Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 52

Hunter Killer

JEFF JARRETT QUOTE
I have sold my soul to the devil, because destroying your career was more important than destroying your life!

VERSE 1
You can’t fire me, you can’t retire me
You don’t pay my bills, you didn’t sire me
The real enemy is somewhere out there
Get him before he vanishes into thin air
I’m on your side, so swallow your pride
We fight the same battles deep inside
Friendly fire isn’t so goddamn friendly
When it’s a life you’re zealously ending

JEFF JARRETT QUOTE
I’ve taken everything I can from you. Everything! And taking your career was the final nail in your freaking coffin!

CHORUS
Hunter killer!
Psycho thriller!
Blood spiller!
Grave filler!

VERSE 2
Standing in line at the special office
To get my share of the corporate profits
Maybe if I stand here long enough
Everyone will remember to love
Everyone will forget this even happened
Everyone will contain their inner savage
Everyone will go about their own lives
Droning around in their corporate hives

CHORUS
Hunter killer!
Psycho thriller!
Blood spiller!
Grave filler!

VERSE 3
A hunter killer will never forgive
A hunter killer won’t let you live
A hunter killer will take everything
No matter how much it fucking stings

EXTENDED CHORUS
Hunter killer!
Psycho thriller!
Blood spiller!
Grave filler!
Hunter murderer!
Artwork burner!
Heel turner!
Friend deserter!

Why I Love the Author Community

***WHY I LOVE THE AUTHOR COMMUNITY***

I saw so many indie authors online from Jenna Moreci to Hannah Lee Kidder discussing this topic and I thought I should throw my name into the hat. I have a lot to be grateful for when it comes to my writing career and one of those things is the company I keep. The first thing people will tell you is that the author community is like one big family and the stigma about competitiveness is just that: a stigma that needs to be erased. Or as Red Green always says, “I’m pulling for you. We’re all in this together.” I agree with this philosophy one hundred percent. It takes a village to write a novel, whether your villagers are beta readers, editors, audience members, or otherwise.

I must confess that it took a long time for me to allow the author community into my life. When I first started creative writing as a sixteen year old, I had a massive ego and a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas. My filter for constructive or hurtful criticism was so strong that anybody who gave it to me was met with derision. I remember one night in Spokane, Washington in the fall of 2001 where I attended INCON, a sci-fi, fantasy, and anime convention. One of the feature attractions was having a piece of writing critiqued by five different professional authors. After the second one had her turn, I stormed out of the room and spent the rest of my evening crying my fucking eyeballs out. Were the authors using kid gloves? Not at all. But did that mean I had nothing to learn from them? Also a resounding no.

I took this egotistical attitude with me everywhere I went whether it was online or in college. I took my first creative writing class in 2004, though big ego or not, that class was deeply flawed judging from how much leniency was shown towards nasty critics. It got so bad that I wrote a poem about one of my classmates and told him that he looked like Frodo Baggins and that I wanted to impregnate his mother. I will admit that this gave me the confidence I needed to write poetry, but still, all that rage over a “You suck” comment? Ugh…

I would go on to take many more creative writing classes at Western Washington University and just like before, my ego got in the way of a true education. I remember one teacher I had who labeled my use of swear words as “hate speech” and told me I also wasn’t allowed to have gratuitous violence in my stories. What set me off wasn’t that alone, but the fact that I still got a C in her class despite adhering to her rules. My ego got bigger and my walls got higher. It would take a bloody miracle for me to let people in.

Fast forward to the year 2013, where I wanted to embark on an indie author career, but didn’t have anybody to critique my writing. I must have driven all of those people away, but it’s true, if you go long enough without criticism, you’ll be desperate for it when the gatekeepers lock you out. I caved and went to a group on Good Reads affectionately called the WSS (Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company). I’m still a member of that group today. I would enter a short story or novel chapter into the weekly contests, just like the name suggested…and the critiques I received were a complete one-eighty from a lifetime of seething anger.

Everybody was so nice to me that little by little, my walls started to strip away and it was easier to let people in. I got more of an education in this group than I did in school. You can teach people how to show instead of tell, how to keep one narrator, how to use colorful descriptions, how to not pull the trigger too soon when it comes to the climax, and how to make your characters overcome great adversity. People with massive egos never learn these things because they believe in their hearts they’re already good enough. The more you realize how imperfect you are, the more likely you are to improve. Thank you, WSS, for stripping away my oversized ego with your kindness and love.

From that moment, I would go on to meet many wonderful indie authors whom I can learn from and depend on when things get rough. I can’t say enough positive things about Ashley Uzzell/Marie Krepps. She’s honest, she’s funny as hell, she’s wise beyond her years, and she backs it all up with her kick-ass stories. Aurora Styles is every bit as wonderful as her Hollow Hills cohort with her own sense of humor, her own literary wisdom, and her own terrifically-written prose. Jenna Moreci uploads You Tube videos every so often dishing out sagely wisdom of her own whether the topic is writing or marketing. Hannah Lee Kidder is also a You Tuber who’s fun to watch when it comes to giving the world thoughtful advice. Patrick Doran’s cheerful Deviant Art comments give me the fuel I need to carry on during moments of exhaustion. If I’ve left anybody out, I swear it’s an accident. Thank you, writing community, for being my rock and not letting my head over-inflate.

