Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 53
October 18, 2018
Incelbordination, Chapter 19
The stitches on Oswald’s foot were healing quite nicely. Not as much redness, not nearly as swollen as it once was, the pain was minimal at worst, yet he still felt the need to keep his medical boot on for a few more weeks. Plus, it felt weird staring at his own foot considering he was once caught staring at Valerie’s feet mid-lecture.
The little guy, while sitting on his bed, put the boot back on and hobbled toward his computer desk. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to look up first. Were his grades coming in yet? Did he need information about Jessica Bradley’s funeral (if she had one at all)? Did he need to spend some quality time on Porn Hub? Oswald’s mind raced so much in those few moments that he couldn’t come up with a decent answer. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he asked.
While he couldn’t solve that Sherlock Holmes-esque mystery, his eyebrows furrowed and his fingers drummed against the desk as he got an idea of what he wanted. With Antero supposedly behind bars, was Incelbordination still a thing? Did most of their members get arrested too? Was there any truth in cutting off the head of the viper or did it just create a power vacuum for even more rabid members to fight over? Oswald typed Incelbordination in a Google search engine and his eyes widened at what he saw.
Any legitimate news stories covering this terrorist attack were overshadowed by jilted male virgins voicing their displeasure at Antero’s arrest. Some of these young men called for “The blood of Chads and Stacys everywhere” and how “A few dead college bitches aren’t enough!” Some of these dorks hailed Antero Magnus as a greater civil rights hero than the likes of Martin Luther King, Jr., Thurgood Marshall, and Ruth Bader Ginsberg. One kid suggested building a bronze statue of Antero raping a cheerleader and erecting it downtown for everyone to see.
Bile rose in Oswald’s throat, but he knew puking all over his computer would dislocate his ribs even further. His mind swirled with questions asking over and over again what the fuck was wrong with these people. His head lightened like a balloon ready to pop. He was so dizzy that he failed to notice a familiar feminine voice calling his name until the last second.
He jumped around in his chair and saw Nikita standing in his doorway with a few bags of pot in tow. Her face seemed to be lacking in color as well as she struggled to say, “I refilled your medication for you, Oswald.”
“Uh…thanks…I, uh…really appreciate that,” said the dwarf while shifting his eyes. Nikita’s own eyes widened as she tilted her head to get a better view of Oswald’s computer screen. “What? What is it?” Suddenly realizing why she gasped and held her mouth shut, he scrambled to find an explanation. “It’s not what you think, Nikita! You have to believe me!”
Dropping the bags of marijuana on the floor, Nikita stammered, “You’re sick. You’re fucking sick.” She attempted to storm out of the building, but Oswald hobbled after her while pleading with her to wait and allow him to explain.
The mini-chase led the two of them to the sidewalk where Nikita sat on the curb trying to collect her tears. Oswald stopped for a moment to let his foot stitches heal, but it was really to take in the stomach-knotting sight of this beautiful lady crying before him. No, not just any beautiful lady. It was the woman he had a crush on for so long and now he offended her by virtue of his internet history.
He limped towards her and attempted to put a hand on her shoulder only to have it swatted away. “No! Don’t touch me, Oswald,” Nikita cried. Silence befell both of them for several heart-wrenchingly tense seconds. Time itself stood still, not unlike Oswald, whose rising anxiety prevented him from comforting her. Nikita wiped away more tears and ranted, “You mean to tell me after all of this time and after all the positive messages sent your way that you still feel the need to identify with those…monsters?! Are you that starved for attention?”
Putting his hands up defensively, Oswald calmly said, “Please, let me explain. I wasn’t looking up those threads for the reason that you think. I needed to know if Incelbordination was still active and…as you just saw…” He tucked his head in defeat, not knowing what else to say to her.
