Disturbance in the Machine

***DISTURBANCE IN THE MACHINE***

Whenever I write a full-length novel, I always want to use it as a platform to highlight important issues in my life. Occupy Wrestling is not only about wrestling, but it’s about Mitch McLeod’s hot temper. Filter Feeder is not only about environmental issues, but it’s about strained relationships. Watch You Burn is not only about anime, but also about schizophrenia. And last but not least, Demon Axe is not only about heavy metal music, but also about PTSD.

Of course, these novels (first draft or otherwise) were written long after a little anthology I had called Disturbance in the Machine, where multiple mental health issues were supposed to be tackled. Think of it as having the story structure of Tales From the Hood with the setting of an abandoned insane asylum. The stories were told by an ex-patient named Eric Bradley and they were listened to be the mother of a former patient Nicole McShane.

While these stories were supposed to talk about mental illness in a positive way, they ended up being “crazy” stereotypes. Serial killers who used scissors, ninjas in diapers, McDonald’s employees with anger management issues, and troubled teens with puppet fetishes were just a few of the characters presented in this anthology. In the end, these stories didn’t really accomplish anything, not even advancing the overall story to its climax.

And speaking of climaxes, Nicole McShane reveals herself to be a detective assigned to bring Eric Bradley to justice, which would probably make the reader wonder why she didn’t cuff him and stuff him earlier on in the book. Why all of these pointless stories if the purpose was to arrest him?

Speaking of pointless stories, the anthology ends with Eric telling a much longer story about an abandoned pig who ventures out to the city with other animals to try and survive the cruel outside world. The animals end up being therapy pets for a terminally ill child named Sam, who puts on his favorite Pink Floyd song “Pigs on the Wing” to end the story.

Surely, not everything you touch as an author will turn to gold. Sometimes it’s best to know which stories are worthy of being edited and revived and which ones should stay in the past. Because of this, Disturbance in the Machine no longer has a place in my archives. The main story made no sense, the meta stories made even less sense, and the pig stories made even less sense than that.

However, that doesn’t mean certain aspects of this dead-on-arrival novel can’t be used for future projects. If I were to salvage from the wreckage, I’d probably keep the title Disturbance in the Machine because of how cool it sounds. Telling stories in a mental hospital can work as long as the main characters of those stories are presented in a positive light and the harsh conditions of the hospital are vilified. Remember, a truly sympathetic character is the key to maintaining the reader’s interest (even if that character is sometimes an asshole). Even the pig story can have some meaning, but only as its own entity.

Another thing I’d like to keep from the Disturbance in the Machine canon is the poem that preceded it of the same name. It might be a part of Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage, but I’m not entirely sure. It’s basically a downer of a song describing the idea of not being human and going through life on autopilot. Somebody on Deviant Art wrote a counter-prose to that where he turned the gears and metal into flesh and organs and told the machine to “live”. That’s easily one of my favorite comments I’ve received on this site since I joined in 2005. Find Disturbance in the Machine (the song) in my gallery and read it and the comments below it to see why I feel the way I do.

Nostalgia: it ain’t what it used to be. That may be true, but it’s still a lot of fun to venture into a creative person’s past and see what he or she came up with back then. Although most of my creative projects back in the day are embarrassing to read now, it doesn’t they can’t be resurrected with my current writing skills and made into something beautiful. That’s the nature of art: creating something beautiful from the ashes. The movie Pink Floyd the Wall drives this point home when Pink smashes up his hotel room and then creates a collage out of the destroyed pieces.

I’m not recommending any of you do what Pink did in this movie, I’m just saying that creativity is the perfect therapy for rising from the ashes like a phoenix. I hope to one day do that with Disturbance in the Machine, whether it’s a novel, anthology, short story collection, or whatever. The truth of the matter is, though, that there are other novel ideas in my archives waiting to be realized. Booger the Clown and Chicken and Fries are the ones I’ve been thinking about the most, but I haven’t really fleshed them out in a scene-by-scene analysis yet. Maybe what I really need to do is randomly select which novel I work on next, just like I do with books to read and characters to use.

I wouldn’t mind working on Disturbance in the Machine again with the skills I have today, but it’ll probably be a backburner project since I don’t have any immediate ideas of what to do with it. Usually I have characters an a brief synopsis, but nothing more than that when it comes to novels. Maybe the point of this blog entry is to motivate myself to flesh out novel ideas more often instead of just letting them sit there doing nothing. I’d like to think that’s the case. I’m Garrison Kelly and I’ll see you next time!