I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I’ve been alone. Felt abandoned at times. Given into the fall. I can’t forget what it’s like. When I felt numb and so hollow inside, you carried me through it all across the divide. I’ve been lost. Felt ruined inside. Watched it all crumble in the blink of an eye. You were strong and so hopeful inside. Saved this fallen one when I wanted to die. And when I went through it all, you gave me your heart. I learned to forgive. And when I come through it all, I know you’re the one I’ll never forget.”

-Device singing “Through It All”-

Mediocrity

VERSE 1
The Penultimate Warrior, the Over-Giver
Velveteen Limbo, a bunch of chopped liver
The devil’s least favorite demon
B-Team! B-Team! The playing field is even
I will not celebrate or tolerate mediocrity
I will succeed in any meritocracy
I’ll fight forever if that’s what it takes
I’ve got no time for the players and fakes

CHORUS
I’m not here to do my best
I’m here to defeat the rest
I’m not here to lay my ass down
I’m here to take over this town
I’m not here for participation
I’m here to rule this nation
I came to conquer, I shoot to kill
If you won’t step up, then I will

VERSE 2
The world’s eleventh strongest man
The last man standing sitting on his ass
The king of the hill turned into a pawn
The grand wizard with a broken wand
I refuse to go quietly into the night
To compromise what I believe is right
To sink beneath my comfortable sofa
To let mediocrity be my magnum opus

CHORUS
I’m not here to do my best
I’m here to defeat the rest
I’m not here to lay my ass down
I’m here to take over this town
I’m not here for participation
I’m here to rule this nation
I came to conquer, I shoot to kill
If you won’t step up, then I will

BRIDGE
I’ll sleep when I’m dead inside my head
Not a moment sooner than when I bled
Even as a skeleton collecting spider webs
I’ll never give up is what I’ve always said
You don’t get to choose when it’s over for me
You don’t get to micromanage or oversee
Keep talking shit and you’ll always be wrong
No matter how much you say or for how long

CHORUS
I’m not here to do my best
I’m here to defeat the rest
I’m not here to lay my ass down
I’m here to take over this town
I’m not here for participation
I’m here to rule this nation
I came to conquer, I shoot to kill
If you won’t step up, then I will

Incelbordination, Chapter 21

The penultimate smack in the face for Oswald was being forced to go to therapy. The ultimate smack in the face was knowing it would affect his final grade in English if he didn’t. He must have read that email from Valerie Sand fifteen hundred times, but his fist-tightening anger didn’t subside any more than the first time. “Who the fuck does she think she is?” he wondered aloud as he swung his little feet in the computer chair. He took care not to pound his fists, for they were still healing slowly. He took one last look at his bruised knuckles and wondered when he would be able to punch the “Sand bag” again. “Therapy…I don’t fucking need therapy!” he huffed as he got dressed and exited the dorm.

The little guy still wore his medical boot and still had a modicum of pain shoot throughout his foot with each step, but the wincing and limping were minor prices to pay for his recovery. At least the therapist’s office wouldn’t be too far from here. But even so, it was still his longest trek due to how many people around him still had those ghostly expressions. Maybe they needed therapy too. Maybe they were already going to therapy and it didn’t do diddly-squat. Did they have their grades depend on this too or was Oswald the odd man out?

Oswald didn’t want to admit it at first, but when he first arrived at the therapist’s office, he was already comforted by the atmosphere around him. Harp music to relax his ears, receptionists talking in their best ASMR voices, paintings on the wall of gorgeous pink sunsets, and not one stereotypical “cray-cray” person sitting in the waiting room. “Good morning! How can I help you?” asked one of the receptionists with her sweetest smile.

“My name is Oswald Crow. I was told to come here by my English teacher Valerie Sand. She might have already scheduled an appointment for me, but I’m not sure.” Oswald just then figured out how much venom was oozing from his mouth as he spoke those words. It must have been like talking to a spitting cobra for this poor young lady behind the desk.

Nonetheless, she typed away at her computer and never once lost her gentle disposition. “Okay, Oswald, I’ll let Dr. Jealous know you’re here. Take a seat in the waiting room anywhere you like.”

“Thank you.” The waiting area wasn’t exactly packed to the brim with traumatized patients, but even so it was hard for Oswald to pick a seat without getting in someone’s personal space. This was his strategy all throughout high school and college: pick a seat completely isolated from the rest of the group. He could’ve sat next to the cute chick texting on her phone. He could’ve sat next to the fat guy in the Star Wars T-shirt enjoying a bag of Doritos. He could’ve sat next to the middle aged lady gazing languidly into the distance. So few options, yet he had to choose. Or did he?