Nikita turned her head to face the sullen Oswald and said, “Of course they’re still active. Sure, they have people who hate their guts, but they also have supporters. Lots of them. There are people who support Al Queda. There are people who support Nazis and the KKK and the Westboro Baptist Church. You’re not going to change everybody’s mind just because one of their prominent figures is behind bars.” She stood up and held Oswald’s hands in her own. “These zealots are stuck in their ways, Oswald. You don’t want to get involved with people like that. If anything, they’re even more motivated now that they have a hero to look up to.”
“Nikita…you have to believe me. I don’t want to be a part of Incelbordination. That’s not who I am. I may be lonely and depressed all the time, but it would never occur to me to take the measures Antero has. In fact…I think that man is a fucking scumbag…He hurt me just as much as he hurt everyone else. That’s why I’m banged up right now. I don’t want to join him. I want to bury him.”
In the midst of this handholding, Oswald hotly debated in his own mind whether that moment was the right time to make his move. He could end his loneliness forever by taking a chance. She couldn’t be any more hurt than she was at that moment. What was a little hand petting going to do? He did just that…and Nikita jerked her hands away and asked, “What are you doing?”
Oswald once again tucked his head in shame and profusely apologized for his come-on. His heart thudded in agony and all he wanted to do was retreat back into his dorm and sleep off the rest of the day. But just as he turned around, Nikita placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I can’t do it, Oswald. I’m married.”
“…What? You’ve been…I mean…you’re not wearing a ring.”
Nikita knelt down to Oswald’s level and explained, “I know. I had to sell it in order to pay for tuition. My husband had to sell his ring too for his own expenses. I’m not just telling you these things to try and get away from you. If I’m going to believe you’re not an incel terrorist looking for someone to murder, then you need to believe that I’m happily married to the man I love. And of course, I wouldn’t be married to him if I didn’t trust him completely. You and I? We need to trust each other too. I’m not making excuses, Oswald.”
The dwarf face-palmed and shook his head before taking a seat on the curb. The silence between the two friends was heavy enough to crunch Oswald’s ribcage all over again, as if his broken heart didn’t do enough damage in that regard. “So what’s his name?” he finally asked.
“His name is Bill. He goes to school here. He’s a student athlete.”
“Figures.”
Hands on her hips and eyebrows downward, she asked, “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”
Oswald sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that…whenever I hear the words student athlete, I can’t help but think of guys like Wacey Judge. I don’t have the best track record for getting along with them seeing as how…I was…” He wiped away a singular tear. “I was almost killed in high school.”
Her face softening, Nikita placed her hands on Oswald’s shoulders and said, “Bill is not a stereotypical jock, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. You’d like him too. He is definitely not a Chad, so don’t even go there.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Nikita sighed. “Listen, I just came by here to drop off your medicine. I have to get going now. Bill’s picking me up for a dinner date in half an hour. If you’re ever feeling lonely or you need a friend to talk to…don’t ever go back to those incel message boards.”
“Wouldn’t dream of that either.”
Nikita patted Oswald on the head and said her goodbyes before turning heel and walking away. The dwarf continued sitting on the curb even though the couch in his dorm room was a more comfortable option. How could he get up with his heavy heart weighing him down? How could he send another storm of pain through his body just to retreat into his personal space?
Instead he just buried his face in his knees and allowed his tears to drop like summer rain. He didn’t give a damn if anybody was watching. Chances were good they didn’t care if he got his heart broken anyways. Piling that on top of Jessica’s death, Antero’s transgressions, and his own battle-scarred body and he could have just slept on the sidewalk all he wanted. Concrete? A mattress? What was the fucking difference when he felt bad either way?
The little guy, while sitting on his bed, put the boot back on and hobbled toward his computer desk. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to look up first. Were his grades coming in yet? Did he need information about Jessica Bradley’s funeral (if she had one at all)? Did he need to spend some quality time on Porn Hub? Oswald’s mind raced so much in those few moments that he couldn’t come up with a decent answer. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he asked.
