H.C. Cavall's Blog: Sacred Spaces

Hypocrisy

If you follow me on Twitter, you know that I don't shy away from politics. I believe that all art is political, and given who's in charge of America right now, artists now more than ever have an obligation to raise our voices. Sadly, politics got really ugly this week. This is not okay. It's one thing to punch nazis: they need punching, and maybe if they lose enough teeth, they'll realize how abhorrent their views are. (I mean, nothing else seems to work.) But this? This nutjob was looking to murder someone and may have succeeded. Ending a life is a grave and irreversible decision. Short of self defense and absolutely no other choice, no mortal has the foresight to judge who should live or die. There's a reason why most civilized religions and philosophies advocate, "Thou shalt not kill."

With that being said, I find the hypocrisy of Republican response sickening.

As I type this, Megyn Kelly, former Fox News anchorwoman, is ready to give a nationwide platform to noted conspiracy theorist and complete raving loon Alex Jones—a man who will happily tell anyone who'll listen that the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting was a hoax. Kelly was also scheduled to host a gala for Sandy Hook Promise, an anti-gun violence organization founded by parents of the victims.


Pictured: a woman who wants to "shine a light"
on Jones' views.
She scheduled both of these, at nearly the same time, without even batting an eyelash. And, while the right wing House members are busy rendering garments, let's not forget these blasts from the past...





Hell, while we're at it, let's throw in the absurd show of force against No More Deaths, an organization devoted to keeping people from dying. Let's add a health care bill that's being rammed down our throats under the cover of darkness, a bill that seems unlikely to break the GOP's lust for tens of millions of Americans to lose coverage and suddenly being at serious risk of untreated illness and death. Aren't their lives worth something? What about the African Americans gunned down by police—sometimes with video evidence proving they did nothing wrong—and whose murderers never face more than a disinterested grand jury? What about families being torn apart by ICE without trial or means of appeal? What about the Republicans' leader, Donald Trump, who was more than happy to incite violence and threaten political opponents during his campaign rallies and executive tenure? When Republicans shed crocodile tears over the "current political atmosphere," am I supposed to feel sorry for them? I mean, don't get me wrong. I want to feel sympathy for the victim of senseless violence...





...but dear gods, they're not making it easy.

Killing people is not the answer. Period. But, you'll excuse me if I don't think he should get a trophy, either. If Republicans are going to wail about how we got to this point, maybe they ought to take a long, hard look in the mirror. If you want the neighborhood to be nicer, start by cleaning up your own house.

Change

"Now is the winter of our discount tent."
- Shakespeare, sort of
It's not been a good month for writing. I've been staring at this stupid blog editor three times a week now for all of February and leaving it blank every single time. I just don't have a lot to say, and it doesn't seem like the words are coming out right when I do. Just a few days ago, I finally nailed down a set piece in ALTERED that took me three tries to get right—not just little edits or dialogue changes, but three different scenes from scratch. Astin and Kylie started at a chapel-turned-homeless-shelter at night and ended up in a skate park during the day. (I'm as surprised as anyone.) To emphasize the point, this post was originally titled "Fame," and it was meant to be an essay on Twitter knocking down the pedestals we force artists onto. I abandoned ship on that idea exactly half a paragraph in. My attention span these days isn't all that great.

Case in point: here's a random subject change. Bear with me, I swear this'll all come together.

A lot of what I write is inspired by dreams. Winter is when nature falls asleep, and it probably dreams, too. I can't imagine the nightmare it's having right now. With the political changes in the US, the temperature going ballistic, and arctic ice rapidly disappearing, it really does feel like the whole world is falling apart. The logical part of me says that these cycles happen, that there have always been self-important dictators and planetary crises, and this one will rise and fall like all the others. We don't have an unlimited amount of tries, though. We have to act, even if we think our contributions are insignificant. One voice is hard to hear, but there's no mistaking a choir.

Eventually, winter ends. Seasons change. You'd think I'd follow up with something sappy about spring, but no. Things change. That's it. Adapt or risk being left behind.



Featured Music
Cult of Fake
(Angelspit)I'm kind of surprised it took me this long to feature Angelspit. A few years ago, I stumbled across Krankhaus on Pandora and was blown away by both the sound and the aesthetics. The brainchild of Zoog Von Rock (Karl Learmont) and Amelia Arsenic (Amelia Tan), Angelspit uses hard industrial sound and chanted, dystopian lyrics to create a distorted mirror of modern society. Beneath the trappings, though, lies constant and biting satire. The band's albums seek to wake you up by slugging you in the face. It's not subtle, but it works.