“Oswald Crow?” said a gentle feminine voice, which caused the little guy to jump a little bit before clutching his pumping chest. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Kristen Jealous. I’ll be your therapist today.” She and Oswald shook hands. “Follow me into my office.”

Oswald couldn’t help but wonder why this lovely woman wasn’t wearing shoes. In fact, the sweat pants and Mickey Mouse sweatshirt didn’t exactly scream therapist from the mountaintop. Something was fishy about this whole setup and it all became clear once Oswald noticed a bed in the center of the room instead of a stereotypical leather couch. “What’s going on here?”

“Well, when Ms. Sand made your therapy appointment for you, she figured you could use this specific kind of treatment. Our session is going to last two hours and it’s going to be cuddle therapy.”

“C…cuddle therapy?”

Placing her soft hand on Oswald’s shoulder, Kristen said, “Yes. We’re going to cuddle for two hours and try to get you to open up. There’s one ground rule before we begin. This is a nonsexual activity, so any perverted comments or actions will result in the termination of this session. By that same token, the whole purpose of this treatment is to make you as comfortable as possible. If you don’t like something I’m doing, please let me know.”

“…C….C…Cuddle therapy?”

Kristen gave a closed-mouth giggle and said, “Don’t worry about a thing, Oswald. I’ll take good care of you. I know you’re nervous, but you don’t have to be. I promise you that this will be one hundred-percent safe. When we’re done, you’ll be nice and relaxed.”

“…O…Okay, um…”

Gently squeezing the back of his neck, Kristen said, “Do whatever you have to do to get comfortable and I’ll be waiting for you on the bed.” With a few more pats of the little guy’s shoulders, Dr. Jealous plopped down on the bed and patted Oswald’s half of the mattress.

Taking a few deep breaths, Oswald removed his T-shirt and footwear before hobbling to his side of the bed. He surprised himself by how easy it was to pull his body up without assistance. Maybe he was healing nicely after all. He rolled on his side with his back facing Dr. Jealous while the longhaired therapist pressed her body against his and ran her fingernails through his now spiked hair.

Any nervousness about this process and any ill will Oswald had towards Valerie Sand melted away when the tingling sensations ran through his scalp. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, already sinking into the bed.

“See? There’s nothing wrong with clean physical contact,” said Kristen while squeezing Oswald’s shoulders and spine. “Now, do you know why you’re here today?”

“Because my English teacher thinks I’m a fruitcake?”

“Couldn’t be further from the truth. Besides, I don’t like to use that word to describe my patients. It’s very derogatory.”

Oswald’s face reddened when he said, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I can understand your frustration. Your teacher tells me that you have a hard time letting people into your life, that you struggle with loneliness, that your loving needs aren’t being met.”

“Am I that obvious?” asked Oswald in a progressively relaxed voice. “People don’t like to be around me because of who I am and what I look like. They think I’m some kind of circus sideshow. I’ve even heard stories about drunken frat boys throwing my kind across bar counters for fun and games. I’m angry, Dr. Jealous. I don’t let people in because they’ll just stab me in the fucking heart.”

Transitioning into a waist hug, Kristen said, “While I do admit there are some guys in this world who think that way about people with dwarfism, it’s not the whole population. Most people are good to each other. Most people would look at someone like you and smile their friendliest smile. You might have to go out of your way to find these kindred spirits, but they exist and they’re waiting for you.”

“I’ve only found a handful of people on campus who fit that bill. Even then they don’t have any qualms about leaving my life and letting me rot.” A single tear rolled down Oswald’s face and Kristen wiped it away with her finger before working on his shoulders again.

“They leave your life because you don’t pursue them. Truth is, they’re probably hurting just as badly as you are. They don’t make the first move because they’re the ones who’re afraid of rejection, not you. I’ve had many patients come and go who had the exact same attitude towards social situations as you. They yearn for love of some kind, but they don’t pursue it because they’re afraid of getting their hearts broken.”

“They’re right to feel that way.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t feel that way about you,” said Kristen while resting her head against Oswald’s shoulder. “I know it’s my job to make my patients feel good about themselves, but I wouldn’t have this job in the first place if I didn’t feel some sort of empathy towards my clients. That’s kind of a requirement.”

Oswald smiled. “True.”

“You know…on the day you’re able to find a girlfriend, she’s going to want to cuddle with you a lot. She might even call you her little teddy bear. It’s not a knock against your dwarfism. It’s a celebration of cuteness.”

Oswald’s face glowed like a nuclear rod as he did his best to hide his smile.

Dr. Jealous continued, “I really do believe there’s somebody out there for you. Someone who you can share opinions with. Someone you can share moments with. It doesn’t even have to be someone romantic. It could just be a friend who cares about you. Friends can engage in physical contact too. That’s what I want you to think of me as: your friend. You can tell me anything you want.”