While he couldn’t solve that Sherlock Holmes-esque mystery, his eyebrows furrowed and his fingers drummed against the desk as he got an idea of what he wanted. With Antero supposedly behind bars, was Incelbordination still a thing? Did most of their members get arrested too? Was there any truth in cutting off the head of the viper or did it just create a power vacuum for even more rabid members to fight over? Oswald typed Incelbordination in a Google search engine and his eyes widened at what he saw.
Any legitimate news stories covering this terrorist attack were overshadowed by jilted male virgins voicing their displeasure at Antero’s arrest. Some of these young men called for “The blood of Chads and Stacys everywhere” and how “A few dead college bitches aren’t enough!” Some of these dorks hailed Antero Magnus as a greater civil rights hero than the likes of Martin Luther King, Jr., Thurgood Marshall, and Ruth Bader Ginsberg. One kid suggested building a bronze statue of Antero raping a cheerleader and erecting it downtown for everyone to see.
Bile rose in Oswald’s throat, but he knew puking all over his computer would dislocate his ribs even further. His mind swirled with questions asking over and over again what the fuck was wrong with these people. His head lightened like a balloon ready to pop. He was so dizzy that he failed to notice a familiar feminine voice calling his name until the last second.
He jumped around in his chair and saw Nikita standing in his doorway with a few bags of pot in tow. Her face seemed to be lacking in color as well as she struggled to say, “I refilled your medication for you, Oswald.”
“Uh…thanks…I, uh…really appreciate that,” said the dwarf while shifting his eyes. Nikita’s own eyes widened as she tilted her head to get a better view of Oswald’s computer screen. “What? What is it?” Suddenly realizing why she gasped and held her mouth shut, he scrambled to find an explanation. “It’s not what you think, Nikita! You have to believe me!”
Dropping the bags of marijuana on the floor, Nikita stammered, “You’re sick. You’re fucking sick.” She attempted to storm out of the building, but Oswald hobbled after her while pleading with her to wait and allow him to explain.
The mini-chase led the two of them to the sidewalk where Nikita sat on the curb trying to collect her tears. Oswald stopped for a moment to let his foot stitches heal, but it was really to take in the stomach-knotting sight of this beautiful lady crying before him. No, not just any beautiful lady. It was the woman he had a crush on for so long and now he offended her by virtue of his internet history.
He limped towards her and attempted to put a hand on her shoulder only to have it swatted away. “No! Don’t touch me, Oswald,” Nikita cried. Silence befell both of them for several heart-wrenchingly tense seconds. Time itself stood still, not unlike Oswald, whose rising anxiety prevented him from comforting her. Nikita wiped away more tears and ranted, “You mean to tell me after all of this time and after all the positive messages sent your way that you still feel the need to identify with those…monsters?! Are you that starved for attention?”
Putting his hands up defensively, Oswald calmly said, “Please, let me explain. I wasn’t looking up those threads for the reason that you think. I needed to know if Incelbordination was still active and…as you just saw…” He tucked his head in defeat, not knowing what else to say to her.
Nikita turned her head to face the sullen Oswald and said, “Of course they’re still active. Sure, they have people who hate their guts, but they also have supporters. Lots of them. There are people who support Al Queda. There are people who support Nazis and the KKK and the Westboro Baptist Church. You’re not going to change everybody’s mind just because one of their prominent figures is behind bars.” She stood up and held Oswald’s hands in her own. “These zealots are stuck in their ways, Oswald. You don’t want to get involved with people like that. If anything, they’re even more motivated now that they have a hero to look up to.”
“Nikita…you have to believe me. I don’t want to be a part of Incelbordination. That’s not who I am. I may be lonely and depressed all the time, but it would never occur to me to take the measures Antero has. In fact…I think that man is a fucking scumbag…He hurt me just as much as he hurt everyone else. That’s why I’m banged up right now. I don’t want to join him. I want to bury him.”
In the midst of this handholding, Oswald hotly debated in his own mind whether that moment was the right time to make his move. He could end his loneliness forever by taking a chance. She couldn’t be any more hurt than she was at that moment. What was a little hand petting going to do? He did just that…and Nikita jerked her hands away and asked, “What are you doing?”
