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!

"Basket Case" by Carl Hiaasen

BOOK TITLE: Basket Case

AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen

YEAR: 2002

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: Mystery

GRADE: Pass

Jack Tagger, Jr. is a middle-aged former elite reporter who has since been demoted to writing micromanaged obituaries after going on a tirade against his newspaper’s corporate masters. Life is slow, miserable, and boring for Mr. Tagger until he’s tasked with writing an obituary for Jimmy Stoma, a rock and roll icon who is believed to have drowned in an unfortunate diving accident. Jack’s investigative instincts cause him to dig deeper into this case in an attempt to uncover a conspiracy involving murder and number one hit songs. Without the support of his supervisors, Jack has to make do with his relatively short leash and his modicum of clues and suspicions. Can he bring closure to the family of his all-time favorite musician or will Mr. Stoma’s case go cold before it even begins?

Colorful, wisecracking characters are to be expected from Carl Hiaasen’s thrillers and Jack Tagger himself is no exception to that rule. It won’t matter whether the subject is sex, rock and roll, journalism, politics, or violence, because Jack, who happens to be the first person narrator, will always get a chuckle out of the reader with his commentary. A sense of humor is probably necessary for his necromantic line of work. Without it, he’d probably go crazy and there would be nobody to give Jimmy Stoma his due sending off. If he wasn’t so dedicated to being a newspaper reporter, he could probably make it as a standup comedian.

But he’s a truth-seeker first and a smart-ass second. He’s dedicated to weeding out the BS of corporate news even if it means getting himself in boiling hot water. His dedication to his art form is second to none, so much so that he would have seen Jimmy Stoma’s case through even after potentially being fired. In today’s era, we need more honest people like him to deliver the world’s news, even if that news tastes bitterer than a dissolved Xanax tablet washed down with horse piss beer. At forty-six years old, he doesn’t have time for corporate shenanigans or dishonest scum bags.

Speaking of not having time, Jack Tagger’s obsession with death is fascinating to read about, especially when he compares his own age to those of dead celebrities he once admired. Writing obituaries for so long makes him wonder when his morbid end will finally come and how it will happen. So many of his favorite public figures have died at forty-six years old and even at slightly older than that. His grim obsession has driven his loved ones away from him despite their pleas for him to just forget it and be happy with what he has.

It’s creepy to think about, but since it’s a Carl Hiaasen novel, it’s almost comical in a way. One of Mr. Hiaasen’s gifts to his profession is his ability to mix seriousness with humor in a subtle way that doesn’t take the reader out of the story. Trust me, there will be plenty of times to get darkly serious, especially when more bodies drop and living people mysteriously vanish. Despite Jack Tagger’s disdain for guns, he just might have to use one in order to see this case through. You can still chuckle at his wisecracks, just stay on the edge of your seat while it’s happening.

Of course, Jack Tagger isn’t the only colorful character you can expect great things from. Jimmy Stoma, even in death, is mentioned as a party animal with a deep soul and undying charisma. Emma Cole, the twenty-something editor at Jack’s paper, is a pain in the butt at first, but turns out to be a charming sweetheart once the reader gets to know her. Janet Thrush, Jimmy Stoma’s sister, has a day job as an internet stripper with a SWAT team gimmick; if that doesn’t pique your interest, I don’t know what will. Juan Rodriguez is a Cuban immigrant who is so good at writing newspaper stories that he might as well be a New York Times bestselling novelist.

And then you have the characters that deserve a stone-handed punch to the face. Cleo Rio, Jimmy Stoma’s widow, comes off as a shallow and spoiled pop princess with no appreciation for what her husband left behind. Jerry, Cleo’s chubby bodyguard, is a little harder to punch in the face due to his fighting abilities, but that doesn’t mean you won’t want to at least give it a try. Loreal is a bogus music producer with about as much credibility as the corporate profiteers running Jack’s newspaper outlet. Speaking of which, Race Maggad III (jokingly called “Master Race” by Jack Tagger) cares more about making money than he does about producing truthful news and his crippling budget cuts make that very clear.

The battlefield is set and the goofy characters are ready to clash with each other over the mystery of Jimmy Stoma’s suspicious death and the fate of realistic journalism. If you want a well-constructed mystery with quotable one-liners and a reliable narrator, grab a copy of “Basket Case” by Carl Hiaasen. To my knowledge, he hasn’t written a bad novel in all of the times I’ve read his work. I don’t think he knows how to!

