Jordan Antonacci's Blog, page 75

What is Success to you?

“If money is where you find happiness, you’ll always be poor.”

-NF, Remember This

Success: 1. the favorable or prosperous termination of attempts or endeavors;the accomplishment of one’s goals.

2. attainment of wealth, position, honors, or the like.

Everyone seems to be constantly searching for something to make them feel whole; something to give them a sense of achievement and positive progress. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing–I’m the same. Personally, I think all humans are born with a natural emptiness we spend our whole lives trying to fill.

If someone says success is a moving target that can’t be hit, I’d say they’re wrong. I’d say they’re only saying that because what they want doesn’t really exist–it’s all materialistic and superficial. Stuff that could be blown away in the wind: Job promotions, new titles, a bigger office…

“The real you isn’t defined by the size of your office. The real you is who you are when nobody’s watching.”

Now, everyone’s different. We each have our ideas of “success,” so I’m not saying there’s one answer to the title question. But I do think the overall meaning of the word has been severely butchered and mutilated at the hands of Hollywood.

“You spend your whole life worrying about what’s in your wallet. For what? That money won’t show up in your coffin.”

What’s my idea of success? Why, I’m so glad you asked

My Novel: Watching Glass Shatter – ON SALE

Preview the first few chapters of James J. Cudney’s novel, Watching Glass Shatter, now on Amazon and Goodreads!

This Is My Truth Now

I am very excited to announce that Watching Glass Shatter is officially available for purchase on Amazon at: http://mybook.to/WGS. It will be available as an electronic read for the next few weeks, followed by physical copies in November. I also have an author page at Amazon that you can follow, and I would love your feedback on the content. I will be sending a small Amazon/Kindle version content update by end of week with a few extra pages / fixes if already purchased it this week.

Please look at both the author page and the book page — every click and purchase counts to help get this book to the top of its categories so other people can view, purchase and read it. If you purchase the book, I’d love a review on both Amazon and Goodreads, as well as your blog and any other platform you are interested…

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My best friend, my Notepad

“Look at where we at now. We aint made it yet, but they can hear us in the background coming. Some are gon’ hate it; some are gon’ love. Imma put it in his hands and let God do the judging.”

-NF, Notepad

For a lot of us out there, it can be a difficult and scary thing, opening up to another person. Even with people we’ve known for years–friends, family, spouses, kids.

As beautiful as this world is, it sure is filled with a lot of ugly people.

And let’s face it: though you may pretend otherwise, you know you don’t really trust those you claim to…I know I don’t.

People can be cruel. So, so, very cruel–two-faced and too fake. It’s hard finding someone to confide in when you need them the most. Especially when it seems like all anyone wants to do is leave.

Not that I care, but when I was 8, that guy most call “Dad” left. A lot of family passed, friends flaked, and the fam just seems to keep moving further and further away. Regardless, it’s easy to feel alone for some, even if they’re not.

In my life, it seems the only thing that’s stayed constant–the only that that’s always been there–has been this Notepad. So much so that I look at it like a person–a brother or sister. Maybe even a mother or father. I tell it everything. Everything. And it listens. All the dark, twisted, evil, depressing and anxiety-filled thoughts in my skull I tell to this pad of paper.

It’s like I put a gun to my head, pull the trigger, and let everything from inside spew freely onto that page.

There’s no one else.

“He’s all I’ve got. Nothing else could love me. Not even…especially not me.”

-Dexter

Thanks for reading. Happy Friday-Eve

To: Lovers of the Crime genre

Enjoy crime fiction as much as me?

Love a horrendously creative and intelligent serial killer villain as much as me?

My debut novel, The Author, is officially available for pre-order on Amazon.

OR…

You can buy it in print now.

“20 years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

–Mark Twain

 

“The Author,” description:
A heart-wrenching tale of longing, loss, vengeance and consequence.

How far would you go to rebuild the life you let break?

