The Shit

Ray Hardy’s alcoholic scent could be smelled from a country mile away, yet his equilibrium and speech remained normal enough for functioning in society. Though it was hard for a cheap bottle of Thunderbird to mess up someone’s balance when none of it entered the man’s mouth. Instead the bitter liquid stained his white T-shirt to where it looked like he was sweating bullets. Coupled with the venomous expression on his face, his fists at his sides, and heaviness in his footsteps, Ray’s roommate Adam Victor was in for a rude awakening as soon as the former crossed the threshold into the apartment.

Even though Ray was one hundred percent sober, he still had a hard time fitting his key in the door on account of his trembling hands. When he finally fit the damn thing in the lock, he made his wrestler-like entrance by swinging the door open as hard as he could. Adam, who was previously channel surfing on the leather couch in his sweatpants, jumped to his feet at the sight of his roommate and best friend looking awful as fuck.

“Good god, are you alright? What happened to you?” Adam asked.

Ray sucked in his belly and released a heavy sigh upon formulating an answer. “Adam, I don’t think you give a shit how I’m doing tonight. But to answer your question…I’m not okay. In fact, I don’t think anything’s going to be okay ever again. There’s no way in hell I can show my face at that bar again, not after what Ruby did to me.”

Nervous and fidgety, Adam said, “Okay, um…so…what did she do to you? You can tell me.”

“Of course I’m going to tell you, dumb ass!” snapped Ray, causing his best friend to lean back a little bit. “But then again, you can probably find the whole thing on You Tube if you look hard enough. I finally did it, Adam. I stepped out of my comfort zone. I approached the woman I had a crush on for so long…” He pulled his glasses off and wiped a singular tear from his face. “Ruby threw a drink in my face while her friends laughed their asses off. That’s why I smell so bad.”

“Oh my god, that’s horrible! Why the hell would she do that?”

“…Because…because she thinks I’m too fat and ugly.”

“She said that to you? What the hell’s wrong with her?!” Holding his hands up defensively, Adam hurried his next words along. “Listen, I had no idea this was going to happen, okay? I genuinely thought stepping out your shell would do you some good. I didn’t anticipate her throwing a bottle of Thunderbird in your face and…”

“Shut up, Adam!” retorted Ray while pointing an accusatory finger. “You wanted this to go wrong from the start! Do you even know why they call it a comfort zone in the first place? Because nothing bad happens there! If I had just sat there staring at my shoes all damn night, I wouldn’t smell like a bottle of hobo wine!”

In response to Ray’s heavy, beastly breathing, Adam kept his hands up and said, “Calm down, buddy. The important thing here is that nobody got seriously hurt.”

“Don’t give me that shit! I’m hurting now! I’m hurting badly! And it’s all because you brainwashed me into believing that everything would be okay!” Wiping away another angry tear, Ray said, “You know what? There is one way this will all be okay. I tried my hand at talking to women and I failed miserably. I lived up to my end of our little deal. Now it’s time for you to live up to your end too. The wooden box, the one marked The Shit, where is it?”

Backing slowly away, Adam said, “Um, Ray, now you’re really going to be mad at me. There’s been a little bit of a snag with the box full of shit. You see, I didn’t get my paycheck this week and…”

“Where’s the shit?!” Ray bellowed, causing an uncomfortable silence to hang between the best friends. Adam slowly stepped to the side and waved his arm towards the wooden chest, which was sure enough marked The Shit with a permanent marker. “Yeah, I’m going to get the shit. DVD’s, gift cards, money, CD’s…yeah, I could use some shit right now!”

Ray skulked towards the wooden chest and flung the lid open as fast as he could, almost making a crack in the wall. His imagination ran wild with the kinds of surprises that could be in there. Maybe there was a gift card to McDonald’s. Maybe there was the latest Hellyeah CD. Maybe there was a wad of twenty dollar bills. But when Ray poked his head inside the box, his insane smile drooped into a saggy frown. “A mirror? A fucking mirror?! Is this a joke?! Huh?!”

