Eden Hodges, Evil Witch from "Beauty and the Barbarian"

 

Zombie Sex

VERSE 1

We need to talk about aliens and lizard men

I don’t even believe nor will I try to pretend

We need to talk about your conspiracy theories

And how you should save them for stories and queries

You can play with my brain like a lump of clay

Just kidding, little lady, there ain’t no fucking way

You believe in the strange, but not a witch’s hex

It was all supposed to lead up to zombie sex

Come here, baby

Zombie sex

VERSE 2

We need to talk about guns and the ammo inside them

And how you wear a big ass trench coat to hide them

Who exactly are you defending your white ass from?

If you need some gas money, I can loan you some

You can spray paint my brains all over the sidewalk

Just kidding, sweetheart, put away the body chalk

You can shoot like a cowboy sheriff named Tex

But I won’t give into your calls for zombie sex

Come here, lovely

Zombie sex

VERSE 3

We need to talk about the k-pop you blast from your speakers

And the trippy techno beats you play for the tweekers

And the hip-hop bass shattering my bedroom windows

If you explode my brain, that would make you a widow

Burn me a copy of what you’ll put on the loop

Just kidding, baby cakes, I like heavy metal groups

You can blow my eardrums on records and tape decks

I won’t change my tastes for a night of zombie sex

Come here, angel

Zombie sex

FINAL VERSE

I march to the beat of my own two bass drums

I won’t conform to you, do you think I’m dumb?

A real lady wouldn’t ask her man to change

Even if it means the love is far out of range

I don’t have the body of an incubus seducer

I just have the mind of a creative producer

When you take that away, what will you take next?

An hour of my time for vanilla zombie sex?

No way, baby

No zombie sex this time

No way, sweetheart

No tradeoff for my mind

No Pain, No Reign

“I’ve procrastinated for so long. I’ve wrestled with my conscience. Should I do this tonight? Should I bring this lazy bastard into my home? Should I make him feel my pain? The answer was not just a resounding yes, but a hell fucking yeah!” The grating, raspy voice of the purple-skinned witch Dollhouse awakened Ivan Keith from the shadows of sleep. His head throbbed and pounded like rapid fire boxing blows. The water in his stinging eyes ebbed and flowed. His body weighed down on him like an elephant sitting on his slowly rising chest.

When the Sheriff of Savage Duck County tried to move, the steel bindings in his ankles and wrists cut into him like an executioner’s axe. He laid on an uncomfortable metal table in a T position and struggled some more, but to no avail and only more pain. “Don’t fight it,” warned Dollhouse as she scratched her long, wart-infested nose. The wrinkles in her visage coupled with the shadows brought on by her pointed hat gave her a constant resting bitch face, which only made Ivan’s heart race even further.

“You can’t keep me here forever, old lady,” said Ivan in his southern drawl. “I’m taking you into custody once I get off this here contraption.”

Dollhouse cackled and coughed while slapping her bony knees for extra effect. Quickly reverting back to her resting bitch face, she pointed her elongated finger and sneered, “Nobody’s looking for you, Sheriff Keith. You’ve fucked over so many people that they don’t give two shits if you live or die by my hands. Always drowning your sorrows in beer rather than facing the harsh realities of your line of work. I could have used a savior when my daughter was taken from this world. You did nothing about it but drink…and drink…and drink…and drink!”

The last of Ivan’s stinging tears rolled down his face and his vision became clear enough to see that he was in a laboratory of some kind. Tables full of bubbling potions, tools and devices covered in blood lying about, shackles holding rotted black skeletons, and even a randomly loose eyeball turned this seemingly ordinary hideout into Ivan’s personal hell. He wanted to scream, but his throat felt as though he swallowed a bone saw, so why bother with even more pain?

“Listen, lady…I don’t know who your daughter is…I get lots of cases…I’m overworked…maybe if you jogged my memory…”

Dollhouse flipped an oversized witch on the rocky wall and sent a lightning storm of pain throughout Ivan’s body. His nerves lit up like nuclear heat. Schizophrenic laughter rang throughout his head. Visions of blood-soaked monsters stained his eyes. Ivan finally did scream out and his sore throat felt as though he was being decapitated with a hot blade. Every part of his body, physical and psychological, was corrosively melting before his very eyes. And then Dollhouse pulled the switch back to its original position.

Ivan took a few heavy breaths as sweat trickled down his skin like a heavy rainstorm. “What…the hell…was that?!”