Forensics expert Troy Graves has helped solve a lot of crimes, but he can’t seem to put back together the pieces of his own life. After years of chasing a serial killer known as “The Portrait Killer”—TPK—through the streets of Laguna Niguel, Troy has lost his wife as well as himself. Desperate and eager for the freedom of a fresh start, he decides to take matters into his own hands. Going behind the back of his Lieutenant, Troy takes on the role of Lead Detective, hunting the streets of Laguna Niguel for the one thing that haunts him.

But when he puts a face to the monster, Troy only sees opportunity, and does something unorthodox—he asks the killer for help.

Seduced by his lust for greed, Troy seems to forget that every action has a reaction, and that befriending the Devil doesn’t go without consequence.

Reviews:

If you’d like to review my book, send me an email at misterhushhush@gmail.com and I’ll happily send you a free copy of the book for you to read.

What one reader had to say of the first 10 chapters:

“I read your first 10 chapters and I am very impressed.  You have a way of writing that lets the reader really get into your characters.  They are vivid and each has a separate aura about them that lets the reader gain an understanding of their lives.  There is a lot of angst represented in your characters.  This made them seem real to me.  But, the best thing about the 10 chapters is that you left me hanging.  I have no idea where you are going and what the outcome will be.  I hope you have a story line all thought out so you don’t give me a let down.  I assume you do but, and this is critically important, it has to be different.  If it is different then you have a real tale to tell.  If I had picked up this book in a store, I would want to read it and I would be glad to pay for finding out where it is going.  It is imaginative, exciting and griping — a real page turner.”

–Gene Gritton

Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve put blood, sweat, and tears into this; I’ve spent many late nights over the keyboard, and I promise I won’t disappoint. This is a story that has the sentimental elements of Nostalgia and the suspenseful, darker elements of A Crave.

Thanks for reading! If you get the book, I sincerely hope you like it. Feel free to let me know what you think.

–MrHush

P.S. There will be a second book to complete the story. K, cool, bye

Won’t Stop till I’m Phenomenal

“However long that it takes, I’ll go to whatever lengths. It’s gonna make me a monster though.”

-Eminem, Phenomenal

Hunger.

There’s a Hunger inside, unable to be fed

A Thirst I fear may never be quenched

Dreams I seek to make begin

I’ve never ever wanted something so bad

Working this 9-5 on a day-to-day grind

Only at night do I see the light

Lonely at night, yet better than all right

The only time I can truly come alive

I write, write, through the break of sunrise

Killing these pages

Like my pen is a knife

“You want something in life, then why don’t you go and get it?”

-NF

Through life, I’ve never been sure of what I wanted. All my phases drove my parents crazy. One thing that remained constant though, was my love-filled lust for art; particularly, storytelling.

I wrote songs and poetry like an emo kid after a breakup all through high school. Then when I was 18, I wrote my first book. 300 pages over 3 years (lots of re-writing lol). While I did get some kind comments from agents, I clearly never got the contract I dreamt of.

Over the years, I’ve practiced relentlessly–reading, writing, studying, repeat. I’ve learned, and now understand my craft better than ever…which brings me to “The Author.” For the last year, I’ve put my everything into this book, and I have the utmost confidence in it.

Regardless, even if I only sell a few copies to friends and fam, I’m not stopping. This isn’t even the beginning. I’ve already started the next book and I have plans for two separate series.

Someday, one way or another, I’ll make it. Because–as cocky and arrogant as it sounds–“I’m born to be phenomenal.” We all are. But nothing real happens overnight.

“I’m just dying to be, all that I’ve been dreaming of.”

-Eden

The Author, description.
A heart-wrenching story of longing, loss, vengeance and consequence.

How far would you go to rebuild the life you let break?

Forensics expert Troy Graves has helped solve a lot of crimes, but he can’t seem to put back together the pieces of his own life. After years of chasing a serial killer known as “The Portrait Killer”—TPK—through the streets of Laguna Niguel, Troy has lost his wife as well as himself. Desperate and eager for the freedom of a fresh start, he decides to take matters into his own hands. Going behind the back of his Lieutenant, Troy takes on the role of Lead Detective, hunting the streets of Laguna Niguel for the one thing that haunts him.