“Ray, as I was saying, I didn’t get my paycheck this week, so I couldn’t buy you anything. I’m sorry.” No response, just a frozen stare into the mirror from Ray Hardy. Adam swallowed a lump of saliva and said, “If it’s any consolation to you, at least you learned something from your experience. You can’t put a price tag on that. No Double Quarter Pounder will ever replace a valuable lesson. Right?”

Ray stood up and slowly turned to face his best friend with a vicious gleam in his eyes, causing Adam to tremble and back away a little bit. “Lesson? Yeah, I learned a couple of things, actually. One, women aren’t worth the trouble anymore. And two, neither are best friends! I was counting on there being some good shit in this box! I needed these things to be there for me when I failed!” Pointing his sausage-like finger, he yelled, “I! Want! A safety net!”

“You want a safety net?!” belted Adam, sending a shockwave throughout Ray’s tense muscles. “No, you don’t get a safety net, my friend! You know why? Because safety nets are nothing more than rewards for failure! You don’t get rewarded for failing! You get rewarded for succeeding! I put a mirror in that box because I wanted you to take a good long look at yourself! I wanted you to realize that there are no participation trophies in life! But you should know that because you’re a college kid! If you get too many F’s and D’s, you don’t get gift cards and CD’s! You get kicked out! I put that mirror in the box because I didn’t want my best friend to coast through life, that’s all!”

Adam’s burst of rage muffled back into fear at the sight of his friend huffing and puffing like a rabid wolverine. Ray growled, “Coasting, huh? Do you even know what it means to coast? It means to become comfortable with your own success to where you become complacent. Let me ask you something, Mr. 4.0 GPA: how am I supposed to be comfortable with my success…when I don’t fucking have any to begin with?!”

Adam tucked his chin to his bare chest and solemnly said, “I don’t know, Ray. I just don’t know. Look, I know how much that box of shit meant to you, but…” He let out a sigh and continued. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you just now. I often forget that you didn’t have it easy growing up and you don’t have it easy now as an adult. I guess what I did doesn’t make me a very good friend, does it?”

Ray slammed the lid shut and sat down on the box, his glasses in his pocket and his head in his hands. The two friends had a cold war of silence between them for the longest time. And then Ray wiped away his few tears, sniffed mucous up his nose, and softly said, “You know what? Can we just end this night right now, please? I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. I don’t give a damn about Ruby and I don’t give a damn about anything else. Tell you what, Adam, if you really want to be a good friend, do me a favor. There’s a bottle of pills in the kitchen with my name on it.”

“Wha…wait a minute…your medication? You mean the stuff for your…” Adam tapped himself on the head to signify a mental illness of some kind.

“Yes, those pills. I’d get them myself, but I don’t feel like getting up right now. I need two pills and a bottle of Perrier. If you get those things for me, I’ll completely forget that you screwed me over tonight.”

“Well, of course you will, because that’s what your medication does.”

“Don’t be a smart ass, Adam!” snapped Ray before taking a few deep breaths and calming down once again. “Just please, get me my pills and something to swallow them with. I’m not going to make any decisions about my comfort zone until the morning. Right now I just want to go numb for the rest of the night…and try to forget that I smell like the world’s worst wine.”

Adam nodded and said, “Okay” before fetching the two pills and bottle of sparkling water. He gave them to Ray and allowed the big guy to medicate himself for the evening. He shivered in disgust at the bitter taste of the pills, but otherwise remained peaceful with his head in his hand.

“How do you feel?” asked Adam.

“…A little bit better. I’m actually surprised at how quickly this stuff works.”

Adam took a seat on the wooden box next to Ray and put a gentle hand on the back of his neck. Mr. Victor then sang the lyrics to “Rx” by Theory of a Deadman, a song about taking medication and being depressed. This got a sad chuckle out of Ray, who then said, “You know what? Maybe I won’t go to bed just yet. I’d rather just sit here and listen to you sing goofy songs.”

“So in other words, me hanging out with you and being there for you during your time of need is safety net enough?”