“I’ve been working on this device for years. The worst kind of pain imaginable and I brought it to life. Water-boarding? Boring! Musical torture? Better, but still boring! Iron maidens? Brutal as hell, but boring as shit! If I’m going to get some answers from a filthy liar like you, I might as well get a little bit of enjoyment out of it. What can I say? I feel like I’m a hundred years old. Got to have some fun while I can!” Dollhouse gave another wheezing cackle, which sent ice cold anxiety through Ivan’s body.

“You’re insane!” cried Sheriff Keith. “You really think this is going to work? I told you, I don’t know a damn thing about your daughter! And even if I did, I wouldn’t think twice about turning her over to CPS if she’s got a sick mother like you!”

With a thumbs down gesture, Dollhouse made a game show buzzer sound and hacked, “Wrong answer, dip shit!” before flipping the switch again. The feeling of bathing in hell’s lava while demons and skeletons laughed at his misery invaded Ivan’s body and mind again. His heart thumped so quickly that he was on the verge of cardiac arrest. His brain felt like it was bleeding badly enough to give him an atom bomb of a stroke. Dollhouse flipped the switch back to normal and Ivan once again breathed heavily enough to give him a Buddha belly. Oceans of sweat did nothing to cool him off.

“You still feel overworked or should I flip the switch again?”

“No! Please don’t!” begged Ivan with cascading eyeballs. “Oh my god…that was just…” His heart refused to slow down and his stomach refused to deflate, making putting together a sentence virtually impossible. “If you…tell me who…your daughter is…I’ll help…you find…justice…”

“No, you won’t. You’re just going to cast her aside like you did everybody else. Being tortured is your only motivator. And I’m sure if I just let you go and do your job, you’ll find Isabel’s husband and string him up for the public to see. I don’t want you to just find her husband. I want you to want to find him!”

Ivan’s breathing lessened somewhat and his sentences became more coherent. “Ma’am…I didn’t get into law enforcement so that I could laze about. Nobody does. But sometimes, cases come pouring in and we’re stretched too thin. If you were to kill me now, that would mean less personnel to help you find your daughter’s murderer. I probably should stop drinking so much, I agree with you on that.”

Dollhouse folded her stick-like arms across her dark-robed chest. “I want to believe you, Mr. Keith. I really do. But the fact is…you’ll stick up for your own kind even when they’re wrong. Law enforcement always does. Your coworkers could commit genocide and you’d still kiss their grimy cowboy boots.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Isabel’s husband was a cop under your jurisdiction.”

Ivan’s eyes widened at the revelation. “Wait a minute…you mean…one of my own guys killed your daughter? That’s a little slanderous, don’t you think?”

“You see?!” Dollhouse croaked, causing Sheriff Keith to nearly jump out of his skin. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! Paid vacations! Severance packages! House arrest in a lovely seaside hotel! Cops never get the punishment they deserve because shit heads like you keep covering for them!”

“You think it’s as easy as tossing them in a cell?!” shouted Ivan. “There’s a whole power structure at work here, lady! You’re damn right we protect each other! Ratting out one of our own could mean the end of our careers, or even our fucking lives! I’m not taking that risk just because of a conspiracy theory you’re peddling out!”

“So in other words…you won’t help me…because you’re scared? You look so tough in that cowboy hat. You look so cool in that trench coat and those blue jeans. You look like a real cowboy. But in reality…you’re smuggling BB pellets underneath that zipper. Look at it this way, slick: if there really is a power structure at work here, you’re fucked either way. It’s all a matter of which way of dying you’d rather face. You could get shot by your own kind…or you could go through a lifetime of agony on my table!”

Ivan gulped so hard that one would swear he was chugging another bottle.

“Truth is, Sheriff Keith, I could keep that switch flipped until time itself is standing still. Sure, I’ll run up my electricity bill, but when nobody knows where the fuck you are, you don’t pay bills. Like I said before, nobody’s looking for you, Ivan. Nobody’s looking for me either. Even if you did report me to your buddies, they’d never believe that a hundred year old witch tortured you all this time. Come to think of it, they’d die of laughter before you died of ratting out your fellow cops.”