Cult of Fake is their latest. It's good from start to finish, but "New Devil" is particularly noteworthy for Zoog's punchy political monologues. If you're new to Angespit, you may want to ease into things with "Defibrillator," a catchy tune about meat grinder Playboy society sung by Arsenic in a peppy, vapid voice. After that, go ahead and mainline the video for Vena Cava for an introduction to the Krankhaus Society and Angelspit's aesthetic. Once you're properly acclimated, click the album above. Purchase both it and some really nifty stuff like the USB Spit Pill, and enjoy your ride to hell!

Alter Egos

An interesting side effect of the internet is superficial anonymity. Note I said superficial; true anonymity has a long way to go, and if someone with the means wants to track you, they will. (I suggest you do something about it now, before things get ugly.) That ominous bit of news aside, it's interesting how the casual facelessness of the internet allows people to assume mannerisms far different than the ones they show in meatspace the real world. We build our own alter egos—sometimes, entire groups of them. One well known consequence of this is trolling. It's obnoxious, but from a thousand foot distance, it's the ultimate expression of free speech. Come on down and say anything you want, no matter how horrible, without any repercussions! The internet truly is the world's collective id. Or toilet. Whichever.

As a writer, the rise of the online alter ego is fascinating to me. I hate to ruin the illusion, but my name's not really H.C. Cavall, nor am I a handsome, asexual winged man with a vague resemblance to Neil Gaiman. (Believe me, no one's more disappointed than I am.) Alter egos have been a thing in the writing world for centuries. Want to put distance between you and a controversial work? Publish it under a pen name. Want to try a new genre without confusing your existing fans? Pen name! Ready to drop some new, kinky erotica? Pick out a pen name, and let your freak flag fly! I know for a fact there's a lot more author names than authors themselves. I'm fairly certain 75% of the noms de plume in the world are actually just 25 unique people. I can vouch for myself, a casual friend, and three people I follow on Twitter. Who are the other 20? The world may never now.

Anyway, the internet tosses another layer of personal detachment on top of this, which allows you to actively play with your self-image. Now, you can not only publish but meet people as your pen name. You can filter yourself through that lens, magnifying or minimizing your personality traits—both surface and hidden. I'm not advocating being a fake, mind you... although I'm not really sure that's even possible. All that pomp and theater has to come from somewhere, and what you think is a façade may, in fact, express some hidden truths about yourself that you might not like. It can also be a controlled space to let out a side of yourself that would otherwise stay locked up in your brain for good. For better or worse, the alter ego is a recurring and even necessary part of literature, and this online phenomenon of "pretending to be someone else" is a natural evolution of what was already there.

To be yourself, sometimes you have to be someone else. I'm almost certain I stole that from a song or TV show, but it's nevertheless true.



Featured Music
Art Angels
(Grimes)
This album is terrifyingly good. Grimes—the alter ego (see what I did there?) of Canadian musician/producer/director/everything Claire Boucher—jumps all over the map with her influences and layers sounds in ways I can't even begin to put into words. (And that's coming from someone whose job is, y'know, to put things into words.) Grimes' vocal range jumps all over the place, too, going from Betty Boop to Bikini Kill in the span of a few seconds on "Kill v. Maim." If you're going down this trail—and you absolutely should—the videos that go along with it are mandatory viewing. You can find them here. They're populated with oddball recurring characters like Skreechy Bat, Roccoco Basilisk, and Kill v. Maim, and I'm not even going to pretend to interpret them, so here's the woman herself on the subject. If you do nothing else, though, check out the video for Kill v. Maim. It's a perfect fit to the music and a good a place as any to jump into the Grimesverse.

Also, Skreechy Bat is just dreamy. Dem feathers.

Get it on her site or on Spotify. Seriously, Boucher is not only a great musician but also a very good producer, and there's so much going on on this album that whenever I try to describe how incredible it is my brain goes for twelve different adjectives at once and my brain shuts down and I have to go take a nap. Get it and listen to it yourself, every single track is amazing. In fact, I'd say they'rzzzzzzzz

Hope in the Darkness

Pandora opened the box, and instead of beauty, the horrors of the world came spilling out. She shut the box as quickly as she could, but she was too late. Still, she heard a voice inside:

"Let me out! I am Hope."


It is very tempting, given what just happened in the United States election, to withdraw or surrender. I understand that urge. I myself am looking to expatriate in light of recent events. The majority of this country elected a rapist, fascist, and unapologetic bigot. An entire generation is now lost to hatred. There is no longer any place for me here.

