Research

***RESEARCH***

If you’re going to make a bold and loud statement, you’ve got to have research to back it up. Otherwise, you’ll get eaten alive by those debating your statement. This is especially true with historical fiction, especially if you don’t want your critics to accuse you of being inaccurate. And that right there is the reason why I don’t write historical fiction: not because I’m too lazy to do research, but because if I’m off by a one-percent margin of error, here come the internet wolves to dine on my flesh. Of course, there is an entire genre out there called alternative history, where you can purposefully rearrange the timeline to benefit your story, but even then, it’s a slippery slope.

So what constitutes good research? How do you know when you have enough information to make your statement? I’ve often heard the mantra that if everyone says it, it must be true. Lots of people thought Obama was born in Kenya, but that doesn’t mean it’s anywhere close to the truth. For one thing, your sources have to be reputable and independent. Then and only then can you use popular opinion, but only among those reputable sources.

But research doesn’t always have to be limited to writing historical fiction. Sometimes researching simple things like combat scenarios can greatly improve your story. Sometimes personal experience can play a huge factor. But if you’re going to research something and apply it to your story, the margin of error has to be razor thin. Otherwise, it’s feeding time, motherfuckers.

If I may be blunt for just one moment, research is my least favorite part of writing stories and novels. Sure, anybody can do it with a simple Google search and it’s actually pretty easy. It’s that razor thin margin of error that gets to me, though. That’s why most of my stories take place in the fictional locale of Paulson City. I can put anything I want in Paulson City and nobody’s going to question my imagination.

I suppose my stories could take place in Washington state, my personal home, but I’m not sure even my home sweet home could house all of the madness that goes on in my writing. A political rally in Port Orchard? Sure, if you can find people who give a shit. A heavy metal concert at The Matrix Coffeehouse in Chehalis? Do they even play that kind of music or is it just indie rock? Even if they did play metal at The Matrix, would that mean I’d have to role-play the people who own it? I’m sure they’d enjoy the shit out of that.

Paulson City is my own personal shield against those who want to chomp at my smooth skin. Anything can go on in this locale and usually does. Sunny beach parties? Sure. Political riots? Absolutely. Organized crime? Disorganized crime? Traffic jams backed up as far as the eye can see? Hell yeah it can happen in Paulson City! Irwin Gladden may be the Mayor, but make no mistake about it, I’m in charge of this city!

And whenever Paulson City becomes too realistic of a place for my Poison Tongue Tales adventures, I simply change the destination to Dread City. Cyberpunk corruption? Yes, yes, yes! Magical warfare? Damn right! Apocalyptic hell? Shit yeah! Paulson City may not be the ideal vacation spot, but Dread City is fucking unbearable! And that’s how I like it!

I’m sure many of you have wondered where exactly Paulson City is on an American map. Now you know for sure: it only exists in my head. There are no real world or historical inaccuracies because I make the fucking rules. I’ve got more high schools and colleges in that city than I know what the hell to do with. I’ve got mountains off to the side where people go to not only vacation, but also to die horrible deaths. Maybe one day I could draw a map of Paulson City and put all of these pieces together. Or I could just roll with it and keep putting odd places there.

I may have gotten off topic with that Paulson City rant. The real question I’m trying to ask is, how do you, my audience, make the margin of error so thin that you can’t even see it with the naked eye? Razor thin isn’t thin enough for me. Paper thin is even worse. Not even Cosmo Kramer’s meat cutting machine can get me the thinness I want. Other authors can pull it off, but I don’t know if I can. Then again, I could be paranoid about something not worth being paranoid over. Surely, lots of books out there have been disputed for accuracy and came out the other end smelling like roses. Oh, what now? Do roses not smell that good either? Damn that margin of error! We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***PAPER TOWNS***

As many of you have seen on my Good Reads page, the next novel I plan on plunging into is “Paper Towns” by John Green. I enjoyed reading “The Faults in Our Stars” and I expect “Paper Towns” to be just as heartbreaking. Yes, I know I’m a big softie, and I don’t care!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2: THE RIGHT TO REMAIN PSYCHOTIC***

Now that all of my American Darkness 2 stories are complete and ready for critiques, I can concentrate solely on PTT2 and Lunatic Justice. The next story on the chopping block will be “Wal-Martians” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1.   Cain McLeod, Barbarian Hero

