her battle with childhood leukemia. This book, as short as it may be, is a wonderful tribute to a wonderful love between child and kitty. Spunky is purring from beyond the grave, which is why I’m giving this book a passing grade. You’ve done your daughter proud, Ms. Uzzell!

Italian Stallion

Let’s bookend this crazy twenty-eighteen

With the cutest fuzz ball you’ve ever seen

The sweetest old man to walk the earth

The reason for my happiness and rebirth

His name is Emilio, the Italian Stallion

Bouncy like Tigger, sleepy like Valium

His interests include cuddling and snuggling

Whether I’m happy with life or struggling

The year before, three fur babies passed

I never thought it could happen so fast

Maggie the saggy-jowled Springer Spaniel

Watching her die was more than I could handle

Sitka was a kitty called the Queen of Halloween

Now her spiritual essence will forever fly free

Smokey loved to sleep on my comfy bed

Now she permanently rests her fuzzy head

While nobody could replace these beautiful souls

Somebody had to patch up my heart full of holes

Emilio the sweetie pie would come to my aid

Though at first he was timid, lonely, and afraid

It took some pettings and cradles in my arms

No longer would he come into danger or harm

Safe from the streets, cozy under my roof

Love is very real and Emilio is living proof

May he spend his days happy and relaxed

To a homeless life, he’ll never ever go back

Welcome to my home, welcome to my bed

Feel free to rest your fluffy old kitty head

2019

My intentions for the brand new year

Have never been so crystalline clear

Drop a hundred pounds as I walk this town

While listening to favorite heavy metal sounds

Publish a new book full of action and drama

Edit that bitch down to the very last comma

Find a girl who loves me for my soul

Who’ll pull me out of my blackest hole

Read more books and clear my shelves

I’ll review them all, but read for yourselves

Learn how to drive some clunky machinery

Eat less junk food and eat more greenery

See Tarja Turunen perform at a show

Even if the destination is one I don’t know

Buy a T-shirt that says Ego Kills Talent

Vote for justice on the November ballot

Glide my fingers across the piano again

Play some funky music that never ends

Be the best kitty father I can possibly be

Emilio the snuggle buddy sleeping with me

Write more often while being wide awake

Write every day if that’s what it takes

If these dreams and goals sound unrealistic

You’re obviously part of this division

You might as well stand right in my path

Can’t guarantee your safety in the aftermath

You say I can’t do it, I tell you to screw it

You’ve got too much attitude; lose it

This year is mine to grab by the horns

This life is mine, it shall never be torn

My Child

VERSE 1

If I allowed you to be born in this world

Your hate for me would come full circle

I’d give you the genes, the mental disease

You would murder yourself to be set free

Ripping the stitches after life-saving surgery

Someone stole your soul, an act of burglary

A never-ending cycle of psychological torture

Another week to live is what the doctor orders

VERSE 2

If I allowed you to be born on this earth

You’d be considered a criminal by virtue of birth

Bullied by the worst kinds of scum in school

Fired by the bosses with their autocratic rule

Beaten by the cowards in the dingiest prison

Until darkness becomes your only true vision

I couldn’t put you through any of that shit

Another reason to never have my own kid

BRIDGE

My child, my son, my daughter, my young

Punished for the crime of not holding your tongue

Punished for the crime of not breaking down

Punished for wanting to drown out the sounds

Of the voices telling you you’re not good enough

That surviving this world is for the macho and tough

I can’t raise you in an environment such as this

Time to say goodnight with a forehead kiss

VERSE 3

My only children have fur on their bodies

My only children bark for a piece of salami

My only children meow for a can of tuna fish

My only children drink from a paw print dish

My only children don’t need to go to college

To pay off their debts by emptying their wallets

To answer to the police for doing nothing wrong

Just listen to this purr baby’s mechanical song

Middle Ground Between Perfect and Despicable

***MIDDLE GROUND BETWEEN PERFECT AND DESPICABLE***

The year 2014 was an…interesting one for me in terms of my writing career, but what it all boiled down to was two characters I created, both from separate stories. And now I feel like Agent Smith from The Matrix when he tells the main character that there’s a difference between Thomas Anderson and Neo. But instead of taking your mouths away, I actually want some input from my readership to see if I’m not alone in this. Being stuck on an island is no fun at all.