Ray sighed, “I almost hate to admit it, but…I guess that’s what I want.”

Adam patted Ray on the shoulder and said, “Truth be told, buddy, you don’t need a woman like Ruby if she’s going to treat you like that. You can stay in the comfort zone for as long as you want. Come out only when you’re ready.”

“I probably won’t be ready for a while…but if I crash and burn again…will you be the one who gets me my pills?”

“Not only that, but I might have to fill that wooden box up with pills and call that The Shit.”

The two friends laughed and sang together for hours that night. They even sang a Pantera song whose title fit the situation perfectly: “Good Friends and a Bottle of Pills”. How convenient. Then again, safety nets usually were.

Things That Scare Me

***THINGS THAT SCARE ME***

It seems as though you can’t go anywhere on the internet without seeing inspirational memes telling you to “do what scares you”. I’m not talking about overcoming phobias like spiders and snakes. I’m not talking about watching the scene in Tales From the Hood where they stick straws up Crazy K’s nose. I’m not even talking about the idea of being flirted with by the demon chick Lucy Butler from Millennium. I’m talking about bigger fears than that. I’m talking about the little things in life that everyone else takes for granted. Since I spent most of my day zombie-walking around and watching WWE Raw, I figured I’d salvage the early dark of morning by writing a blog entry about what scares me more than having a bucket of tarantulas poured over my head. Starting with…

***MARKETING MY BOOKS***

Since I love to write so much, it should stand to reason that I’d want to commit to this career full time, which entails marketing the shit out of my books. But to hear other authors describe how much they have to do, you’d swear they were having a 24/7 root canal. I must confess that I’m only dimly aware of what marketers go through on a day-to-day basis. Being social media savvy, dealing with trolls, giving interviews, and being away from your family are only some of the responsibilities I’ve heard. At least two of those things scare me more than the rest, and I don’t even know what the other steps are. They say “treat this like a real job”. Well, I’ve had a writing job before and it lasted less than a full day. During that internet job, I was so fucking stressed out that I snapped at my family members while wrapping my head around how to write one stupid article about my Coby MP3 player. So many rules…so much shattered creativity…Is it any wonder that I went postal? What if the actual job of marketing makes me even angrier with the people I love? What if it makes me angry at total strangers? Ugh…

***SCHIZOPHRENIC ATTACKS***

Speaking of stress, have you ever wondered why I don’t write blog entries about my schizophrenia anymore? It’s because from 2015 on, I’ve been living a stress-free life. The less stress a schizophrenic has, the less likely he is to experience hallucinations. Being stress-free is important no matter what Penn & Teller say on Showtime. It’s part of the reason why schizophrenics qualify for social security. If they had stressful employment, they’d fall to pieces within seconds. It’s not about being a “snowflake”. It’s biology. It’s psychology. It’s natural fucking brain chemistry. If you feel uncomfortable at the idea of your tax dollars paying for a schizophrenic’s living expenses, maybe YOU’RE the one who needs to have your head examined. When a schizophrenic experiences hallucinations, you don’t know when those hallucinations are going away. Sometimes they go on for days. Sometimes they go on for weeks. Months. Half a year. There’s no timetable for recovery. And in case you’ve ever wondered why I write so many angry songs and stories, it’s because schizophrenics are easily irritated. I throw screaming fits whenever the phone rings or someone’s knocking at the door. Brain chemistry, people.