Oswald once again tucked his head in shame and profusely apologized for his come-on. His heart thudded in agony and all he wanted to do was retreat back into his dorm and sleep off the rest of the day. But just as he turned around, Nikita placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I can’t do it, Oswald. I’m married.”
“…What? You’ve been…I mean…you’re not wearing a ring.”
Nikita knelt down to Oswald’s level and explained, “I know. I had to sell it in order to pay for tuition. My husband had to sell his ring too for his own expenses. I’m not just telling you these things to try and get away from you. If I’m going to believe you’re not an incel terrorist looking for someone to murder, then you need to believe that I’m happily married to the man I love. And of course, I wouldn’t be married to him if I didn’t trust him completely. You and I? We need to trust each other too. I’m not making excuses, Oswald.”
The dwarf face-palmed and shook his head before taking a seat on the curb. The silence between the two friends was heavy enough to crunch Oswald’s ribcage all over again, as if his broken heart didn’t do enough damage in that regard. “So what’s his name?” he finally asked.
“His name is Bill. He goes to school here. He’s a student athlete.”
“Figures.”
Hands on her hips and eyebrows downward, she asked, “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”
Oswald sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that…whenever I hear the words student athlete, I can’t help but think of guys like Wacey Judge. I don’t have the best track record for getting along with them seeing as how…I was…” He wiped away a singular tear. “I was almost killed in high school.”
Her face softening, Nikita placed her hands on Oswald’s shoulders and said, “Bill is not a stereotypical jock, if that’s what you’re asking. He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. You’d like him too. He is definitely not a Chad, so don’t even go there.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Nikita sighed. “Listen, I just came by here to drop off your medicine. I have to get going now. Bill’s picking me up for a dinner date in half an hour. If you’re ever feeling lonely or you need a friend to talk to…don’t ever go back to those incel message boards.”
“Wouldn’t dream of that either.”
Nikita patted Oswald on the head and said her goodbyes before turning heel and walking away. The dwarf continued sitting on the curb even though the couch in his dorm room was a more comfortable option. How could he get up with his heavy heart weighing him down? How could he send another storm of pain through his body just to retreat into his personal space?
Instead he just buried his face in his knees and allowed his tears to drop like summer rain. He didn’t give a damn if anybody was watching. Chances were good they didn’t care if he got his heart broken anyways. Piling that on top of Jessica’s death, Antero’s transgressions, and his own battle-scarred body and he could have just slept on the sidewalk all he wanted. Concrete? A mattress? What was the fucking difference when he felt bad either way?
October 17, 2018
My Child
VERSE 1
If I allowed you to be born in this world
Your hate for me would come full circle
I’d give you the genes, the mental disease
You would murder yourself to be set free
Ripping the stitches after life-saving surgery
Someone stole your soul, an act of burglary
A never-ending cycle of psychological torture
Another week to live is what the doctor orders
VERSE 2
If I allowed you to be born on this earth
You’d be considered a criminal by virtue of birth
Bullied by the worst kinds of scum in school
Fired by the bosses with their autocratic rule
Beaten by the cowards in the dingiest prison
Until darkness becomes your only true vision
I couldn’t put you through any of that shit
Another reason to never have my own kid
BRIDGE
My child, my son, my daughter, my young
Punished for the crime of not holding your tongue
Punished for the crime of not breaking down
Punished for wanting to drown out the sounds
Of the voices telling you you’re not good enough
That surviving this world is for the macho and tough
I can’t raise you in an environment such as this
Time to say goodnight with a forehead kiss
VERSE 3
My only children have fur on their bodies
My only children bark for a piece of salami
My only children meow for a can of tuna fish
My only children drink from a paw print dish
My only children don’t need to go to college
To pay off their debts by emptying their wallets
To answer to the police for doing nothing wrong
Just listen to this purr baby’s mechanical song
If I allowed you to be born in this world
Your hate for me would come full circle
I’d give you the genes, the mental disease
You would murder yourself to be set free
Ripping the stitches after life-saving surgery
Someone stole your soul, an act of burglary
A never-ending cycle of psychological torture