“…Anything?”

“Anything you want.”

Oswald didn’t even know where to begin. So many thoughts swirling his head and this was his one opportunity to get it all off his chest. It took him a while to come up with a launching point, but when he did, another tear rolled down his cheek. “I almost became an incel.”

“You what?”

Holding his thumb and forefinger together, he said, “I was this close to joining Incelbordination. I was lonely and scared. I didn’t think anybody in this world wanted me, so it only felt right to be a part of this. I wanted to hurt the world so badly. I wanted them to feel my pain and my agony. But…I didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. And now I have nothing to show for it.”

Wiping away more of Oswald’s tears with her fingers, Kristen said, “You do have something to show for it: wisdom. You’ve seen the worst side of humanity and you didn’t give in. You almost did as you’ve just said, but you overcame that. That alone takes courage. You’re a hero, Oswald. You can inspire people in a positive way if you so chose.”

“How? Nobody will listen to me and anybody that does just thinks of me as a walking C+.”

“C+ or no C+, you’re still going to graduate from this place one day. And when you do, all the pain and suffering will be worth it. College can oftentimes be a depressing experience, but for you, it can be an opportunity to grow into something greater than yourself. Your teachers don’t care about the grades you get as much as they care about the person you become once you leave their classrooms.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Doubt is a natural emotion, but not if it gets in the way of your greatest ambitions. I want you to be happy, Oswald. I want you to make friends, make love, and be the sweetest teddy bear you can be.”

Oswald’s tears turned into a full-on crying session and Kristen Jealous was there to hold him every step of the way. Scratching his back, rubbing his shoulders, playing with his hair, these things made crying a comfortable part of the process. For the first time in forever, the little guy felt secure. He felt loved. He didn’t want to leave the comfort of this room despite the fact that the session was only two hours long. “Why does this have to last for only two hours?” he sobbed aloud.

“Because I have other clients to see who need my help just as much as you do. Otherwise…I’d cuddle you for as long as you needed it. This doesn’t have to be our last session. In fact, I hope to see more of you in the future…you little teddy bear.”

“I love you.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Sorry…I’m really sorry about that.”

“Wasn’t the first time somebody told me that by accident. Won’t be the last either. You’re safe in my arms, Oswald. Cry as much as you want. Heal as much as you need to.”

The rest of the two hour session was spent doing those things: crying and healing. And it felt good to do that after so many years of loneliness and isolation.

You Hate Me 'Cause I Love You

VERSE 1
If I put this out into the universe
Will you be the one who hurts?
If I say this to your lovely face
Would it invade your personal space?
If I told you I loved you until the end
Would you cease to be my best friend?
Is it worth taking the biggest chance
Or will I fumble and fall on my ass?

CHORUS 1
You hate me ‘cause I love you
You choose to walk out of sight
You hate me ‘cause I love you
You choose to call it a night

VERSE 2
I’m sorry if I’ve offended you
But everything I said was true
I don’t take any of my words back
I’ll take them deep into the black

CHORUS 2
You hate me ‘cause I love you
You choose to end the whole thing
You hate me ‘cause I love you
My broken heart forever sings

VERSE 3
My eyes are open, yet full of tears
Planned this confession for many years
Went against my instincts and worst fears
I see it all, it’s now so vivid and clear
I should have kept this to myself
Loneliness is no good for my health
Got desperate and made a mistake
Watched you cry, watched your heart break

CHORUS 3
You hate me ‘cause I love you
I’ll pack my bags and fuck off
You hate me ‘cause I love you
How could I be so damn soft?
You hate me ‘cause I love you
I’ll get my ass on an airplane
You hate me ‘cause I love you
Anything to keep you sane

You Don't Scare Me

CHORUS
I’m naked and fearless!
Undisputed and peerless!
You don’t scare me!
You don’t scare me!

VERSE 1
Your Hocus Pocus and necromancy
Your bag of tricks so fucking fancy
Your head games and creepy songs
Were never meant to last so long
Are you some kind of mythical god?
To me you’re just a flashy fraud
Are you gigantic in everyone’s eyes?
Those on their backs are the same size

CHORUS
I’m naked and fearless!
Undisputed and peerless!
You don’t scare me!
You don’t scare me!

VERSE 2
Make a move or get out of my way
I’ve got better things to do today
Than shake and quiver in front of you
Than to cry pointless tears of ocean blue
I’ve got mountains to climb, hills to conquer
For you I will never have to defend my honor
You’re not the devil or the boogeyman
Just a reality TV diva, a Snookie fan

BRIDGE
Jump into the lake of fire
Swim some laps until I tire
Cannonballs in the waterfalls
Of lava, ashes, and sinful passion

EXTENDED CHORUS
I’m naked and fearless!
Undisputed and peerless!
You don’t scare me!
You don’t scare me!
Walk like a giant, talk like a king
When everyone else can only scream
You can’t kill me!
You can’t control me!
You don’t scare me!
You don’t scare me!