***MARIE KREPPS/ASHLEY UZZELL STORIES***

Over the past few months, Marie has been putting out short stories under both of her pennames. I’ve already reviewed Hunting Vampires with Grandma and gave it a passing grade. Now I’m currently reading Reaching For the Light (a mental illness-themed collaboration with TL Katt). All I have to do is read TL Katt’s half of the story and I’m ready to review this puppy and potentially give it an extra credit grade. The other two stories that I’ll eventually get to are Spunky and the Dolphin Palace (a children’s fantasy collaboration with her daughter Kyra Uzzell) and The Blood Files: the Case of Arnus Mortem (vampire horror collaboration with BJ Taylor). I can blow through these stories in the span of one or two days apiece. My hopes are high with how much energy I’ll have to do it since I’m going for longer walks during the day and getting my cardio jacked up. I’m already noticing a difference in my body. Hang in there, Marie-Pie: you’ll earn your high grades soon enough, my lovely friend.

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I’ve already submitted my entry for the WSS’s contest and it’s called Exile. There’s no need to advertise it again in this blog, so I’ll get straight to the point with the Dark Fantasy Warrior pictures that’ll come from that story. You’ve already seen Night Wolf and Maria Kevin on Deviant Art, Good Reads, and Face Book. The final character from that story that needs drawing is Stigma Dominick, the guilt-ridden necromancer. He definitely earned his sad face in that story and hopefully it’ll reflect in his artwork.

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

If a British exit is called Brexit and a French exit is called Frexit, what does that make a Serbian exit? Sexit? Sounds kinky. Of course, Serbia isn’t a part of the European Union, but just imagine the unintended comedy if they actually considered a Sexit. I’m getting douche chills just thinking about it. Hehe!

Cold and Scared

One month was all it took. One month of missed paychecks, lost sleep, hyper-vigilance, and moodiness was all Officer Casey Rasmussen needed to find what she needed to find…at least she was sure she did. This forest had to be the place. If not, then the baggy eyelids, messy hair, and hunched over tiredness would continue for another month. The trail might have been colder than the nighttime air by the time Casey checked out this lead.

The officer pulled her puffy coat over herself even tighter while shining a flashlight on the dirt trail. The foot prints were deep and fresh, which meant someone had been here recently. Another good sign was the distinct print pattern of someone wearing size thirteen sneakers. A tiny smile formed on Casey’s face as her teeth chattered and her breath became steamy. If these footprints went on forever, she would walk forever. This was too good of a lead to throw away those sleepless nights.

Just a powerful yawn and a few more steps later and Officer Rasmussen’s flashlight shone brightly in the face of a shivering twenty-something sitting against the tree with little to protect him from the cold other than tattered blue jeans and a ripped hooded sweatshirt. Size thirteen sneakers as well; it was definitely him. But what the hell was this young man doing with a dream-catcher in his shaking hands?

“Eric Bradley? My name is Officer Casey Rasmussen. I’m here to bring you back home to your mother. You’ve been gone for a whole month. She’s worried sick about you. Come on, let’s get you warmed up in the car.”

But as Casey approached the shaky and erratic manchild, he crawled backwards while holding the dream-catcher in her face like a priest with a crucifix. “Stay back! I don’t want to go back home! She’s evil! She poisons my food! She wants to make me into one of her zombies!”

The cop laid her weapons belt on the ground, a belt which contained a pistol, pepper spray, and a stun gun. While holding her hands up in surrender, she kicked the belt off to the side, but not too far out of sight. “I’m not here to hurt you, Eric. Your mother doesn’t want to hurt you either. You don’t mean those things. How long has it been since you’ve taken your schizophrenia medication?”

“Not long enough!” shouted Eric. A tense silence hung in the frigid night air, making chatters and shivers even more audible between the nervous cop and civilian. Even in pants-wetting fear, Eric held that dream-catcher like it was his own version of a pistol, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

Casey tiptoed over to Eric, who crawled backwards just as slowly until the cop caught up with him and sat next to him against one of the trees. Mr. Bradley’s hostility soothed into calmness as he threw his dream-catcher to the side and gently rested his hooded head against the rough bark.

“That dream-catcher is special to you, isn’t it, Eric? Your mother told me that it’s your favorite thing to play with,” said Casey with a warm smile.

“Play with? Shit, this thing was supposed to do something for those goddamn voices. It’s supposed to heal me. Turns out it’s just a bunch of urban voodoo bullshit,” said Eric. He banged his head against the tree and breathed deeply and rapidly during his rant. “I just want them to shut up. Is it too much to ask? Why won’t they let me live in peace? High school is over. They’re all gone! Those stupid jocks are never coming back! Why do they keep talking to me?! Why do they keep calling me every fucking insult in the book?! Why are they laughing at me?!” Eric began pounding the dirt ground like a child having a fit.

