Edward Lorn's Blog, page 114

Boogeyman (Original)

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A lullaby…

Lyrics:

Close your eyes, pull covers tight, something’s coming for you.

At the end of the bed, something’s coming…

(Chorus)

Go to sleep, little baby

Pay no attention what’s under your bed

Go to sleep, my child

The boogeyman is all in your head…all in your head

Clicking claws, gnashing jaws, something’s waiting for you.

Irises glow, from below, something’s waiting…

(Chorus)

Behind the closet door, in your dresser drawers, something’s hiding from you.

In the window pane, outside in the rain, something’s hiding…

(Chorus)

If Ever (Original)

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Here’s another new song. I’m still experimenting with recording and mixing, but I actually like how this one turned out. Could it be better? Of course.

Lyrics:

“If Ever”

Where do you go

When the road less traveled

Is clogged with traffic as far as you can see

Where do you run to

When you’ve lost the magic

And life becomes tragic and makes you bleed

Chorus:

I don’t wanna go home now, if ever

I don’t wanna go home now, if ever

I don’t wanna go home now, if ever

Cause there’s nothing left for me

What do you do

When you’ve lost the nerve

And you feel on the verge of shutting down

What do you add

When you subtract the problems

You’re left with the ones that never let you down

Chorus:

(Melody)

Spoon Burn (Original)

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Finally got my hands on some professional recording equipment. Enjoy.

Lyrics:

Your addiction consumes you

Chasing the dragon is what you prefer

To covet happiness that alludes you

It’s a welcome blur

Chorus:

I refuse to sit here, watching a closed door

While I’m alone in a crowded room, waiting for the tables to turn

In my defense, it’s my ignorance, which way is up or down

And you’ll see, that this is me, watching… watching my spoon burn

There’s a zombie living in your room

Inside the looking glass, he resides

I think he resembles you

Before you went off to hide

Chorus:

I refuse to sit here, watching a closed door

While I’m alone in a crowded room, waiting for the tables to turn

In my defense, it’s my ignorance on which way is up or down

And you’ll learn, this is my turn, I’m just watching my spoon burn

The needle fills me, but I’m still empty

The tank has run dry, and I believe this is finally last call

I confess, this is for the best, and I’ll just fade away

And I’ve learned, it’s never my turn, so I’ll keep watching my spoon burn

Daily Ruminations: Day 22 – Role Models

Roles Models: I can count on one hand the people that effected my growth as an individual in a positive way. But those that have crapped on me in life, number in the hundreds. I think this is the case with everyone. I could be wrong, but then again, that’s why I want to know how you feel. Who had the biggest impact on you? Was it someone with a positive message? Or, was it a detractor? My biggest role model was my father. He taught me what not to do in life by doing it all wrong. Douche-bag or saint, who helped mold you into who you are today.

Be a positive influence on the comment section below.

E.

Daily Ruminations: Day 21 – Prologues

Prologues: I’ve never written anything with a prologue, so I’m uninformed on this subject, but I just read an article that says most readers skip them. I can’t image skipping the beginning of a book for any reason. I mean, where else am I going to begin? If I skip it, there’s a big possibility that I won’t understand something further in.

What are your thoughts on prologues? Why do you think that some readers feel they don’t need that information without reading it first?

 

Begin in the comment section below.

E.

A Review of “Death Metal” by Armand Rosamilia

Opening Statement: I do not think, by any means, that my work is superior or equal to the authors I review. This is only my opinion. Let’s keep it that way. 

I don’t normally review books, but when I do it’s for a good reason. Not that Armand needs help from little ol’ E, but I enjoyed the book well enough to express my concerns with it. I had never read anything by Armand Rosamilia, so when I saw Death Metal for free, I snagged it. The book isn’t that long; even my slow-reading ass read it in one sitting, but that’s something I enjoyed about it. I was able to nestle in and enjoy a story in about as much time as I if the book were a movie. I ended up giving Death Metal a 3 out of 5 because the ending, in my opinion, fell short.

Let me explain:

The first half of the book was engaging. All the chapters ended in cliff-hanger fashion, which I enjoyed. The structure kept me interested.

My biggest problem with the story is there was way too much given away early on that flat out spoiled the ending for me.

SPOILER ALERT!

Examples:

#1. Wayne harping on Danny to finish the last three albums.

#2. Only Wayne knowing the titles of the other three albums. Wayne even requested Danny write them down for him.