***LEAVING MY COMFORT ZONE***

They say the comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. So what happens when you venture outside the comfort zone and you fall on your ass? Do you still grow? Was the lesson worth the pain? Will the hallucinations come more frequently because of your colossal failure? Is coasting the answer? I asked an old college friend about this and her advice was to leave my comfort zone a little bit at a time. Don’t rush into making big decisions. Take time t think about it and edge slowly towards the outer reaches. While that sounds like great advice to a healthy-minded person, I on the other hand have no idea what slowly testing the waters would entail. Okay, so I leave my comfort zone and market my books. Then what? Do I join one new social media site at a time? Do I film one You Tube video and allow it to be complete shit? What is it? Maybe if I had a mentor to show me the way…

***TALKING TO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN***

As I write this next paragraph, I’m going to try my best not to sound like a desperate creep. That’s not who I am. In fact, the reason I stay away from women to begin with is because I DON’T like making them feel uncomfortable. Even saying hi to someone might be enough to make them turn the other way. Maybe it’s my lack of social skills. Maybe it’s my looks. Maybe it’s my economic status. But whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s not what women want. Having my actions rejected in a harsh manner would hurt much more than staying in the shadows and being my shy self. It might even result in a…I don’t know….schizophrenic attack! (Gasp) It’s true! I could be so embarrassed and humiliated at rejection that my hallucinations laugh at me for three months straight. Good god almighty…

***PUBLIC SPEAKING***

I mentioned shooting You Tube videos earlier in this blog. Well, that would mean having an audience. Even though the audience isn’t right there in front of me, knowing the judging eyes are watching me is frightening to me. Sometimes when I’d give presentations in school or college, I’d stumble over my words because I was too fucking nervous. Well, I think I’ve come up with a nice gimmick that will set the record straight. Before any public presentation, I will hold out my hand, place two Xanax tablets in them, say to my audience, “You’re making me do this!”, and then swallow them with Perrier. This is what it takes for me to feel comfortable around these people. It’s about time they feel the way that I feel every time I get up there. Yeah!

***CRYING IN FRONT OF PEOPLE***

If you’ve read my first draft novel Beautiful Monster or Jenna Moreci’s fully-published book The Savior’s Champion, you know how powerful of a gesture it is to be able to show weakness in front of another person. It’s a sign of trust. It’s a sign of love. But being vulnerable in front of others is yet another thing that scares me. What if after the crying spell is over they want to talk about the incident some more? What if during these new conversations…you guessed it, a schizophrenic attack happens? Talking about bad shit doesn’t make a schizophrenic feel better. It makes him feel worse. I haven’t cried since 2007. Don’t make me break my record. Please?

***BEING AROUND AGGRESSIVE PEOPLE***

When I say aggressive people, I don’t mean psychopaths who wield knives and punch people in the face. I’m talking about socially aggressive people. The loud ones. The crazy ones. The ones who invade your space and think nothing of it (even if they’re trying to be “friendly”). These people annoy me. They also scare me. I had to sit next to a drunken moron at Pain in the Grass 2016 and he fit this bill to a fault. I was secretly hoping security would arrest him for public intoxication, but I’m not aware of his fate at this moment. And then there was a guy who walked into Quizno’s bragging loudly and vulgarly about how he was going to get a sandwich with all these certain trimmings on it after a hard day of work. Shut the fuck up! Take your sandwich and fuck off! And don’t get me started on the drunken Seahawks fans I had to ride a night train with in 2008. I could have strangled every last one of them with my massive hands. Lesson of the day: be humble or fuck off!

***TRAVELING***

Ever since I took a “vacation” in 2009 to Pennsylvania, I’ve had this fear of traveling because of all the things that could go wrong. What if my airplane ride has a drunken lunatic or a loud baby onboard? What if I forget my medicine? What if I have to sit for six hours straight and have a painful ass and spine afterwards? As much as I love my international friends, there’s no way I’m getting on an airplane for god knows how long just to see them. There better be soft beds and soundproof booths on that flight or there’s no deal. Traveling wouldn’t be so bad if I could just teleport from place to place, but that’ll never happen, because we’re too busy building our own Space Force. Ugh….

***CONCLUSION***

So basically what all of these fears boil down to is that I need to take good care of my schizophrenic/autistic brain. I don’t drink caffeine. I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t do drugs. And most importantly, I don’t do stressful shit that could send me down a dark path. Is it wrong? Is it right? Does it even matter? Is coasting the answer? Am I eventually going to have to be forced into making these big decisions in my life? I could be screaming into the abyss here, but…I’m going to keep asking these questions for as long as I have to. I’m Garrison Kelly and…fuck it.