But when he puts a face to the monster, Troy only sees opportunity, and does something unorthodox—he asks the killer for help.

Seduced by his lust for greed, Troy seems to forget that every action has a reaction, and that befriending the Devil doesn’t go without consequence.

Calling All Book Reviewers!!!

[image error]Cover by Ann Guarin

Why I’m Alone

“Cause I’m a fucking mess sometimes, but still I could always be whatever you wanted, but not what you needed, especially when you’ve been needing me.”

-Eden, Drugs

In a world where part of being normal seems to require some sort of relationship–romantic or friendly–it’s easy to feel out of place; particularly when so many couples today feel the need to share their entire lives together over Instagram.

*Cue eye-roll

Can you smell the jealousy? Hear the envy in just the writing alone? Of course you can. Because it’s there. It’s not that I don’t want it–it’s that experience has taught me I’m better off without it. As is whatever poor soul that could eventually end up with me.

You’re welcome.

“Cause I have nothing for you; I can’t love when I can’t even love myself.”

Why.

Maybe it’s because I can’t quite be myself.

Can’t really gauge who I am

Maybe I need help

Help that you can’t give

Maybe I can’t let things go

Hanging on to what drags me down slow

Maybe I just like being broke

Maybe I can’t stop looking for the end

Terrified of losing something real

Even before it begins

Afraid of what I may feel

Maybe I know deep down

I can’t give you what you deserve

So I should just leave now

To keep you from getting hurt

“No we’re just having sex, no I could never call this love. Oh no, I think I’m catching feelings I don’t know. If this is everything I feel, just hold on.”

Thanks for reading!

Also, if you haven’t already, please do checkout my Book Trailer: The Author 

Book Trailer: The Author

Title speaks for itself.

Really hope you all like this. I tried my best to capture the overall tone of the story and summarize the bases of the plot. If you’d like a more thorough description, click HERE

Things I Could Never Say

“No one knows what it’s like to be the bad man, to be the sad man, behind blue eyes. No one knows what it’s like to be hated, to be faded, to telling only lies.”

I feel like no one knows me–the real me. The me I keep hidden, buried, afraid to let free. Afraid that if anyone sees, they’d all be bound to scream and flee.

I feel like a disappointment to those I care for the most. As much as I wanna feel like I belong with them, I fear I don’t.

I feel so misplaced in this world, everywhere I go.

Though it’s how I spend most of my time, I don’t always want to be alone.

I feel like an evil little angel. I’ve done things I know I should feel ashamed of, but I don’t. I’m a monster deep down, I know. Ice cold. I try being human but I can’t. I’m broke.

I’m 23-years-old and I’ve been on my own for 5 years, but I’m still such a child. I’m irresponsible, impulsive, and I forget my dentist appointment every once in a while. It sucks cause every tooth in my mouth is a sweet one. Then again, I don’t really smile.

As much as I may have pretended otherwise, all I’ve wanted is to fit in; be like everyone else. But in my time of trying to fit in, I lost myself. Now I’m not sure who I am or if I have any self left to give. I’d ask for help, but there’s no one around to listen.

I’m beyond terrified to fail, and at night, alone in my head, it sounds like hell.

“But my dreams, they aren’t as empty, as my conscience seems to be.”

 

Thanks for reading

Flash Fiction: One More Step

To my Grandmother, aka, Nanny.

RIP

Miss you, love you.

-Jordy

One More Step

In the back corner of her small world, was a cramped apartment complex; in the back corner of the cramped complex was a suffocating apartment; and in the back corner of that suffocating apartment was a little bed, upon which Grandma Patricia rested. She sat on the bed’s edge, staring past the nightstand decorated with orange bottles and out the cracked window in the paneled wall. Her view nothing more than a weathered wooden fence and overgrown leafy greenery. Hardly anything, yet hardly nothing. AM to PM, PM to AM, it was as far as she could see, though she had no intention of keeping her sights as such.