With that being said, understand this difference: It is imperative in times like this to keep creating. Art brings us together. It lifts the spirit, shares our experiences, and puts a thumb in the eye of those who denegrate it. I went through a phase of a couple of hours today where I considered giving up writing, not forever, but for quite a while. Some very lovely people on Twitter reminded me that this would be a mistake.

The system has failed us. The only recourse we have is our voice. Raise it.


Music Pick:

Not in much of a mood to gush, so I'll just leave this here.

Every Open Eye
(Chvrches)
Scottish synthpop band. Real, real good. Uplifting sound, and gods know we could use that right now. Lauren Mayberry is cute as a button, and I hope she doesn't mind me saying so. For extra fun, check out the video for "Bury It," some comic book inspired anime fun that's very well drawn and executed. Act now and get a bonus Hayley Williams appearance.

Click album cover for official site, Spotify, YouTube, etc. You know the drill by now.

Hawai'i

Pictured: Mysterious and Shadowy Figure Moments
Before Flailing Headfirst into the Ocean
As some of you who follow me on Twitter may know, I visited Hawaii at the beginning of October. It was my first time there, and it absolutely blew me away. Whatever romantic notions you have of Hawaii, I assure you, they pale in comparison to the real thing. Though, oddly enough, I'm not much of a beach-goer. It may shock you to learn that I don't like being out during the day. I wish I could say it's because I'm a mysterious creature of the night~, but really, I just sunburn within nanoseconds. Ow.

Nights by the ocean, though? Oh my.

Ocean shorelines are an incredible thing at night. I don't know why, but the moment I'm next to waves in the dark, there's a sudden squeeze on my lungs and a heaviness in my legs. The moon shines down, the tides roll inside my head, and I can feel the earth breathe. Eventually, my breath syncs up with the surf, and the experience of unity is indescribable. Maybe the gentle tug is all in my head. Maybe it's due to my sinuses constantly being swollen from allergies. Regardless, I do so love being out by the waves at night, and this is definitely the state for it. I even did yoga on the water thanks to the fine folks at Yoga Floats. I also fell in a bunch. If I wanted to be one with the ocean, I got my wish.

Out of everything, though, the thing that stuck with me the most was the Bishop Museum's Hawaiian Hall. I'll come right out and say it: America has a long and storied history of meddling where we're not wanted, enslaving others, and happily committing genocide on native populations. (The Trail of Tears was genocide. Period.) Not surprisingly, here come the American missionaries in 1819 to faithfully execute the white man's burden, followed by an outright usurpation of the Hawaiian throne in 1893. Grover Cleveland's administration called it illegal, and Bill Clinton apologized for it, so that's something. Still, it's another black mark on America's already checkered past.

A curious thing happened, though. The natives weren't suppressed. In fact, they remain an integral and equal part of Hawaiian culture. Pidgin is used by the haole (see what I did there?) without a second thought. Japanese immigrants have been integrated, leading to the establishment of such landmarks as the Byodo-In temple. And, when the Japanese Empire hit Pearl Harbor during World War II, representatives from all cultures fought and died together to defend state and country. Hawaii is the real, honest to gods melting pot the rest of America so desperately wants to be. Maybe it's because it's a small world over there, and if you're going to rub elbows with people so far from mainland, you all have to get along. I think there's more to it, though. The much vaunted spirit of aloha---love, community, and just plain not being dicks to each other---has endured throughout the centuries, in spite of all the horrible things that have happened. It doesn't matter whether you're an islander or mainlander. You can't help but take a little piece of it with you.

You don't change Hawaii. Hawaii changes you. And, usually, for the better.



In Other News

ALTERED continues to plod along, passing the rough 33% mark. My hope is to get the ARCs ready shortly after the beginning of the new year, even as I admit that's way too ambitious. There's a lot of actors in Astin's latest adventure, and it requires a slower burn than the breakneck action movie that was TAINTED. Not only that, the larger the scope of the book swells, the harder a time I have of keeping all the facts straight. I neither want to contradict my own plot nor have our plucky angel hero come across as an idiot. (Well, no more so than usual.) An editor will be needed this time around. TAINTED still had typos after months of grinding it to a fine edge, and if I don't get a second set of eyes on the next book, it's going to implode spectacularly.