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Sick and tired of living with this grief. Done with all the sorrow and the pain. Asphyxiated, can no longer breathe. Anesthetized until I’ve gone insane. So carry all this baggage when you leave. Swallow all those bitter pills you take. Blame it on the world, blame it on me. Tolerated too much of your game. A change of weather comes around too much. A sign of a deeper cut. Lying dormant on a bed of nails. Without warning, violently erupt. So bleed the molten river from my veins. Collapse upon myself, disintegrate. Shame upon the world and shame on me. Hate the player, but don’t hate the game. So condescend and patronize my lead. Persecute the innocent again. Rain down on the world and rain on me. Ticking like a bomb that’s got your name. Temperamental, unpredictable. The sky turns black when I exhale.”

-Death Angel singing “Volcanic”-

Cracking Under Pressure

VERSE 1

You dragged me out of my comfort zone

And left me there to breakdown alone

You wanted it to go wrong from the start

All I’ve got now is a broken fucking heart

It’s never about creating strong citizens

It was always just an over-hyped idiom

You won’t lose a second of sleep over this

While my dreams are full of vinegar and piss

VERSE 2

I cracked like a shell underneath the pressure

All for your ego and sadistic little pleasure

I’m not the diamond you’ve always wanted

I’m the ghost that leaves the world haunted

Next time when you throw me in the deep end

Give me some oxygen on which I can depend

Don’t tie a cinder block around my ankle

And send me to live with the fucking angels

VERSE 3

Is that what you call opportunity right there?

This is what I call too much to fucking bear

A nervous wreck with a noose on my neck

You put it there to keep my ass in check

I can’t calm down with you hovering over me

Singling me out like I’m the weakest link

I’m sending you my two weeks notice today

Maybe I’ll choose right now to fuck away

FINAL VERSE

You can call it coasting while proudly boasting

That I’m the only one you’re fucking roasting

Thanks for the life experience, you jackass

Not like you’ll experience any of the backlash

Creative Crossroads

***CREATIVE CROSSROADS***

Creatively, I have most of the things I could ever want as an author. I have six published books which are doing moderately well as far as reviews go. I have eight rough drafts which could be turned into awesome books under the right guidance. I have other creative outlets which give me the online attention I need as an author. But as far as marketing and putting myself out there go, I could be doing a lot more. I repeat: a LOT more. So I’ve decided to make a list of marketing techniques that will no doubt get me more views and book buys. Starting with…

1. Build a street team to promote my books (that’s a lot of fucking people)
2. Build a website (seems easy enough, right?)
3. Convert my Face Book page to an author’s profile (which means calling myself Author Garrison Kelly instead of using my real name)
4. Enlist the help of extra beta readers and editors (Ashley Uzzell is fantastic, don’t get me wrong, but getting multiple opinions is important to a book’s success)
5. Enroll in Skill Share classes about marketing (Jenna Moreci has an awesome one, I just need to sign up for Skill Share)
6. Find a time during the day where I have complete privacy from my family members and the phone (probably late at night, most likely)
7. Get a twitter account (fourth time is a charm, right?)
8. Get an Instagram account (even though it’s a veritable troll’s nest)
9. Get video editing software (for that special time of day when I’m brave enough to shoot You Tube clips)
10. Learn how to shoot videos on my digital camera (actually, I know how to do it, I just need the confidence to be in front of the judgmental lens)
11. Rent advertising space online

I have the time and funds to do pretty much all of these things (most of them are dirt cheap). So if these are the answers to my marketing problems, why am I not taking these steps right away? Well, that’s where the crossroads part of this blog entry comes from. I’ve been putting off discussing this topic for a while now, because I don’t want to be inaccurately perceived as lazy or uncaring.