Another week to live is what the doctor orders
VERSE 2
If I allowed you to be born on this earth
You’d be considered a criminal by virtue of birth
Bullied by the worst kinds of scum in school
Fired by the bosses with their autocratic rule
Beaten by the cowards in the dingiest prison
Until darkness becomes your only true vision
I couldn’t put you through any of that shit
Another reason to never have my own kid
BRIDGE
My child, my son, my daughter, my young
Punished for the crime of not holding your tongue
Punished for the crime of not breaking down
Punished for wanting to drown out the sounds
Of the voices telling you you’re not good enough
That surviving this world is for the macho and tough
I can’t raise you in an environment such as this
Time to say goodnight with a forehead kiss
VERSE 3
My only children have fur on their bodies
My only children bark for a piece of salami
My only children meow for a can of tuna fish
My only children drink from a paw print dish
My only children don’t need to go to college
To pay off their debts by emptying their wallets
To answer to the police for doing nothing wrong
Just listen to this purr baby’s mechanical song
October 14, 2018
Middle Ground Between Perfect and Despicable
***MIDDLE GROUND BETWEEN PERFECT AND DESPICABLE***
The year 2014 was an…interesting one for me in terms of my writing career, but what it all boiled down to was two characters I created, both from separate stories. And now I feel like Agent Smith from The Matrix when he tells the main character that there’s a difference between Thomas Anderson and Neo. But instead of taking your mouths away, I actually want some input from my readership to see if I’m not alone in this. Being stuck on an island is no fun at all.
One of these two characters was Sitka the Nose Biter, the titular witch kitty from Poison Tongue Tales. Her positive traits were her cuteness and magical powers while her negative ones were her grumpiness and inability to trust even the kindest souls. She ended up becoming one of my most popular characters.
The other character could not be less relatable. Her name was Danielle Keyes and she was Terrance Coffey’s roommate in the American Darkness short story Wishes in the Night. Danielle’s gimmick was that of a Nightwish fan-girl who had a shrine of their merchandise and photographs in her bedroom while their music was playing too loudly for Terrance’s comfort. Danielle’s characterization went over like a fart in church, meaning none of my audience members cared about her.
To channel Agent Smith once again, “One of these lives has a future, the other does not.”
It was during 2014 that I struggled the most with creating relatable and believable characters and to some extent I still do struggle in today’s world. This whole time I’ve been rolling the dice with my characters and hoping I didn’t roll snake eyes. In other words, I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. My characters were either too perfect or too despicable with very little middle ground between the two extremes.
I recently got some advice on this topic from my lovely beta reader Ashley Uzzell and she said that good characters should have a mixture of positive and negative traits just like any other human being in the real world. Fair enough. But then the question becomes, what positive and negative traits will keep my readers’ attention and which ones will turn them away?
Let’s say I had a character who was generous with his charity donations, but also ate with his mouth open during banquets. Let’s say I had another character who was a good teacher, but also hated furry animals. Or another character who was a top-notch athlete in school, but had a constant case of flatulence. Do any of these characteristics sound appealing right now? Not to me, they don’t.
And then I figured, maybe the traits themselves should be relatable. Okay, I can do that. How about a student who is good at math, but suffers from depression? Or a politician who is good with words, but has panic attacks during heated debates? Or a dancer who is athletic as hell, but can’t reach her full potential because she smokes cigarettes? I like these characters a lot more! Maybe I’ve answered my own questions after all.
You can use your own flaws and perfections when creating a character too, which is why “write what you know” gets thrown around as liberally as it does. Granted, self-inserting isn’t a desirable technique since it makes the author look egotistical, but you can throw some of your own traits in with ones that are already there. Scott George, the lead character from my Floydian high school drama Silent Warrior, is my best example of this. He’s mentally ill, socially awkward, and introverted as hell. I’m sure most of us can relate to these things, and yet the flaws work perfectly within the narrative…or so I’m told. I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything; I’m just looking for examples, that’s all.