Politics and Writing

I spent a lot of time on Twitter exchanging snark with artists far better than me. The number one topic is usually... well, cats. But after that, it's politics. The above exchange with Shikhee D’iordna of Android Lust* got me thinking about the connection between art and politics.
* Whoops dropped a name, let me just pick that up

When I first set out on my professional writing career, I tried to keep politics out of my blog. It's inviting trolls and other headaches that I don't need during an already uphill struggle. Over time, I began to realize two things: one, that staying silent about individual politicians and countries does not preclude my being a political creature; and two, that the 2016 United States presidential election has such disastrous consequences that it would be malpractice (or worse) to stay quiet. While he's currently being stomped into paste, the idea of a fascist and admitted rapist being one of two finalists for the presidency—an institution that, for right or wrong, holds an enormous amount of sway on the world—is not only disturbing but fundamentally wrong. How did we get to this point as a country? How does this man still have supporters? What the fuck is going on?

But, I digress. Even when not referencing politics directly, artists are fundamentally political creatures. You can't put out any type of art without expressing some sort of opinion. That's just how it works. Whether it be "treat homosexuals as equals to heterosexuals" (LBGT politics) or "hay y'all guys are hot" (sexual politics!), you're saying something. Even art that replicates things realistically is preserving the status quo. (Maybe even glorifying it, as we've no real way to tell how images have been enhanced unless we were there to witness the event.) Plus, there's things like this...




...that question the nature of reality while still presenting perfectly realistic images. There's a lot of ways you can go once you put the artist in charge of representation instead of nature, and sometimes, it's a ride without seat belts.

So, yes, I think "stick to art" and political statements are a complete oxymoron. Whether or not you make it overt or subversive is up to you, but either way, one must raise their voice. We just can't help ourselves. It's what naturally happens when you create.


Featured Music



Supernature (Goldfrapp)

There are not many singers I would describe as an honest-to-gods Force of Nature. Alison Goldfrapp is one of them. The English duo of Goldfrapp and Will Gregory have been cranking out albums since the beginning of the millennium. (Yes, it was 2000, but it's fun to say it the other way.) Supernature is an incredible introduction, as the pounding beat and catchy hooks of Ooh La La and Lovely 2 C U give you an idea of what to expect. Alison Goldfrapp herself is somewhat notorious for her surrealistic stage performances and distinctive outfits; for example, the 2003 tour involved dancers wearing deer heads. Yup. She's toned it down a bit in recent years to avoid eclipsing her music, but she can still melt you into a puddle with her voice. It's just incredible.

Goldfrapp has an album scheduled on 2017 that I'm itching to get my hands on. Until then, Supernature (among others) will tide me over quite well. Click the link or album picture for the official website, or just grab the full album on Spotify and start listening. If you're not at least wiggling around in your chair while listening, you're doing it wrong.

Marketing

Emily Dickinson referred to publication as "auction of the brain," and I think there's some truth to that. The problem is, no one will know what's in your brain unless you put it on sale. (Well, that's not entirely true. In this day and age, the free giveaway is becoming a pretty big vehicle for new authors. But, still.) Selling your book to people is not a dirty concept. You're not betraying the vanguard of the proletariat or whatever. Nobody says you have to put on a sharp suit, slick your hair back, and go door to door selling them like vacuums. In fact, that would be the exact opposite of what you should do. Don't do that. If you ever suspect that you are, stop.

Getting shoved head first into the wonderful world of book marketing has been an interesting experience and one I was wholly unprepared for. Multiple missteps out of the gate and still screwing things up every now and then has made me realize I'm kind of making this all up as I go along. Don't get me wrong, there is a method to this madness. Unfortunately, it's a method I didn't pin down until well into the second week of Tainted's release. Sigh.

This is the price we pay (hurr hurr) for being self published authors: full control over literally everything, but no guarantee we'll do any of it right. Though, I'm not entirely certain traditional publishing has any advantages. I've heard it bemoaned again and again how the only thing you really get is an advance, and then unless you start selling thousands of books, you're on your own. I wouldn't know first hand. I've never gotten past the rejection letter stage. (There, I said it. It's out there now.) At any rate, marketing seems to be a delicate process of hype right up to the line of obnoxious and not one step further, and I'm still trying to decipher its mysteries. It also doesn't help when you have no idea what an effective marketing channel is. I mean, I'm not entirely sure my click through rates and Amazon sales rank isn't randomly generated every time I look at it.