2.   Micah Fireborn, Paladin Hero

3.   Alexis Lee, Amazon Hero

4.   Sakura Divine, Priestess Captive

5.   Nameless Aliens

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Wal-Mart has been taken over by an alien race and it’s up to the three Diablo II-style heroes to liberate it and free Sakura from captivity. Throughout this whole bloodbath (or goo-bath in this case), the heroes joke to each other by questioning how the alien invasion is any different from how Wal-Mart usually looks.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

If you’re looking forward to drawings of Cain, Micah, and Alexis, know that I’ve already drawn them several years ago when they were Diablo II characters. Cain was then known as Cannonball. His name was changed because I didn’t want two stories in PTT2 with cannonball themes in them. I have a short story named Wolf’s Cannonball, so I don’t need a barbarian in Wal-Martians named Cannonball. For the Dark Fantasy Warriors series, I’ll draw Sakura Divine since she hasn’t had a picture yet. How does that sound?

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

Most of my fictional stories take place in the made-up locale of Paulson City. Sometimes the problems in these stories have to be solved by the Paulson City Police Department, a.k.a. the PCPD. So basically, criminals in my story are being arrested by…the PC Police. By PC, I mean Paulson City. What did you think it stood for? And while I’m at it, I’ll start a wrestling organization in California called San Jose Wrestling, which initials spell the acronym…oh, dear. Hehe!

The Aeromancer

The eighty mile per hour winds blew through Dread City like an apocalyptic breeze, leaving trees knocked over, garbage cans flying through the air, and electricity short-circuited. Even Officer Ryan Elkins’s radio was silent after navigating his patrol car through the city. Driving around was hard enough with trees, mail boxes, and garbage cans blocking the streets. Several times his tires skidded across the rough pavement with an annoying squeal. He breathed a sigh and shook his head no, realizing how dangerous crime rates could be in the middle of a windstorm.

As he turned down Tenth Street and narrowly avoided a knocked over recycling bin, Ryan’s patrol car took him over the sidewalk and toward a scene he had a hard time believing. “What the hell?” he said to himself as he watched a beautiful woman with long black hair while wearing a ragged gray dress dancing ballet-style across the windy roads. “This fucking woman’s out of her mind,” said Ryan to himself. He shook his head and got out of the car to confront this “crazy lady”.

The officer pulled out his heavy flashlight and shined it in the woman’s eyes. She covered her face wit her sharp red nails sticking out and hissed at Ryan like a monstrous cat. The brown uniform-donning policeman cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me, ma’am. You do know that you’re in the middle of a windstorm and it’s imperative that you stay indoors, right? Do you need to go to a shelter tonight?”

The woman smiled wickedly at Ryan Elkins and said, “I don’t need a shelter, Officer. I’m at home right here in these streets. These high winds make me feel quite happy at this moment.”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to…” Ryan put a stop to his sentence when he saw a garbage can flying through the air about to nail the woman in the face. He dashed toward her in an attempt to tackle her to safety, but once the woman held out her hand, the garbage can blew right back to where it was supposed to be. Officer Elkins’ eyes were wide with horror. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I told you I was happy out here with the winds. They bring me the kind of joy that no youngster’s technology can. But with the power out, I don’t have to worry about such things. I can just dance up a storm,” said the witch, who was now floating comfortably in the air while lying on her back and sticking her bare feet up.

Ryan let out a flat tire noise and said, “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Some crazy bitch is the cause of all this bad weather. Well, I’m going to have a hell of a time explaining this one to the guys at the precinct. Place your hands behind your head and interlace your fingers. You’re under arrest for destruction of property.”

The aeromancer gently floated to her feet and did as she was told, but not without conjuring up a stream of wind that knocked Ryan off of his feet and rolled him like a bowling ball into a pile of pungent trash bags. The cop spit out pieces of rotten lasagna and stale spinach before rubbing his tongue vigorously with his fingertips.

“Alright, you crazy bitch, I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve given me no other choice,” said Ryan as he pulled out his pistol. He squeezed off a shot, but only after his arms were blown upward by the wind magic. His bullet blasted a power line loose and rained sparks down upon Ryan, who danced around yelling “Ouch!” as each volt of electricity pierced his skin.

By the time his electric shower was over, Ryan hugged himself in pain and jiggled down to his knees, shivering hard as a cool breeze blew past him. The mysterious woman smiled as she approached the pain wracked officer. Placing a hand on his sensitive shoulder, she said, “You don’t look like you’re in any condition to drive. My winds can carry you to the hospital if you’d like. I’m sure they have a generator of some kind.”