But just because I’ve gotten my shit together with flaws and perfections, it doesn’t mean I don’t still roll the dice whenever I create characters for the public. Not everybody is going to be a winner. But then again, that’s why we have the editing and beta reading processes. It doesn’t have to be perfect the first time around. If it takes forever, edit forever. While I was writing for the Still Standing anthology, I had Aurora Styles (one of the authors) suggest that I give Llewellyn Xavier (formerly known as Michelle) a hobby of some kind to round her out. When Windham asks her how her chess match went, she dangled a king piece in his face and smiled as she said, “How do you think?” Teamwork, people! Teamwork!
It takes a village to write a novel…or a short story…or a poem. Those villagers include your beta readers, editors, and your own characters. You can roll the dice all you want with your characters, but eventually you’ll have to take the sleazy casino route and load those dice with little weights. Only then can you rake in the chips and cash them in for a big payday. Actually, being an indie writer isn’t a lucrative business, but there are other ways in which you will feel satisfied with yourself. If you can make just one person happy with your writing, you’ve done a great job. Even if the story is sad as hell and a major tearjerker, you will have affected that one person on a deep level and that’s the most satisfying part of the job, in my opinion. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***OZZY UPDATE***
Our little gray and white sweetheart is doing much better today than he was a few days ago. We still have to keep him isolated and medicated (which is coincidentally the name of a Seether album from 2014), but sure enough, he’s on the road to recovery. His wound doesn’t look as nasty as it once did and medicating him for it has been easy-breezy-lemon-squeezy. He’s going to make it! I know he will!
The year 2014 was an…interesting one for me in terms of my writing career, but what it all boiled down to was two characters I created, both from separate stories. And now I feel like Agent Smith from The Matrix when he tells the main character that there’s a difference between Thomas Anderson and Neo. But instead of taking your mouths away, I actually want some input from my readership to see if I’m not alone in this. Being stuck on an island is no fun at all.
One of these two characters was Sitka the Nose Biter, the titular witch kitty from Poison Tongue Tales. Her positive traits were her cuteness and magical powers while her negative ones were her grumpiness and inability to trust even the kindest souls. She ended up becoming one of my most popular characters.
The other character could not be less relatable. Her name was Danielle Keyes and she was Terrance Coffey’s roommate in the American Darkness short story Wishes in the Night. Danielle’s gimmick was that of a Nightwish fan-girl who had a shrine of their merchandise and photographs in her bedroom while their music was playing too loudly for Terrance’s comfort. Danielle’s characterization went over like a fart in church, meaning none of my audience members cared about her.
To channel Agent Smith once again, “One of these lives has a future, the other does not.”
It was during 2014 that I struggled the most with creating relatable and believable characters and to some extent I still do struggle in today’s world. This whole time I’ve been rolling the dice with my characters and hoping I didn’t roll snake eyes. In other words, I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. My characters were either too perfect or too despicable with very little middle ground between the two extremes.
I recently got some advice on this topic from my lovely beta reader Ashley Uzzell and she said that good characters should have a mixture of positive and negative traits just like any other human being in the real world. Fair enough. But then the question becomes, what positive and negative traits will keep my readers’ attention and which ones will turn them away?
Let’s say I had a character who was generous with his charity donations, but also ate with his mouth open during banquets. Let’s say I had another character who was a good teacher, but also hated furry animals. Or another character who was a top-notch athlete in school, but had a constant case of flatulence. Do any of these characteristics sound appealing right now? Not to me, they don’t.
And then I figured, maybe the traits themselves should be relatable. Okay, I can do that. How about a student who is good at math, but suffers from depression? Or a politician who is good with words, but has panic attacks during heated debates? Or a dancer who is athletic as hell, but can’t reach her full potential because she smokes cigarettes? I like these characters a lot more! Maybe I’ve answered my own questions after all.