Ivan sighed deeply and tried to relax on the table, but obviously to no avail. He hated to admit it, but everything she said was right. No holes in her logic, but there would be a bigger hole where Ivan’s heart used to be if he endured another round of torture table madness. Then again…

“Let’s say I do help you find your daughter’s killer and bring him to justice. If my fellow cop is a killer…what does that make you, Dollface, or whatever the hell your name is? You built this table because you wanted justice. But in reality, you’re every bit as bad as your daughter’s murderer. Maybe you’re worse. At least when Isabel was shot, it was over with a quickness!”

“Ah-ha! So you admit it! I knew it! I bloody knew it!” boasted Dollhouse as she pumped her arm up and down in victory.

“Okay, fine, so you know who your daughter’s killer is! Why don’t you put HIM on the table instead of me?! Sure, he’s long gone by now, but I’m sure if you spent as much time finding him as you did me, you’d get your justice a hell of a lot faster! I’m just a middleman, for god’s sake! Torturing me isn’t going to do shit!”

Dollhouse sighed and held her face in her hands. “You know what? You’re right. You’ve been right all along. You’re about as useful as an asshole on my elbow. I should have never drugged you and brought you here. Yes, you’re a sheriff, but you probably got that job by putting the right body parts in your mouth. I should just let you go.”

Ivan breathed a sigh of relief, confident his debating skills have saved his life.

“Then again…if you just admitted to being useless…then that makes you an accomplice!” snickered Dollhouse before flipping the switch and making Ivan scream loudly enough to loosen dust from the walls and ceiling. The pain of a thousand gallons of acid and a million knives being poured on his body was back again, but for a much more eternal period of time. His jaw stretched beyond its means as he screamed. His tongue fell out of his head. His heart, brain, and eyeballs were time bombs ready to detonate. His bowels flooded badly enough to sag his jeans around his ankles. His underwear stunk like a junkyard after his bladder exploded.

In the end, Ivan Keith didn’t stand for something, so he laid down for everything.

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!

"Once Upon a Pastry" by Ashley Uzzell

BOOK TITLE: Once Upon a Pastry

AUTHOR: Ashley Uzzell

YEAR: 2017

GENRE: Fiction

SUBGENRE: LGBT Fairytale

GRADE: Pass

Fearing that her grandmother’s bakery will soon go out of business, Gertrude makes a pact with a witch named Mona to cast a spell on her that will make her the greatest baker in Linford City. The only thing Mona asks for in exchange is Gertrude’s first born child. As the bakery business draws in a comfortable amount of money, Mona gets testy about Gertrude living up to her end of the bargain. The more time the two women spend having cupcakes and donuts together, the more they realize that this deal is bigger than money or babies. They start to form an awkward attraction for each other. It’s a slow process in which past heartbreak and a war between humans and centaurs become obstacles, but one way or another, Gertrude and Mona will realize that they’re meant for each other.

Seeing as how this story revolves around a bakery and my 300 lb. body loves a good treat every now and then, I enjoyed the descriptions of the various baked goods Gertrude made. As customers, workers, and witches alike munched on cupcakes with orgasmic energy, I actually wanted to reach inside the story and take one of those frosting-covered death wishes. I could eat a hundred of them. Or a thousand. Or a million. I really should eat more vegetables and less sweets, but damn it, these colorful descriptions make me hungry! If Mona’s magic can do this much for a bakery, imagine what other restaurants can benefit from her spells. What if Mona’s magic turned a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese into a monstrous mountain of meat that oozed with grease, cheese, and tender beef that melts in your mouth (not in your hands). Mmm-mmm-mmm! My Homer Simpson glands are going nuts just thinking about it!

Another thing I loved about this book is the romantic build between Gertrude and Mona. It’s the way romance should be presented in every work of fiction: slow, steady, awkward at times, and an exciting crescendo. Seeing as how this is a piece of LGBT fiction, there’s always that chance that one or the other might not be a lesbian. If that was the case and one made a pass onto the other, it would be extremely awkward and that might have spelled the end of the deal. The slow build up to the romantic crescendo is believable in every way. People should tiptoe around each other more often since romance is a savory treat, not unlike the cupcakes Gertrude bakes on a daily basis. There are other romances in this story that worked the same way, one example being the marriage between a government soldier named Kevin and a bakery clerk named Jasper. When you read an Ashley Uzzell book, you realize that she knows what she’s talking about when it comes to matters of the heart.