I've rapidly come to realize this is the unsexy part of writing, the backstage prop work that goes on behind the scenes during book releases. It's hard. There are times where it feels like you're screaming into a void, and there are times that you are. I will say it's nice to have online tracking these days so you can tell the difference, although that brings with it a whole new set of problems. I wish I could say I had useful information to share with people, but I can't pretend to teach others when I still have no clue what I'm doing myself. Maybe this is a perpetual state among all but the top tier of authors---though I strongly suspect they are top tier because, in addition to being fantastic writers, they know how to promote effectively. All I know is to set the controls to $0.99 a book, apply for literally every review and promotional site I can, and set up a free week at launch. I'm going to do this from the start next time with Altered and not get caught flat footed. Hell if I know know whether or not it'll work. Here's hoping!

As for the rest, try actually talking to people. I mean, that's what we write for, isn't it? To connect with people? So why not actually go out and, I don't know, connect with people? Here's a good place for pithy commentary, and you can also find lovely people over here with similar interests. Actually talk to them, too---don't just show up, pitch your book, and leave. That's being a door to door salesman and, as we've established, don't do that. Be polite, be attentive, be witty (this step is optional), and doors may open for you. Or perhaps not. Either way, though, it'll make the experience far more enjoyable.


Featured Music

A Voluntary Coincidence (Helalyn Flowers)

In addition to having one of the most incredible covers in the history of all the covers, ever, the Italian duo of Nøemi Aurora and maXX put on a goddamn sonic carnival in this album. According to their website, "[it's] defined by the press like an orgasm written as music." (I have a Ms. Karen O on line 2 for you guys, but that's neither here nor there.) Nøemi's pitch jump in Alice in my chamber makes a pretty compelling case for the review. Particular favorites include the aforementioned song and I'm human, defective, which, of course, doesn't relate to recurring themes in my own work and does not strike a chord in---I'm sorry? Oh, I'm holding this upside down. It turns out that's exactly what it does and it's amazing.

As always, click link/cover above for the official store, or just add it to your album list on Spotify. There may be an adjustment period, but after proper calibration, you will enjoy, human. Beep boop.

Depression

I haven't been able to write in a few days, because I feel worthless as an author. That usually means I'm in a depressive episode.

Stay with me. This is going places other than emo.

It feels like writers have the worst depression rates of all various artist types. I don't know whether or not that's true; the internet says it is, and as we all know, they don't allow things on the internet if they aren't true. It may very well be selection bias on my part. But, four names immediately jump to mind---Poe, Hemingway, Beckett, and J.K. Rowling---and if I've got four names ready to go without really thinking about it, the link merits consideration.

Case in point: I have bipolar. I don't really care who knows it---it's just a thing, and the only reason I bring it up is its relevance to the topic. Before I was properly diagnosed, I swung between writing pages and pages at the drop of a hat and spending days so crippled with grief I could barely get up from the bed. I look back on those days now and wonder how I even made it out in one piece. I also realize I'm very lucky that regard. I found a support net and several good doctors to help. Many don't have that---especially the healthcare part, but that's another discussion for another time.

One thing that makes this extra bad is that depression (and bipolar) aren't talked about in polite society. It makes people uncomfortable. What will you do next? What happens if you stop taking your meds? What then? (Answer: First of all, I get really nauseous.) It gets swept neatly under the rug, like a lot of other mental illnesses. It ought not to be. There needs to be a hand to reach out to. There needs to be a discussion. There needs to be an understanding that it takes more, far more, than a general practitioner tossing you some escitalopram to make you feel better.

Anyway, I kind of launched into this post without really having an end point in mind. This is kind of a pet issue for me, since I've experienced firsthand how bad depression can get. But, if nothing else, I'll say this: We've lost an uncomfortable amount of authors to suicide, and that's just high profile names. There are scads of people suffering through this problem. We, as a society, need to stop treating it like leprosy and have a good, long conversation about it. It's okay to have depression or bipolar. It takes work, a lot of work sometimes, but it can be managed. Reach out to others if you need help. And, if you see someone who needs help, please reach back.

If you've read this far, please consider donating to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, or even better, volunteering. They're good people who do good work.

Writer's Block

The irony of writing about writer's block is not lost on me. The best advice I've ever read is Gail Carriger's article from 2014 that addresses writer's block. To summarize: Write something. Anything. It doesn't have to be for your current project. If it's really bad afterwards, delete it.

But write something.

Case in point: here I am on my own blog, trying to take her advice. There are many days I feel I have nothing particularly interesting or clever to say, and this is one of them. I've been beat to shit in the last week, and I'm staring at the blank space at the end of my ongoing "Altered" ODT file, and all I can do is shake my fist impotently and curse the name of Astin Fell. Right now, he's probably throwing his hands up somewhere and asking, "What did I do?" It's not his fault, of course. But that doesn't stop me.