“Get your hands off me!” shouted Ryan as he stumbled onto his back, shaking both in pain and coldness. He smiled insanely and said, “I don’t believe this shit. I’m getting my ass handed to me by a fucking witch! This is some fucked up fairytale shit right here!”

“I assure you, Officer, this is not a fairytale. Everything you see before you is real,” said the aeromancer when she leaned down beside Ryan and stroked his crispy hair. As the cop winced and gritted his teeth at each stroke, the woman continued her oratory with, “Surely you must have some kind of family to go home to. Maybe someone will come and visit you in the hospital. I don’t know who it is, but someone will. There’s always someone out there for everybody. And now that the electricity and internet signals are nearly gone, those folks will be closer than they’ve ever been. No looking down to text on their so called smart phones. No staring at their TVs and computers like zombies in the night. You can thank my aeromancy for that.”

Ryan brushed the witch’s hand away and looked at her with confusion. “So let me see if I have this straight: you knocked out the power in Dread City because you’re an ageist technophobe who has no life of her own? Okay, fine, lots of people feel that way. But do you know what else electricity is good for? Lights! Refrigeration! Cooking! Keeping time!” Ryan let out another flat tire noise and said, “Wow, you really didn’t think this through, did you, lady? We’re going to have a bunch of spoiled food and stubbed toes because of you and your so called aeromancy. Holy Christ, man!”

The witch stood up and stared blankly into the horizon like she’d just seen a ghost. Officer Elkins had been laughing at her this whole time and aggravating the sores on his body from the spark shower. The witch’s eyebrows suddenly furrowed and she raised her hands in the air, using her wind magic to elevate Ryan high into the night sky.

“What the?! Help! Get me down from here, you crazy woman!” shouted Ryan as his arms and legs flailed about in the air.

“First of all, you disgusting, laughing pig, my name is not crazy woman! By the time this is all over, you will know me as the aeromancer who set you straight! This isn’t some voodoo bitch magic! This is a message from Mother Nature herself! One day she will take everything back and none of your internet technology can save you! Until then…remember the name of Elizabeth Wilson, The Aeromancer!”

“No, no, no!” shouted Ryan when Elizabeth dropped her hands and sent the staunch cop plummeting toward the ground. During the rapid descent, Ryan’s life flashed before his eyes. He had only made it to forty years old and his life was going to end with the crunching of his bones and the splattering of his body. As death was ready to claim his very soul, Officer Elkins emptied his bowels and passed out into darkness before his body ever hit the ground.

It seemed like an entire century had passed since Ryan entered the darkness. No pearly gates of heaven, no fiery pits of hell, just darkness for the one who scoffed at the powers of aeromancy. His eyes felt like bank vault doors as he struggled to open them. All he could muster was a small glimpse into the white ceiling of a dimly lit hospital. Nothing new or exciting, it was just a stupid splash of white.

He could barely make out the feminine voice calling his name. Was it the crazy witch Elizabeth Wilson? Did she come to finish the job? No. The frightened face of Marilyn Elkins had come into view, messy brown hair, tearstained eyes, and all. “Oh, baby!” she said in a shaky voice. “I didn’t think you were going to make it!”

Ryan’s breathing was becoming heavier and his vision and hearing were both getting clearer. When he tried to sit up, his ribs sent a volcanic burst of pain through his system. “Damn, honey, I can’t even remember what the hell happened to me. I mean…I kind of remember this crazy woman and then…I don’t know. This is all bullshit to me.”

A vibrating noise buzzed in Ryan’s ears as Marilyn took out her cell phone to answer a text message. She didn’t look at it for two seconds before tossing it on a nearby table and staring deep into her husband’s eyes with the most loving expression imaginable. “Once you get out of this hospital,” she said, “We’re taking a trip to the mountains. No cell phones, no computers, it’ll be just you, me, and silence.”

Ryan managed a weak smile before he said, “Yeah, that’ll be lots of fun.” He tried to smile wider, but then winced in pain as he aggravated his injuries again. “Christ, what the hell happened to me out there?”

“Yeah, I’m wondering that myself,” said Marilyn. “What the hell is aeromancy, anyways? And who the hell is Elizabeth Wilson?”

“Good question, Marilyn. I’m trying to figure that one out myself. Wait a minute, what?!”