The Media

VERSE 1

Caught on camera, a vicious beating

Made me throw up what I was eating

Made me blow a fuse just like dynamite

Your son’s heart beats booze and cyanide

Teach your child some real lessons

Not to use hate and fear as weapons

Not to blame others for his own undoing

Not to be surprised when parents are suing

CHORUS X2

It is not the media’s fault

That your son’s an ass and he got caught

VERSE 2

He laughs at suicide whenever it happens

Laughs at the mourners, calls them faggots

His ribs are broken from the many chuckles

His knees are shaking as they start to buckle

Let’s see him pick a fight with a true giant

Let’s see his lips quiver in the dead of silence

Let’s see his blood pressure hit the maximum

Piss a million gallons and call it going platinum

CHORUS X2

It is not the media’s fault

That your son’s an ass and he got caught

VERSE 3

In the end, he’s nothing but a coward

He thought he wielded the ultimate power

But all he got was a golden shower

His tight jockey shorts smell a little sour

All the bravado was for absolutely nothing

All the laughter never led to something

Now he’s got a spotlight burning so bright

He’s shitting himself from the stage fright

CHORUS

It is not the media’s fault

That your son’s an ass and he got caught

It is not the victim’s fault

That your son’s another brick in the wall

It is not the judge’s fault

That his dad has lost his balls

Blame yourself and no one else

Blame yourself for building your own hell

FINAL LINE X4

It is not the media’s fault!

"Star Island" by Carl Hiaasen

BOOK TITLE: Star Island
AUTHOR: Carl Hiaasen
YEAR: 2010
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Environmental Thriller
GRADE: Pass


In this deconstruction of celebrity culture, untalented pop singer Cherry Pye is on the brink of becoming a mega-star with the concert tour of her latest album Skantily Klad. She’s also a drug and alcohol nightmare for her parents, handlers, and paparazzi. Whenever she’s too toasted to go out in public to ruin her career, Ann DeLuisa, her identical imposter, goes out for her and behaves normally. A perverted paparazzo named Bang Abbott desperately wants a photo of Cherry Pye at her worst so that he can sell it for hundreds of thousands of dollars. But when he kidnaps the stunt double, the plot to keep Ann’s name out of the press becomes a chaotic clusterfuck for Cherry’s parents.

I’ve been a fan of Carl Hiaasen’s for almost half a decade now, which I realize is a short period of time considering his lengthy and productive career, but “Star Island” is another reminder of why he’s one of the best in the business when it comes to fast-paced and comedic thrillers. The dialogue is witty, the action never slows down for a minute, and the whirlwind of chaos that ensues in this book is perfectly planned out from beginning to end.

It should also be known that two of Hiaasen’s most famous characters are reintroduced in this book: Skink (deranged ex-governor of Florida turned eco-warrior) and Chemo (flaky-skinned criminal with a weed whacker where his hand was supposed to be). Though they are on opposite alignments at first, the further you read into this book, the more you realize they have a lot in common. They have a disdain for spoiled brats, they don’t take shit from anybody, they’re both on the wrong side of the law, and they can be cunning when they need to be. Chemo prefers to be a hard-ass who trims his victims with his weed eater and Skink prefers more creative methods, such as, attaching a sea urchin to a scumbag banker’s testicles. Sooner or later these two longtime Hiaasen characters are going to meet. And when they do, you’d better batten down the hatches.

Pretty much every character in this book has something kooky going on with them. Aside from Skink’s craziness and Chemo’s intimidation, you also have the main character of the book, Cheryl Bunterman, aka Cherry Pye. This woman deserves no sympathy whatsoever. She’s an airhead, she lip-synchs her way to popularity, she’s spoiled, she’s shallow, and she’ll do any drug she can get her hands on. Chemo is already a loose cannon, so when he’s hired to protect Cherry and keep her out of trouble, even he’s driven to insanity.

Any other kooky characters who mesh well with a chaotic plot? How about the pedophilic CEO of Jailbait Records Maury Lykes? How about the deceptive banker and environmental hazard Jackie Sebago? Bang Abbott is no angel himself: he’s 300 plus pounds of sexual perversion and bottom feeding behavior, which is perfect for his paparazzo occupation. Ann DeLuisa might be one of the few people in the book with a sane head on her shoulders. How she keeps from going insane in the captivity of Bang Abbott is a mystery in itself. All of the characters mesh perfectly with each other whether they’re allies or driving each other nuts. There is not one hint of bad chemistry among these comedic forces.

In addition to playing to his usual strengths of chaotic comedy and environmental hammering, Carl Hiaasen is also a master at dissecting celebrity culture. There’s always this fascination with a celebrity couple doing something as simple as walking the streets together. There’s an even bigger fascination with pop stars who crash and burn under their own stupidity and weakness. We as civilians like to talk about celebrities like we know all about them. We put them on pedestals one minute, but when they fuck up just once, the media shit storm becomes too much to handle. Some celebrities deserve their privacy, while those in the same vein as Cherry Pye deserve to crash and burn and wind up in the shit house. The things people will do for fame and fortune, for better or worse, are all documented in Hiaasen’s novel. If you’ve ever wanted to put celebrities under a microscope instead of on a pedestal, by all means, pick up a copy of “Star Island”.

There’s a reason why Carl Hiaasen is one of Florida’s most widely recognized authors: it’s because he never disappoints when he releases a new novel. Sometimes I grab a Hiaasen novel whenever I’ve read something from another author that was awful. It’s the perfect cure for the one-star blues. A passing grade for a brilliant author and his book.