One thing I was worried about was whether or not this story would tie up its loose ends by the conclusion of the story. There were times when I completely forgot that a deal was made between Gertrude and Mona where a first born baby was to be exchanged. There were times when I forgot that the centaur-human war was a central theme to the story. And then there’s that moron Trip who keeps threatening to shut down Mona’s magic shop with his own brand of wizardry. I’m happy to say that most of these loose ends are tied up, but not all of them. I would have loved to see Trip get his comeuppance in some way, shape, or form, but it seems like he was just an inconvenient monkey wrench in this bigger plot. But hey, this flaw is so minor that it’s not really worth worrying about. Just enjoy the infinite cuteness of this romantic fairytale.

If you’re looking for light reading with characters you can cheer for every step of the way, you need to grab a copy of this book. Everybody loves a feel-good story and this one will make you feel warm and toasty on the inside, just like a freshly baked donut with cinnamon glaze and pink frosting. Oh my god, there I go again, making myself hungry over a book that I read! That just goes to show you how dedicated Mrs. Uzzell is to her craft. Not one detail goes unnoticed and you have a front row seat to this beautiful story. A passing grade for an A+ author!

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?!”

Sonya Jade

NAME: Sonya Jade
AGE: 18
OCCUPATION: Student
CANON: Beauty and the Barbarian


As humans looking for a loving companion, we owe it to ourselves and our partners to find a balance between romance and shallowness. We all have shallow instincts whether we want financial stability or physical beauty from our significant other. And then you have a woman like Sonya Jade, who recently got “fired” from a short story that was included in the now defunct anthology Dragon Machinegun, “Beauty and the Barbarian”. Her claim to fame would have been the fantasy genre’s most shallow woman if she actually rose to that level of notoriety.

Sonya was the beauty, obviously, and the barbarian was a super handsome gentleman named Ogre Bladefist. Sonya found herself in trouble no matter where she went. She was almost molested by a group of goblins after leaving a tavern drunk as a skunk. She was also bloodily spanked by a group of teachers and schoolmasters at a religious college. Who would rescue her from both of these brutal assaults? Ogre, no less. In addition to being easy on the eyes, he was also a vicious fighter who shattered bones with the laziest of efforts. A muscle-bound stud with ponytail hair and overly protective fighting skills? Cha-ching! Sonya scored big time!

Sonya would have spent the rest of the night in bed pleasuring herself if it hadn’t been for Ogre sneaking into her cottage and…(clears throat)…”giving her a hand with that”. The orgasm of the century was on the horizon until a bitchy old witch named Rose Lovelace tracked Ogre down and turned him into the most hideous monster she could think of. Brown razor teeth, shit-covered fur, constant green drool…basically, all of the things in a monster that gave Sonya nightmares and nausea fits. Could she still love her man after all of this?

Therein lies the question of the day. If she was really the deep thinking, three-dimensional character we all want to get behind (in more ways than sodomy), then she would have stayed with Ogre until the very end. But she didn’t. She immediately demanded that her man sneak into Rose Lovelace’s castle and abscond a cure for his ugliness. After an uphill battle with the nearly indestructible Rose, Ogre found the cure, but chose not to stay with Sonya after she showed her true colors. To be honest, I couldn’t blame him for the choice he made and my readers probably couldn’t either.

So there you have it: a harsh way of telling my audience to choose everlasting love and a beautiful soul over something as temporary as good looks and an oversized bank account. As someone with a round tummy and no employment history, I’ve been preaching this message for a long, long time. Am I biased? Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean the message can’t have any meaning. Unfortunately, due to the piss-poor writing style I used to write “Beauty and the Barbarian”, it never saw the fame and fortune it could have potentially had.

Besides, what could I truly do with a woman like Sonya Jade? Her shallow point of view doesn’t make her very sympathetic. But her beauty could be an asset to someone for reasons other than animalistic sex. She has long purple hair, milky white skin, rose red lips, and irises that live up to her last name. That, and she happens to be a passionate lover. I could see Sonya Jade being a seductive rogue character in a D&D campaign. She could use her beauty and passion to make men (and lesbian women) fall in love with her while Sonya steals their riches right from under their noses.

And then to really make her three-dimensional, she could donate her treasure to a worthy cause such as protecting animals from being abused or giving shelter to rape victims who want to run away from their own abusers. As my lovely beta reader Marie Krepps once said, “Talk dirty to me!” Of course, she wasn’t trying to come on to me; she was merely suggesting that my ideas were good. I hope she likes this idea as well!

　

***MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“There are millions of fine-looking women in the world. They won’t all bring you lasagna at work. Most of them will just cheat on you.”

-Silent Bob from “Clerks”-