Burn It All Down

VERSE 1
Mist of black, skies of red
Fires dance inside my head
Make the nightmare come true
Unleash my hatred upon you

CHORUS
Burn it all down!
Burn it all down!
Burn it all down!
Burn it, burn it, burn it, burn it down!

VERSE 2
Tires stacked around your body
Gagged like a bondage hottie
Strike the match, light the flame
Hell and earth, one in the same

CHORUS
Burn it all down!
Burn it all down!
Burn it all down!
Burn it, burn it, burn it, burn it down!

VERSE 3
Revenge complete, human meat
Barbecued ribs, pickled feet
Enough to eat, Kentucky fried treat
A heavy price for your defeat

CHORUS
Burn it all down!
Burn it all down!
Burn it all down!
Burn it, burn it, burn it, burn it down!

FINAL VERSE
You did it to yourself and nobody else
You fucked me over, no longer sober
You got your justice, fiery comeuppance
There is no epilogue, stack the bonfire logs
There is no forgiveness, you just witnessed
Your own demise, such a fitting prize
I own your soul, I have total control
I bury your bones under the gravestone

Spooky Scary Writing Tag: Beautiful Monster

***SPOOKY SCARY WRITING TAG: BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

This is a tag stolen from Jenna Moreci, which was in turn stolen from Emma Fink, both of which are author-tubers. Because Halloween is upon us, it’s only right that I answer these questions about Beautiful Monster with creature themes attached to each question. And just for the sake of keeping things updated, I will not be referring to the first draft version of Beautiful Monster that’s already online. To put it as nicely as I possibly can, the first draft of my baby is a drive-by abortion. Windham comes off as a whiny emo teenager, Tarja is manipulative as hell, and the evil characters have no reason for being evil. I have a much better version of Beautiful Monster all planned out and I will be referring to that as well as Savage Beatings, the prequel exclusive to the Still Standing anti-bullying anthology. So…here goes nothing!


1. Ghost: Have you ever originally put a character/scene/theme in the book and then later taken it out?

I’ll eventually have to do that with the mushroom scene in the original. After some deliberation with the lovely Marie Krepps, it turns out people who eat psychedelic mushrooms don’t act anywhere near as crazy as Windham did. To put it as gently as I can, Windham was a fucking fruitcake with the way he flapped his arms, laughed like a maniac, and danced around like a ballerina, all while hallucinating. This time around, he’ll have to resort to medicinal leaves designed to relax his mind. Maybe he’ll have a conversation with Mageta the lion god, but he definitely won’t turn into a basket case.

2. Bat: Most misunderstood character in your WIP?

I’d have to go with Windham Xavier. Even though he was raised in a liberal environment where emotions are openly celebrated, he keeps a lot of his troubles on the inside. He’ll keep even more to himself after he eventually flees from Shelly’s castle. Bringing up torturous memories is a death sentence for anybody with PTSD, especially if that mental condition was caused by being repeatedly raped for a week straight. I’ve even flirted with the idea of giving Windham Stockholm Syndrome once I write out the third draft, but nothing is set in stone yet.

3. Jack-O-Lantern: What’s your most common source of inspiration to write?

For Beautiful Monster specifically, I have three different sources of inspiration. The first is an episode of the 1990’s horror TV show Millennium entitled “A Room with No View”. That episode explores the idea of beautiful women kidnapping men and seducing them into danger. That woman was the demonic shape-shifter Lucy Butler and my character Shelly Atwood is basically a bootleg of her. As for the title of my story, that came from an Otherwise song called “Beautiful Monster”, which talks about being in an abusive relationship and not having the courage to leave. The third source of inspiration came to me during a Pop Evil concert back in February of 2018. Black Map opened for them and during their set, a cute stocky black woman tried dancing with me and I was too nervous to engage her. I eventually walked away from her when she shoved another concertgoer with her elbow. Needless to say, she embarrassed the shit out of me and I was angry about it for the next two days. Three sources of inspiration for one novel. There you have it!

4. Zombie: Preferred form of writerly fuel? Coffee, tea, etc.

Since I can’t have caffeine due to my schizophrenia and coffee tastes like shit, I’m going with Well-Rested Herbal Tea from Trader Joe’s. I like my tea ice cold and unsweetened. Plus, this particular brand of tea is peppermint-flavored. I can’t say I’ve ever fallen asleep because of drinking this tea, but I like it nonetheless. It’s satisfying to drink and it’s good for me.