The ending wrapped up rather quickly and unbelievably. My own personal preference here: I spent all that time getting to know Danny, only for him to die at the end in a rather lackluster way. I don’t mind lead characters biting the big one, but at least give them a proper death scene. Getting shot in the stomach doesn’t paralyze someone and Danny just seemed to accept his fate. A man who’d just killed two people to save his daughter (and is thinking about how the revelations that surfaced meant nothing, that she was STILL his daughter) seemed to roll over and die without a fight.

END SPOILERS.

Armand’s writing is well edited and flows perfectly. I’ve sampled his other books and found the same to be true with them. He’s just not for me. But, I will say, you should check him out. A little brutal honesty here: I didn’t expect the quality of writing I received. For one, the cover was rather boring. If it hadn’t been free, I wouldn’t have downloaded the book. Yes, I’m guilty of believing, “Trash without, means trash within.” Sorry, like I said, being brutally honest here. What I’m getting at is this: Don’t judge Armand Rosamilia’s books by their covers. The contents far exceed the packaging.

E.

Ruminating On: You Know What I Mean

Anyone who’s read anything of mine knows I love metaphors and similes. I also like meteors and a smiles, but that’s beside the point. This blog will be a jumping point for some, creating a launching pad in their craniums that will skyrocket them to that “Ah-Ha!” moment. Others will read this and have a “No-duh!” moment. Either, or, you’re here, I’m here, so you might as well keep reading.

“Her vagina was like peeling apart a grilled cheese sandwich.” Now, as unsettling as that sentence was, after reading it, you knew exactly what I was talking about. I didn’t have to go into great detail to describe her lady bits for you to come to the conclusion that someone shouldn’t be down there without a gasmask and a flamethrower. This is why I love similes. For those of you out-of-the-know, a simile is a direct comparison using “like” or “as” to connect the two subjects. Are you following? I sure hope so, because I’m no English teacher.

“His penis was a feather, tickling her fancy.” Ah, cunning linguistics, how misunderstood you are. Basically, folks, if you drop the “like” or “as” from your similes, you have a metaphor. I do not use these quite as often, but they come in handy when your ten-thousand word document has a thousand “likes” in it.

So, why did I use the above, highly sexual sentences to prove my point? Because life is like a box of chocolates; you never know when you’re going to get a nut. This is playtime, people; the place where I get my kicks. I’ve likened friends to deodorant and explosive diarrhea to the dulcet tones of a water-filled trombone. I see the world as one complete simile. Everything is like everything else in a sense, and I enjoy connecting the dots. I could tell you that there’s blue paint on the wall, but it’s much more enjoyable if I tell you it looked like a Taliban-trained Smurf ran into it with C4 strapped to his waistline. You know, Blasty Smurf.

Metaphors are cake, and similes are like icing. But with this combination, you can have both. So what if you sound redundant? If you’re entertaining with it, you win. Mix it up, and tie them together. Try this on for size: “He felt as if he’d just taken Viagra and Ex-Lax at the same time. He was coming and going.” I laughed. If you didn’t maybe you shouldn’t be here. Then again, the way we started this you probably didn’t hang around, so those of you left, just ignore me. Wait, don’t ignore… fuck it.

I don’t want to read tired explanations of things, as I’m sure, neither do you. It’s easy to say someone is running around like a chicken with their head cut off, but we knew that was coming by the time the author typed the word “chicken.” I want you to make highways and byways branching off of the road less traveled. I want to taste your literary soup and feel nourished. No one wins with writing like, “he shot sperm like a shotgun blast.” First, he’s gonna put someone’s eye out. Second, when I picture a money-shot, I don’t want to associate it with buck-shot. And lastly, it’s a cock, not cocked. Also see, “like a laser”; “like a tea pot”; and “like a canon…” Sorry, that last one can stay, as it involves the use of balls.

If you’ve stayed with me, we’ve reached the end. Your virgin eyes are smoldering, and quite possibly, you’re sitting in a puddle. I have that effect on people. Today’s blog is the literary equivalent of a snail-trail: No one wants to mention that it exists, but it remains the aftermath of shared experience and deserves your attention.

So tell me your favorite metaphor or simile. You know what I mean, or at least you should by now. What’s “like” what and what “is” what. Make me laugh, or at least see things your way. I know you have it in you. You’re a cluster-fuck of knowledge, like a gang-bang in a library.

As George Takei would say, “Oh Myyyyyy.”

Comment on me!

E.

Teaser…

Tragedy has an odd way of sneaking up on people. 