The thing is, though, I’m not the kind of person who jumps into decision making right away. I’ve made a lot of shitty decisions in my life and I’m cautious about going back to those stressful days. Going to Western Washington University gave me the degree I needed to solidify my writing career, but being away from my family and friends that long made going to college one of the worst decisions in my life. I’ve applied for writing jobs that turned out to be creativity crushers and stress magnets. I’ve traveled to places that turned out to be shitty vacation destinations at best. I could go on and on when it comes to long-term decisions that have gone sour.

When it comes to book marketing, the worst that could happen is undue stress, which doesn’t seem like a big deal on the surface. But when you consider that I’m operating on a schizophrenic and autistic brain, stress is my worst enemy. To hear other authors describe the marketing process makes it sound like they’re having their teeth pulled. I’ve even heard one author describe it as working at least five hours a day. I’ve heard another describe it as eight hours. Or twelve. Or more. On top of all these marketing chores, they also have to write every single day in order to stay sharp. That’s a lot of responsibilities and it can get overwhelming.

Here’s where I’ve come to a crossroad. On one hand, I can keep doing what I’m doing and live comfortably for the time being, but my career would be stagnant forever. On the other hand, I could take all these necessary steps and throw myself into the fire, where the risk is schizophrenic and autistic stress and the reward is being well-known in the world of writing. It seems like an easy decision to an outsider, but when you’ve got my mind and my circumstances, it’s a decision that I can’t take lightly like I have the other ones in my life (which ended up being poor choices).

I know I talk about making bad decisions all the time, but this time, it could determine where I go from here as a writer. Do I live comfortably and go nowhere or do I overwhelm myself and have a slightly better chance at rising above mediocrity? And don’t think for a minute that this has anything to do with being a “snowflake” or a “momma’s boy” or whatever the case may be. It’d just be nice to have a safety net to catch me when things go haywire, that’s all.

I’m Garrison Kelly! As soon as forever is through, I’ll be over you!

***FAMILY DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

REINA: Garrison, no sleeping at the table. You’re not five anymore.

JAMES: He’s just mad because we’re not talking about barbarians and wizards.

GARRISON: That’s not all I write about!

JAMES: Yes, it is!

REINA: He also writes about necromancers and scatomancers.

JAMES: Those are wizards too.

GARRISON: You’re stereotyping me!

***POST-SCRIPT***

This coming Friday, I’m going to Seattle to watch Papa Roach put on a live show, with Nothing More and Escape the Fate as their opening acts. It’ll be my third time seeing Papa Roach live, but it’ll be my first time seeing the other two bands. I’ve especially wanted to see Nothing More live since they always put on elaborate performances. I’ll try to get my creative work done before the night of the concert, but no promises.

"A Carlin Home Companion" by Kelly Carlin

BOOK TITLE: A Carlin Home Companion: Growing Up with George

AUTHOR: Kelly Carlin

YEAR: 2015

GENRE: Nonfiction

SUBGENRE: Memoir

GRADE: Extra Credit

Growing up as the daughter of legendary comedian George Carlin presented itself with some unique challenges as well as heartfelt moments for Kelly. Whether she helped her parents through drug addictions, they helped her through toxic romances, or she forced herself to confront her parents’ deaths and become her own creative beacon, Kelly Carlin’s life story was never short on exciting and sorrowful milestones. Her love of comedy, creativity, music, and life in general was shaped and influenced by the wonderful father and friend known as George Carlin. Even today, Kelly doesn’t take anything for granted and knows how precious life really is. She knows better than anybody that laughter heals all wounds and there’s nothing wrong with a good cry every now and then.

In the late 90’s, Kelly’s mother passed away due to cancer complications. In 2008, she lost George as well. The way Kelly describes the emotional trauma of losing her loved ones is the biggest reason I’m giving this book an extra credit grade. Whenever she feels pain, you feel it too. Even if your own parents are alive and well, Kelly’s writing makes you aware that nothing lasts forever. She shed many tears and suffered plenty of panic attacks during this moment of coping. If you as the reader cried along with her, I wouldn’t blame you one bit. In fact, I’d probably give you a big old teddy bear hug to ease some of your pain. Dealing with death never gets any easier as time goes by, but with Kelly’s wisdom and George’s comedy, you’ll never feel alone in this world.