5. Vampire: Cheesiest trope that made it into your novel?

The romance between Windham and Tarja would qualify, although in the third draft, they’re going to take things slowly. Windham was just raped for a whole week, so romance is not on his list of top priorities. He also doesn’t want to be touched by anybody. This time around, I’m going to have Tarja respect his boundaries instead of being nosy and manipulative. They can bond over other things aside from sexual attraction. They both love animals. They both love art. They’re both politically liberal. They both want to retire from Shadow Asylum someday. And best of all, they both are good enough fighters to have each other’s backs during the worst of times.

6. Spider: What’s a character in your WIP that’s fine from afar, but you would NOT want to interact with if they ever got close?

This one’s a no-brainer: Shelly Atwood. She constantly looks like sex on a stick and that’s part of the reason she’s so successful at luring slaves into captivity. But make no mistake about it: she’s a businesswoman and a politician above all else. She doesn’t love you. She wants to make money off of you and she does that by selling you to horny clients. Sex slavery is her queendom’s national product. Some countries have tourism. Others have crops. She has fuckery.

7. Frankenstein’s Monster: Ever combined two characters into one/split one character into two?

The closest example I can come up with is the mercenary twin brothers Christian and Kody Savage. Aside from their facial tattoos, there’s not a whole lot of distinction between them. They’re both silent. They’re both brutal in combat. They drool and groan like wild animals. Basically, they’re not the kind of people you want to fuck with. In fact, if they do come up to you, run as fast as you fucking can!

8. Skeleton: Best tips for adding in character baggage without info-dumping?

Although I’m not an expert in this particular topic, what I like to do is use flashbacks. The original version of Beautiful Monster utilizes this technique for the first ten chapters as the story bounces between Windham’s captivity and him traveling with Tarja back to Shadow Asylum headquarters. I’m not so sure I can get away with that in the new version of the story, but for what it’s worth, I’d do it if the opportunity presented itself again.

9. Cat: What’s a polarizing writing/bookish opinion that you have?

Head-hopping is perfectly acceptable. I know it’s considered a literary sin, but if movies and TV shows can get away with it, authors should too. I didn’t hear any complaints during that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine and Keith Hernandez were having inner thoughts together after their date. In fact, the two of them kiss and Elaine thinks, “Who does this guy think he is?” and Keith thinks, “I’m Keith Hernandez.” Then again, Seinfeld might not be the best example due to its status as a sitcom. I know Carl Hiaasen head-hops and he’s one of my strongest influences.

10. Demon: Most frequent writing distraction?

Sleepiness brought on by a combination of mental illness, being overweight, and having sleep apnea. When I’m feeling too sleepy, I can’t concentrate and therefore will put out a shitty product. You guys deserve better than a shitty product despite the fact that all first drafts are shitty by their very nature. Imagine if I wrote Beautiful Monster with a constantly tired mind. It would go from being a drive-by abortion to a…uh…what’s worse than a drive-by abortion? Anybody? Help me out here.


That’s all I’ve got for you today. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!


***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Something about the way that she makes me hate myself. I could run away, but I don’t want no one else. Something about the way that she tears me up inside. Is it wrong that I love it when I know she’ll bleed me dry? So say what you want. It’s already done. It’s Russian Roulette and love is the gun. You don’t know her, you don’t know her like I do. Looking like an angel so divine, but you can see the devil in those eyes. She’s a monster by my side, baby. She’s taking me six feet down tonight, ‘cause dancing with the devil gets me high. She’s a monster. My beautiful monster. I don’t want to be saved.”

-Otherwise singing “Beautiful Monster”-

Written Implications: Occupy Wrestling

***WRITTEN IMPLICATIONS: OCCUPY WRESTLING***

An authortube meme stolen from Kelly Damon a.k.a. Rainbow Skychild: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CK1AV...

As Kelly (no relation to me) says in the video, this meme is geared towards writers of fantasy and sci-fi since the boundaries for real world scenarios are already set. Well, Occupy Wrestling is an urban fantasy, but it still operates on its own implications, much like pro-wrestling does in the real world.

Occupy Wrestling tells the story of a heated rivalry between blue-collar underdog Mitch McLeod and his bitter billionaire boss Keegan Day. It takes Mitch forever to get a World Championship opportunity and when he finally does, he accidentally kills his opponent. And yet it’s Keegan who ends up behind bars because of his shady dealings with bookies and even the IRS. Everything should be happy in the world of pro-wrestling, right? Wrong! Keegan rolls out a brand new wrestling roster filled with magical monsters and vicious creatures. They’ve got claws, muscles, fangs, fur, and nasty attitudes. They all want what Mitch has: the KDW World Championship. Maybe they want even more than that: his life!

First implication: much like in the real world, the top one-percent is never held accountable. Oh sure, Keegan gets put in a minimum security prison, but what does that really solve? Nothing. He’s still all powerful. He still has demons and monsters at his disposal. He can still make Mitch McLeod’s life a living hell. Keegan could walk down Fifth Avenue, shoot somebody, and not a goddamn thing would happen to him. Sound familiar?