Bay’s End has seen its fair share of heartbreak. In the past, evil crept its way into the foundation and bred. Secrets were kept that shook the small town to its core. Monsters hid, lying in wait for the innocent. All that is behind the residents of The End. They’ve moved on.

But in the Fall of 2012, evil returns. Only now, it has no need to hide.

The Carnival’s in town. Time to have a little fun…

Collaborators Wanted

Honestly, I don’t know the legalities involved, but I would like to do a series of Novellas or Novelettes containing tributes to the Universal Monsters of yore: Dracula, Frankenstein, The Wolfman, The Mummy, The Creature From The Black Lagoon and The Phantom Of The Opera. If I’m missing one, please let me know. I am interested in collaborations if anyone is interested. Thinking either release them one at a time with a final omnibus at the end, or if they’re not long enough to stand alone, compile them into an anthology. 

Would probably start around November as I have other projects needing to be finished. 

Anyone interested? Raise your hand in the comment section below.

E.

Ruminating On: Sharing Horrors

I’m not a huge fan of the menacing sociopath running the creative side of my brain. More often than not, he’s a devious entity, hell bent on giving me nightmares from which I cannot wake. This part of me wonders what it would be like to kick the walker out from under an old woman. He thinks it would be funny. I would never do such a thing, of course, but the thoughts are still there. So, I ask, “What the hell’s wrong with me?”

This blog comes in the wake of me finishing a new novella yesterday. The content hidden away inside these recently written pages is the most disturbing I’ve ever penned. Not “some” of the most disturbing, but “the most.” I made myself physically ill while writing it. My wife, seeing my affect had changed drastically, asked me on several occasions whether or not I was okay. I’d take my needed breaks, walk around a little, grab a drink, go sit on the porch, but nothing helped. So, I went back to writing. Now, some of you may think this is nothing more than an author trying to get people to become curious about his new work, but you’re wrong. I honestly want to know why I must carry this shit around with me. Can any of you tell me?

There are plenty of writers out there that share my burden, so I’m not saying I’m unique, I just want people to know, I don’t enjoy this. Every once in a while, I write for fun. This latest venture became fun, but only once I got out of the horrible happenings in the middle of the story. I’ve always wanted to blow some shit up (that’s the only spoiler you get), and this time, I got the chance. But I had to get there, first.

In Bay’s End, I tried to convey the message of loss and tragedy when concerning good people. With Dastardly Bastard, I worked to deliver the ideal that our memories can have control over us, but we should focus on the good, and let go of the bad. The Show (tentatively titled) revolves around bad people who do good deeds. To drive that point home, I put my morally-inept protagonists through the worst kind of hell to see how they would react, how they might survive. But can you truly promote a good message with vile content? I’m conflicted. I don’t know the answer to that.

To appreciate the light, one must have been in the dark. To believe that good exists, a person must know that true evil also resides in the world. So, where must you go when your characters are bad people who kill, and torture, and enjoy their profession? I think I found that place. Now, I want to forget it.

I write as an escape from the malevolent meanderings of a broken psyche. I don’t know where this shit comes from, but I wish I did. One of the beta readers for the new novella said that people would kill to be able to write as much as I do. They wouldn’t have to kill for it, though, because I’d gladly give it away. I scare myself sometimes. And this time around, I don’t think I’ll ever wake up from the nightmare. The happenings in Bay’s End were cathartic. Once I got them out of my head, they were gone. This new novella? Not so much. I’ve never written anything to completion with the thought that maybe, just this once, I shouldn’t show the world what resides in the nether reaches of my mind.

We’ll see. The novella goes to Red Adept Publishing tonight after a final read through. They will have the final say so on whether or not the masses get their hands on The Show, as I’ve decided, if they don’t want it, I’m not going to publish it as an indie. So far, the beta readers have been torn. One thinks the content I’m speaking of is written well, told properly, not too gratuitously, while the other believes the scene might need to be toned down, that what happens may not be fit for “public consumption.” I’ve never felt the need to hold a readers hand while they read my work, but this time, I do.

If the story does come out, and you guys read it, only to think, “What was he going on about? This isn’t that bad,” I will say this: It scared the holy shit out of me… is still scaring me. Another thing, if it doesn’t bother you, I’d look inward and ask a different question. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

This is not Dastardly Bastard, there is no light at the end of the tunnel, no waking up from the nightmare. The Show could happen, does happen. That’s what scares me.

E.