One of these two characters was Sitka the Nose Biter, the titular witch kitty from Poison Tongue Tales. Her positive traits were her cuteness and magical powers while her negative ones were her grumpiness and inability to trust even the kindest souls. She ended up becoming one of my most popular characters.

The other character could not be less relatable. Her name was Danielle Keyes and she was Terrance Coffey’s roommate in the American Darkness short story Wishes in the Night. Danielle’s gimmick was that of a Nightwish fan-girl who had a shrine of their merchandise and photographs in her bedroom while their music was playing too loudly for Terrance’s comfort. Danielle’s characterization went over like a fart in church, meaning none of my audience members cared about her.

To channel Agent Smith once again, “One of these lives has a future, the other does not.”

It was during 2014 that I struggled the most with creating relatable and believable characters and to some extent I still do struggle in today’s world. This whole time I’ve been rolling the dice with my characters and hoping I didn’t roll snake eyes. In other words, I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. My characters were either too perfect or too despicable with very little middle ground between the two extremes.

I recently got some advice on this topic from my lovely beta reader Ashley Uzzell and she said that good characters should have a mixture of positive and negative traits just like any other human being in the real world. Fair enough. But then the question becomes, what positive and negative traits will keep my readers’ attention and which ones will turn them away?

Let’s say I had a character who was generous with his charity donations, but also ate with his mouth open during banquets. Let’s say I had another character who was a good teacher, but also hated furry animals. Or another character who was a top-notch athlete in school, but had a constant case of flatulence. Do any of these characteristics sound appealing right now? Not to me, they don’t.

And then I figured, maybe the traits themselves should be relatable. Okay, I can do that. How about a student who is good at math, but suffers from depression? Or a politician who is good with words, but has panic attacks during heated debates? Or a dancer who is athletic as hell, but can’t reach her full potential because she smokes cigarettes? I like these characters a lot more! Maybe I’ve answered my own questions after all.

You can use your own flaws and perfections when creating a character too, which is why “write what you know” gets thrown around as liberally as it does. Granted, self-inserting isn’t a desirable technique since it makes the author look egotistical, but you can throw some of your own traits in with ones that are already there. Scott George, the lead character from my Floydian high school drama Silent Warrior, is my best example of this. He’s mentally ill, socially awkward, and introverted as hell. I’m sure most of us can relate to these things, and yet the flaws work perfectly within the narrative…or so I’m told. I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything; I’m just looking for examples, that’s all.

But just because I’ve gotten my shit together with flaws and perfections, it doesn’t mean I don’t still roll the dice whenever I create characters for the public. Not everybody is going to be a winner. But then again, that’s why we have the editing and beta reading processes. It doesn’t have to be perfect the first time around. If it takes forever, edit forever. While I was writing for the Still Standing anthology, I had Aurora Styles (one of the authors) suggest that I give Llewellyn Xavier (formerly known as Michelle) a hobby of some kind to round her out. When Windham asks her how her chess match went, she dangled a king piece in his face and smiled as she said, “How do you think?” Teamwork, people! Teamwork!

It takes a village to write a novel…or a short story…or a poem. Those villagers include your beta readers, editors, and your own characters. You can roll the dice all you want with your characters, but eventually you’ll have to take the sleazy casino route and load those dice with little weights. Only then can you rake in the chips and cash them in for a big payday. Actually, being an indie writer isn’t a lucrative business, but there are other ways in which you will feel satisfied with yourself. If you can make just one person happy with your writing, you’ve done a great job. Even if the story is sad as hell and a major tearjerker, you will have affected that one person on a deep level and that’s the most satisfying part of the job, in my opinion. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***OZZY UPDATE***

Our little gray and white sweetheart is doing much better today than he was a few days ago. We still have to keep him isolated and medicated (which is coincidentally the name of a Seether album from 2014), but sure enough, he’s on the road to recovery. His wound doesn’t look as nasty as it once did and medicating him for it has been easy-breezy-lemon-squeezy. He’s going to make it! I know he will!