Second implication: Mitch McLeod is a Gary-Stu for a reason and it has nothing to do with me babying him. It has everything to do with him being overprotective of his girlfriend Debra Winter. Debra wants to be a badass wrestler just like her boyfriend, but Mitch refuses to train her out of fear that she’ll be put in sexually exploitative matches. This novella was written before the Women’s Evolution in WWE, so Mitch has a least a little bit of truth in his argument.

Third Implication: Debra Winter will always be in danger as long as she doesn’t know how to fight. It doesn’t matter if she’s with Mitch or in a safe house somewhere: Keegan’s forces of evil will always find her, probably because their animal instincts. For fuck’s sake, Mitch, just train her already! Quit being a goddamn superhero and swallow your fucking pride!

Fourth Implication: the police are largely useless in this novella for a number of reasons. One, they’re being paid off by Keegan Day. Two, some of them just don’t care enough. Three, those that do care are vastly outnumbered. And four, nobody believes that Keegan is unleashing monsters upon his roster. Having a useless police force is necessary in pretty much all of my novels, because if they can solve everything, there’s no point in the main character going through a journey of any kind.

Fifth Implication: training for wrestling in Japan is considerably worse than training anywhere else. And yet in the real world, there are wrestlers who would rather train in a brutal Japanese dojo than get anywhere near former WWE trainer Bill DeMott. You know you suck as a trainer when your students would rather get humiliated and beaten by Japanese wrestlers than learn anything from you. That’s like saying, “I’d rather have my dick sawed off than train with Bill DeMott.” Not quite, but close enough.

Final Implication: Pro-wrestling is treated as a legitimate sport in this novella, no different from football, MMA, or basketball. And yet, the same dumb-ass logic still applies and wrestlers can get away with just about anything. And before you pipe up and say that Keegan went to jail, I must remind you that he still controls everything from his comfy cell. He’s about as powerful as a mafia kingpin. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s got monsters and money, two things you need to succeed as a wrestling promoter.

Well, I had lots of fun doing this! And guess what? If you’re an author of fantasy or sci-fi, you can do this too! I won’t tag anybody, but if you want to tag yourself, you’re more than welcome to do so. Let’s have some fun together! Oh, and don’t forget to purchase a copy of Occupy Wrestling at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online retailers (but only if you’re a wrestling fan, which I can’t stress enough, because you might not enjoy or understand it otherwise). I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!


***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

GIRLFRIEND: I’m sorry, Jerry, but I can’t date a man if I don’t respect what he does for a living.

JERRY: You’re a cashier!

-Seinfeld-

Incelbordination, Chapter 20

Oswald Crow hated the man he saw in the mirror. He could forgive the fact that he had to stand on a footstool to see that image. He could forgive his own inability to attract women (despite his latest crush being married). He could forgive the idea that he’d caused all of his own worst problems. But the part that really made him stare bullets into the mirror…was his hair and his beard. He stroked his long, greasy locks with so much force that he damned near pulled out the follicles. He gripped his shaggy beard like he was making a fist, as if the thought of punching himself in the face was his greatest idea yet.

“No more…no more of this garbage…” he said with a menacing scowl. He gingerly stepped down from the footstool and put his medical boot back on. Walking had gotten a hell of a lot easier since his (hopefully) final encounter with Antero. He didn’t limp nearly as much and his speed had picked up just a little bit. All that was left was for him to find a better shirt to wear and out on the town he would go. How about Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt with prism, rainbow, and all?

When Oswald went for his trek downtown, he still played it safe and walked at a tender pace. Any residual pain he suffered in his foot was downplayed by one long glance around the misty city. A terrorist attack happened not too long ago and people still carried on with their daily lives. Some still shook with fear. Some still had the color drained from their faces. Some even shed a few tears. But even with all of this latent fear, Valerie’s prophecy came true: life went on. Oswald expected the results to be no different when he entered Two Bits Barber Shop.

But even for customer service standards, the barbers looked somewhat happy, just minding their own business and accumulating a pile of hair on the ground like nothing had happened. The blond lady at the service desk smiled a warm smile down at Oswald and asked, “Can I help you?”

“Do you take walk-ins?”

“We sure do. In fact, we have an opening right now if you’re ready.”

“Cool.”

“Can I get your name, please?”

“Oswald Crow.” He said his name with slight trepidation, as if it was as blasphemous to say as Jesus fucking Christ in a crowded mega church. But it turned out his name held no such weight in this strange barber shop. He wasn’t as big of a villain as he imagined himself to be.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the woman penciled his name in her schedule and never lost her happy expression. “Alright, Oswald, looks like I’ll be taking care of you today. My name is Callie. Do you need any help getting set up?”

“Nah, I’ve got this,” he said as he struggled to get into the barber’s chair. There were a few instances where he slipped and slid, much to the head shaking, hands-on-hips chagrin of Callie. She grabbed him by the hand and lifted him into the chair with minimal effort. “Guess I needed help after all.”