Another part of this book that makes me feel for Kelly is the way in which she describes her various romantic relationships and how they’ve soured badly over time. The worst offenders in this case were a high school class clown named Terry and a coked up loser named Andrew Sutton. These two former lovers put Kelly through enough pain and suffering to scar her for life, which doesn’t make dealing with dead parents in the future any less torturous. I cringed when I read about all the times Kelly refused to break things off with her lovers, because I wanted her to have a happy life without disgusting people ruining it for her. Fortunately, she did find a husband who was actually worthy of her love. His name is Bob McCall and he’s the luckiest dude on planet earth.

And finally, I want to touch briefly on Kelly’s need to break free from her parents’ shadows and become her own person. She still loves them with all of her shattered heart, but when it’s time to spread your wings and fly, you’ve got to do it. George constantly challenged her comfort zone through his comedy routines and wise parenting (drug addiction aside). While the comfort zone is a beautiful place, nothing ever grows there. Kelly took a while to find her creative footing, but when she did, she accomplished so much whether it was becoming a licensed therapist, a performing artist, a writer, or anything else she damn well wanted to be. Readers can learn a lot from her life story and hopefully what they learn will propel them to new heights. Yes, it’s scary at first as Kelly will attest, but conquering those fears will only make you stronger.

Whether you’re a devout fan of George Carlin or a lover of literature in general, Kelly Carlin’s memoir will bring you to the edge and back again with her tales of growing up with one of the greatest comedians of all time. Despite all of the hardships and heartaches, Kelly made it through life a much stronger person than she was in her younger years. George wasn’t a perfect father (then again, who is?), but he was the only one she’d ever known and life would be boring without that influence. This is a tale of love and inspiration. Pick up a copy today!

Coasting

A bowl of corn flakes on my lap

Elderly parents taking their naps

Kitties and puppies everywhere

Gray rain petrichor in the air

This is my haven and sanctuary

Until the day of my obituary

Day after day of feeling happy

The universe’s energy I’m trapping

But in this zone, nothing grows

Nothing to gain, nothing to show

Taking risks is the rational answer

Reason sounds like mindless banter

Too many times I’ve crashed and burned

Laying low the only lesson learned

A head full of voices is all I’ve earned

Broken memories are all that returned

If someone wants to show me the way

We could get it done as soon as today

Those who laugh call this handholding

Those with loud voices resort to scolding

But here’s the truth you can have for free

It doesn’t just apply to someone like me

We all need a push in the right direction

Even if it’s only the smallest correction

Don’t give me speeches about boots in the ass

Use some vocabulary that actually has class

Cheer me on instead of throwing insults

Show me my path without leading the cult

I’ll take it from here, this is my journey

These are the horizons for which I’m yearning

I’ll never forget where I came from

As I claim my place in this kingdom

Public Speaking

***PUBLIC SPEAKING***

Even though I did standup comedy and stage acting as a teenager, I can say with one hundred percent certainty that I can’t stand public speaking. Being nervous and forgetting my lines in front of that many people? Forget it, buddy. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could read from a script the entire time, but then I’m sacrificing that all-important eye contact with my audience. Also without a prepared script, I’m left having to fill time with other topics that I haven’t rehearsed. But as much as I can’t stand public speaking, it’s clear to me after watching one of Jenna Moreci’s You Tube videos that I’ll have to do it if I want to be a successful indie author.

Giving interviews, giving lectures, and recording my own online videos are all part of an author’s platform growth. Not only do I have to swallow my pride and do these things, but I have to sound confident too. In the words of Vince Lombardi, confidence is contagious, so is lack of confidence. If I stutter and stammer over my words, it’s going to stick out like a nun at a porn convention. This is especially noticeable at every job interview I’ve ever conducted. I’d speak in a quiet voice and take time to think about my answers. Not good!