The only reason he stopped was because Casey grabbing his hands snapped him out of that nightmarish trance. She looked sternly into his eyes and said, “Listen to me, Eric. That dream-catcher is not going to heal you, you’re right. Then again, neither will forgetting to take your pills or skipping your therapy sessions. You were doing great after you got out of high school. And then somewhere along the way, you…”

With tears in his eyes and snot in his nose, Eric interrupted, “I what? I blew it? Is that what you’re going to tell me? That I fucking blew it?!” He stood up and towered over the seated Casey, who had her hands raised defensively. He pointed harshly at her and ranted, “What do you know about me and what I’ve been through?! Are you some kind of shrink now?! Do you want to pick my brain?! Nobody’s picking my brain tonight! Keep your poisonous food and pills, because I see the world for what it really is: a shit-hole! A putrid…vile…evil…shit-hole! It’s fucking dystopia all over again!”

Casey decided this conversation was going nowhere fast and performed a double-leg takedown on Eric, who thrashed his arms and wailed like a baby. The cop advanced her position to his chest and held his arms straight in a bear hug. No matter how many times Eric yelled, “Let me go!” Casey continued to restrain her target with a firm grasp. Eric’s yells got more frantic and less intelligible, but he eventually gave up and broke down crying.

“It’s too late for me, Officer!” he sobbed. “I’ll never be the same again! I’ll never write poetry like I used to! I’ll never make money on my own! No woman will want to be with me after this! I’m useless! Damn it, I’m useless!” Casey shushed him a few times and the rabid crying defused to a gentle weep.

“You need help, Eric. This is not the way people are supposed to live. You can’t live out here in this forest on your own. How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything other than berries and nuts?” asked Officer Rasmussen in a gentle whisper.

“It’s better than choking down that poison my mom cooks,” said Eric.

Casey got off her target’s chest and sat on her knees in front of him. “You’re right about one thing: I don’t know what you’ve been through. I only know what your mother told me about you. I keep trying to talk to you, but you’re going off on different tangents and not making any sense. This needs to stop, Eric. Please, come with me. Not just for your mother’s sake, but for yours. Is this really how you want to live?”

A monstrous growl echoed across the scene and glowing animal eyes lingered in the background. Casey and Eric watched on in horror as the creature’s fangs came into the light. A thick coat of brown fur encased this savage forest warrior as the drooling wolf descended upon its victims. Casey and Eric slowly made it to their feet and tiptoed backwards to avoid aggravating the beast any further.

The wolf lunged at the pair with the intent to rip flesh and shatter bones. Casey pushed Eric out of the way and felt the wrath of this beast’s teeth sinking into her leg. She bled profusely as she stumbled over in an attempt to reach her weapons belt. The more she struggled, the tighter the wolf’s fangs latched onto her leg. But struggle she did. She clawed into the dirt and dragged her tired body across the ground. She was fingertips away from her belt, but the massive bleeding in her leg caused her to feel lightheaded. The weapons she needed were a blur to her and everything was fading to black.

And then the razor-sharp teeth in her leg released their grip as Eric let out a primal scream and palm struck the wolf in the nose, the most sensitive part of a dog’s body. The wolf ran away whining and moaning, but the bleeding in Casey’s leg created a flood around her body. Eric was pacing back and forth nervously biting his fingernails wondering what to do next. When the answers didn’t come to him, he dropped to his knees and let out yet another primal scream while pounding his forehead with his fists.

Despite the brutal wound, Casey found enough strength to sit up on her butt and contain Eric with another bear hug. With one arm wrapped around her target, she pressed the buttons on her walky-talky and said, “I need an ambulance to come down to Redwood Forest stat! Officer down and suspect Eric Bradley is having a breakdown! Over!”

The cop and the suspect breathed sighs of relief and plopped on their backs when there was a “Roger that!” on the other end of that transmission.

Eric sobbed softly and asked, “What’s going to happen to me now, Officer? Am I going to be locked up in a nut house? Wherever I’m going, I don’t want to be out here anymore. I hate this place! I hate it!”

Casey held Eric’s hand and said, “I’m not going to lie to you, Eric. You’ve endangered a lot of people with your behavior prior to coming to the forest. That’s why your mom called us. But after you saved my ass tonight, I’m going to make sure you get the best treatment you can possibly get. With any luck, you’ll go straight to the psychiatric hospital and you won’t have to do jail time.” She chuckled in a petrified manner and said, “Shit, man, I should have known punching the wolf in the nose would have gotten him off me. That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

Eric turned to Casey, smiled, and said, “Now who’s fucked up in the head?”