Beyond the corner in her limited little world, she knew the land was vast. She’d seen it before but it’d been years. Her memory was so fogged, so blended like her days—days that seemed to stretch and stretch but never snap. It was the same every day, making every day one. Beneath the cloud from routine doses, she’d sleepwalk, dreaming of a sun.

Grandma leaned forward, and with a grunt, stood upon pain. Her joints cracked and popped with an ache as they ground together. “Oh, dear God,” she moaned.

Her crooked fingers trembled as she reached for one of the orange bottles on the nightstand…but just before her fingertips touched the hard plastic, she stopped. No, she thought. Not this time.

The process began slow. She slid her left foot forward, then followed it up with a right. It was almost as if she was learning to walk for the first time. The baby steps carried her from the back corner of her room, from the back corner of her apartment and to the edge of the world as she knew it. There in the doorway, something waited: A feeling that knocked impatiently, trying to convince her it was safer inside. With all 425 square feet of the confined apartment guarded by small angel statues, the feeling may have been right, but she knew it wasn’t a home if she was detained to it like a prison.

She stared out at the world through the lenses of her retro style reading glasses; what a beautiful day. The Fall’s sun shone bright rays on her wrinkled skin as it began retreating behind mountains on the horizon. The gentle breeze sent colorful dead leaves dancing across the sidewalk as birds chirped.

“Where are you going, Grandma?” asked a voice from behind. It was her grandson, Jordan.

“I’m going outside, Honey,” she replied casually. But there was nothing casual about it. Jordan considered asking if she’d need help, but didn’t. He knew it was something she wanted to do herself. Something she had to do.

Grandma touched her fingers to the gold cross dangling from her neck…then stepped outside, pushing aside whatever feelings tried locking her in—but as she passed, it was like she was suddenly looking at the world through completely different lenses. What she saw was something gloomy that held underlying hints of beauty, like the shapes of a sculpture underneath a black drape.

The legs upon which she invested her trust became two crumbling pillars. Another limping step. She felt her heart pound like tribal drums in her ears. By the front window her grandson stood, his round eyes unblinking as he watched. Oh, how the young man wanted to cover those eyes; how he wanted so badly to bring her back inside and shield her from all she feared. But instead, he stood stiff, biting his tongue as he watched Grandma limp her way to the edge of the porch, and then beyond.

It was like the air around gave in and the entire weight of the world fell upon her brittle self. She felt the tremors of earthquakes, the batter of bombs, and saw the spin of a twister. Shaking knees upon which she stood begged for relief, but got none. She persisted with another step, feeling as though her house shoes had turned to cinder blocks. Could Grandma not hear her own body’s cries beneath the static in her head? Perhaps not, because she took another step, trying with everything to flee from the corner of the world where she had caged herself.

The outside light was too bright and the dark too dark; every shadow held a something that lurked and Grandma couldn’t shake the hiding eyes of no one watching. Soon, she saw the sky through her fingers turning. Jordan barely got to her in time to grab her and hold her straight.

“Okay, that’s enough, Grandma,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

But she hadn’t yet seen what she had dreamt and couldn’t go back without. The world was just right there and she had to see it. Needed to see it. As Jordan led her back across the porch, she held a breath, then let her hand lower. With both feet, she jumped in, left herself open and let it all wash upon her like a wave as gentle as the wind. And as the world fell in on her, she caught it. With the wide sparkling eyes of a child, she looked around, absorbing the world with a wondrous awe.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh! Look…look…Lord have mercy…”

In the back corner of her small world, was a cramped apartment complex; in the back corner of the cramped complex was a suffocating apartment; and in the back corner of that suffocating apartment was a little bed, upon which Grandma Patricia laid. With a smile, she gently rested her head back on a pillow and let her eyes close.

“One day at a time,” she whispered to herself. “One step at a time.”

 

At least now you’re no longer stuck in that one place.

Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it.