So in order to get myself together long enough for an introvert’s worst nightmare, I’ve come up with my own gimmick for these events. Because I have a prescription for Xanax and they’re taken on an as-needed basis, I’m going to bring two pills and a bottle of water with me to every speech and swallow said pills in front of the audience. This is my own special way of telling them, “You did this to me!” without actually going berserk. Once the chill pills wash over me, I’ll probably sound like I just woke up from a nap, but that’s probably better than sounding like I’m terrified.

If the Xanax gimmick sounds a little suspicious to you, it shouldn’t. If something calms you down and makes you perform better in front of a crowd, why question it? I would never drink alcohol myself because of the way it turns otherwise normal people into rowdy assholes. But then you have people who drink before a performance and seem perfectly rational onstage. I don’t know what it is about booze that makes people courageous, but if it works for you and you don’t sound like a total douche, bottoms up. I wouldn’t recommend the hard drugs like cocaine and heroin. I’d be okay with marijuana, but that’s not really considered “hardcore”.

Shit, there are a lot of things people do in order to relax in front of an audience. When Kevin Smith was filming Clerks, the guy who played Randal, Jeff Anderson, would chew gum throughout the movie because it evens him out. Studies have shown that chewing gum is calming because it triggers the same part of the brain as eating. If you need further proof that eating is a calming and joyful experience, look at the size of my belly. If chewing gum helps Jeff Anderson get through his job, more power to him. I’ll even give him a giant wad of Bubbleicious Mondo (if they still sell that).

The easy solution to sounding confident in front of an audience would be to rehearse your lines over and over again. But rehearsing your lines and actually producing them to a crowd are two completely different animals. You could sound like a million bucks in front of a mirror, but with tens of thousands of people judging you with their eyes? Jesus fuck! It’s part of the reason why I wouldn’t want to be a rock star even though I fantasize about singing onstage almost every day. Rock stars tend to be extroverts while authors such as myself are hardcore introverts.

So now that I’ve revealed to the world that I’m calming myself down with Xanax before a big speech, all that’s left is to book some appearances where I’d have to engage the public. Unfortunately, I’m not famous enough to warrant an in-person interview, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make You Tube videos. I have a digital camera, so it’s not like I’m starving for the right technology. What I am starving for is the right topic to discuss. Sure, I could just talk about writing like I am now, but what specifically? These topics have to be carefully chosen and preferably ones where I’m an expert. What am I an expert in? Eh, I’ll figure it out eventually, just not right now.

Leaving the comfort zone is hard for a lot of people (myself included), but it’s a necessary step in becoming successful in the writing industry (or any other industry for that matter). The comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there. I’ve been resisting this truth for far too long. I’ve always figured that sacrificing comfort wasn’t worth it in the end because whatever I did would be a bad decision anyways. Even though I now have a degree and an education, I consider going to WWU a bad decision because of the loneliness and scrutiny I experienced. I left the comfort zone and paid the price. If one of my readers would like to try and convince me to leave my comfort zone and make some You Tube videos, I’d be willing to listen. If not, that’s cool too. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***AMERICAN DARKNESS 3***

Yesterday was one hell of a productive day for me. Not only did I write “Escape From Kentucky” and entered it into the WSS contest for that week, but I did a bunch of other things as well whether it was drawing Walt Magnus, reading my Kelly Carlin book, or even doing the laundry. Let’s keep the momentum going for a story called “Food Stomp”, which goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.      Rollin O’Neil, Mentally Disabled Food Stamp User

2.      Mike Wolf, Robber

3.      Rachelle Daley, Robber

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Mike and Rachelle wait until a Fudd Meyers grocery store closes and break in to rob it. The dark morning ensures they have no human obstacles, or at least they think so. Rollin keeps appearing out of nowhere like a ghost in an attempt to talk Mike and Rachelle out of robbing Fudd Meyers and making the store’s prices go up.

OOC: It’s easy to tell that this synopsis was written a long time ago, judging from how fucking short it is.

***QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“If you want to find out who your friends are, sink the ship. The first ones to jump are not your friends.”

-Marilyn Manson-