The problem with writer's block---to me, at least---is that writing truly is a holy concept, no matter how much people sneer at that. The muses sing their perfect ideas to us on Earth, we pick it up as inspiration, and then we do our best to get it in front of people in a palatable form. The problems start when we insert a middle step on our own. If the muses are kind enough to provide inspiration, we sure as shit don't want to fuck it up afterwards.

And that's wrong.

Think about it from a rational perspective: you can never honor your muse(s) if you don't write. You won't find that perfect alignment of the stars and tectonic plates that will bring forth your inner genius if you aren't writing when it happens. Even if it all goes horribly pear shaped, no one has to see your secret shame. Lock it in the attic somewhere. Hire someone to "take care of the problem" so you don't have to get your hands dirty. There's a metaphor about editors in there somewhere. I'm too lazy to find it.

The point is: Write! Don't care if it doesn't fit your current needs. Don't care about whether it comes from the gods' tongues to your ears, or whether it will ever be fit for human consumption, or even why the gods have their tongues in your ears right now. That's weird. Gods are weird. Don't be weird! Pick a spot and time and write whatever comes out of your head, good or bad. Do it long enough, and you'll get into a daily rhythm. And when the dam finally bursts? You'll be there. Typing or scribbling away.

Also, don't put your tongues in people's ears. I mean, you don't know what those things have heard, let alone where they've been.

So, yes. My incredibly helpful advice is that, when faced with writer's block, try writing. The subtext, however, is stop giving a fuck about what you're writing and just keep pounding dem keys until things start working again. (Just make sure you have the rubbish bin at the ready.)


Featured Music

Once Upon a Time (Siouxsie and the Banshees)

I'm going for the coveted triple eye roll this week: a band most people have actually heard of, an album that's been out forever, and a greatest hits compilation. Don't care. Familiarize yourself with Once Upon a Time if you haven't already, and reintroduce it to yourself if you have. It's hard to pick out any single song since they're all goddamn amazing, but Christine and Mirage are favorites of mine. Siouxsie Sioux has a talent for adding just enough rough edges to her captivating voice to keep you intrigued—and that's not even getting into the cleverly staggered rhythms and sonic experimentation of the band on the whole.

On a more selfish note, this album is becoming a major driving force behind "Altered." Astin's getting out of his small town and into a big city, and he's going to see a brand new side of the Other. If The Birthday Massacre painted an ethereal portrait of otherworldly night, Siouxsie and the Banshees is going to boot his ass straight into a city where weird stuff doesn't wait for nightfall.

Love Triangles

I'm not going to sit here and pretend all readers' tastes are uniform, nor am I going to pretend my tastes are typical. (Though, they're probably a lot more mainstream than I'd like to admit.)

With that being said, my firm belief is that anyone who writes a love triangle should have their Official Writer's Credentials revoked.

(This does not apply to romance novels of any stripe. I realize you're all making a billion times more money than me and that love triangles are your bread-and-butter. It's your daily livelihood, so shine on, you crazy diamonds.)

I've never met anyone excited by love triangles. Ever. The usual reaction is to groan, roll one's eyes, and lament that it's getting in the way of the good stuff—be it be plot, action, or characterization. When I was writing Tainted, I made damn sure not to set up a love triangle for Astin. He has his fling after his break-up, and that's it. I've also made it clear that, if I'm ever hit by a subway train and someone else takes over, I will personally come back and haunt them if they put Kylie and Astin together. Besides the fact that they're an awful match, Kylie is four years younger. It'd be creepy on multiple levels.

Your mileage may, of course, vary. Me? I hate love triangles with a burning passion—pun not intended. I say the faster we excise them from popular literature, the better off we'll all be.


Featured Music

The Human Animal (Android Lust)

Many people don't know this, but Shikhee D’iordna is actually Trent Reznor from an alternate gender-swapped Earth. The reason no one knows is because I just made it up.

Don't listen to this album at work, or anywhere else you don't want to experience inappropriate emotions. D’iordna has a groaning howl of a voice that will make you squirm in discomfort... and like it. Of particular interest is Saint Over, an aggressive ballad of sexual frustration that nevertheless contains some drop dead hilarious lines.

Click here (or the title above) to go to the official website, where you might just find a free track. Alternatively, you can find the album on Spotify.