“You really shouldn’t be shy about accepting help from others. It’s what brings us all together,” said Callie while running her fingers through Oswald’s hair. “So what are we doing today?”

The little guy really didn’t think this one through. What would he look good with? A Mohawk? A high fade? A bald head? All he could muster up was a long, “Uh” and this got a giggle from Callie. She said, “How about if I surprise you with something? I think you’re going to like what I have in mind.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Oswald said, “Sure, why not?”

With that Callie got right to work on Oz-Man’s new hairstyle. Lots of spraying, lots of buzz-cutting, and lots of scissor snipping. There was enough hair on the ground to create another Oswald Crow and two Burmese kitties.

“So what do you do for a living?” asked Callie.

“I’m unemployed.”

“Oh,” said Callie with a twisted mouth and shifting eyes. “Okay.”

“I take that back. I’m a sex surrogate at a funeral home.”

The barber made a flat tire noise and shook her head at the joke. “See, that would have been a better response than saying you’re unemployed.”

“But it’s a lie.”

“Of course it was. I don’t think anybody here would willingly believe you get paid to do…that. The important thing here is that you have a sense of humor about it. Employers like that kind of thing. Granted, I wouldn’t use that particular joke, but you get the idea.”

“I don’t even know what I’m going to do once I get out of college.”

“Wait a minute, you’re in college? Why didn’t you say that when I asked you what you did for a living?”

“Because I don’t get paid for it. I’m the one making all the payments here.”

Patting Oz-Man’s shoulders, Callie said, “Listen, you don’t have to get paid in order to call something your profession. It could be something as simple as a hobby like building things or writing stories or carving soap.”

“Or sitting on my ass watching television.”

Callie let out a hearty laugh and struggled to compose herself. “Wow. You are something else, Oswald. On second thought, maybe being your delightful self is just what you need to land a job.”

He smiled, “I’m not as delightful as you think.”

“Oh really? Is that how you scared me off just now?” The little man didn’t have an answer for that except for a small sigh. “The fact that you’re willing to come in here and get a nice haircut shows me you care at least just a little bit what the world thinks of you.”

“Maybe I don’t care enough.”

“That’s something you need to find a balance with. You should care just enough to get your foot in the door and just little enough that you don’t lose yourself along the way. It takes work, but as a college student, you’re more than ready for it. I know it.”

Oswald kept quiet the rest of the time he was getting his haircut. Hating small talk aside, he didn’t want to get pieces of his locks in his mouth. He may have spit out a few strands here and there. But before he knew it, Oswald truly was a new man underneath all of that Wookie fur. The top of his head had short spikes, he had a low fade just underneath, and his beard was just short enough to not resemble an African jungle. The next time he looked in the mirror, he felt less and less like punching himself in the face. He ran his fingers through his remaining hair and said in a soft voice, “I look good.”

“You sure do,” said Callie with her sweet smile. “But we’re not done yet.”

As the barber walked away, a much taller presence in the form of a longhaired young man approached Oswald from the rear. At first the little guy swallowed a lump in his throat, thinking this guy was going to crush him with his massive hands. But instead the man with Damian on his nametag gently squeezed the tension out of Oswald’s shoulders and scalp. All the injuries, the bruises, and the cuts he received throughout his journey melted away from him like butter on popcorn. He could have transformed into a puddle right there on the chair.

No small talk, no frills, no gimmicks of any kind, just a gentle massage Oswald never knew he needed until then. He closed his eyes and allowed his healing mind to take him to faraway places. Tingles washed over his upper body. And then Damian grabbed little Oz-Man by the jaw and quickly twisted his neck in both directions. The crunching and popping noises echoed throughout the barbershop and managed to get a few stares from the customers. Oswald shook his jowls at the one second pain, but immediately relaxed again. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a massage and an adjustment.”

A smile etched on Damian’s pale face. “You should get them more often. It’s not unheard of for customers to come in here just for the massage.”

“Really?” Damian nodded. It took every ounce of strength in Oz-Man’s body (and assistance from Damian) to help himself down. He thought this could be a new treatment option for his mental illnesses, even if it only provided temporary relief. Maybe if he did it long enough…

He snapped back to reality when Callie ran his bill up for him. “That’ll be twenty dollars even.” Oswald pulled his wallet out and gave his barber and massage therapist an extra fifteen, but Callie waved the overpayment away. “We don’t accept tips here. We’re unionized, so we get paid well.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding. Just the twenty dollars will do. Plus, you’re going to need that extra fifteen dollars for Jessica Bradley’s roses.”

Oswald’s eyes widened. She knew about that? His name was public knowledge and she didn’t let on the entire time? Was he really a big celebrity? Or a social pariah? What the hell was going on?

“Have a nice day!” said Callie as she and Damian waved at him with smiles on their faces. Oswald left the twenty dollar bill on the counter and hightailed it out of there.