You can use your own flaws and perfections when creating a character too, which is why “write what you know” gets thrown around as liberally as it does. Granted, self-inserting isn’t a desirable technique since it makes the author look egotistical, but you can throw some of your own traits in with ones that are already there. Scott George, the lead character from my Floydian high school drama Silent Warrior, is my best example of this. He’s mentally ill, socially awkward, and introverted as hell. I’m sure most of us can relate to these things, and yet the flaws work perfectly within the narrative…or so I’m told. I’m not trying to toot my own horn or anything; I’m just looking for examples, that’s all.
But just because I’ve gotten my shit together with flaws and perfections, it doesn’t mean I don’t still roll the dice whenever I create characters for the public. Not everybody is going to be a winner. But then again, that’s why we have the editing and beta reading processes. It doesn’t have to be perfect the first time around. If it takes forever, edit forever. While I was writing for the Still Standing anthology, I had Aurora Styles (one of the authors) suggest that I give Llewellyn Xavier (formerly known as Michelle) a hobby of some kind to round her out. When Windham asks her how her chess match went, she dangled a king piece in his face and smiled as she said, “How do you think?” Teamwork, people! Teamwork!
It takes a village to write a novel…or a short story…or a poem. Those villagers include your beta readers, editors, and your own characters. You can roll the dice all you want with your characters, but eventually you’ll have to take the sleazy casino route and load those dice with little weights. Only then can you rake in the chips and cash them in for a big payday. Actually, being an indie writer isn’t a lucrative business, but there are other ways in which you will feel satisfied with yourself. If you can make just one person happy with your writing, you’ve done a great job. Even if the story is sad as hell and a major tearjerker, you will have affected that one person on a deep level and that’s the most satisfying part of the job, in my opinion. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***OZZY UPDATE***
Our little gray and white sweetheart is doing much better today than he was a few days ago. We still have to keep him isolated and medicated (which is coincidentally the name of a Seether album from 2014), but sure enough, he’s on the road to recovery. His wound doesn’t look as nasty as it once did and medicating him for it has been easy-breezy-lemon-squeezy. He’s going to make it! I know he will!
October 13, 2018
Ozzy
***OZZY***
As someone who was born in the mid-1980’s, I’m chronologically predisposed to sharing details of my life on the internet, especially if they’re going to have even the slightest impact on my creative activities. I don’t expect that this incident will, but it is something to think about for all the times I’ve been too exhausted to work.
Our gray and white kitty Ozzy has a nasty abscess on the side of his face and yesterday it burst open and sprayed blood all over Mom and Dale’s sheets. We don’t know how he got this gash, but we suspect he’s been in a fight with another animal. He loves to go on little adventures outside for long periods of time, so it was bound to happen sooner or later. Mom and Dale are currently vacationing in New Mexico and won’t be back until Thursday night, so it was up to me and James to take care of Ozzy-Pie.
We had the elderly cutie-kitty taken to a 24-hour emergency animal hospital in Silverdale. He cried the entire drive over and we couldn’t blame him. Going to the hospital is no fun for an animal, especially if draining abscesses is on the agenda. The good news is, the doctors were able to clear it out and disinfect it without much incident. The rest is up to me and James.
Ozzy will have to have his wound wiped out regularly, he’ll have to take antibiotic pills covered in Spam, and he’ll have to have liquid painkillers injected into his mouth. So far, so good. He likes the Spam and wasn’t too resistant to the pills or the water that had to be injected afterwards. I haven’t given him his painkillers yet, but I trust that’ll go smoothly too. The treatment will last for a whole week, but I think we’re going to make him a permanent indoor kitty from now on, lest he gets attacked again.
Being a good animal parent to Ozzy and the rest of our fur babies is more important to me right now than getting creative work done. I was frantic the whole time I was preparing to give him his medicine, because I thought it was going to be harder than it needed to be. Turns out it was painless. Just seven more days and he’ll have to go back to the vet for a follow-up. I can do this. Ozzy will get better. I know he will!
If you want to leave your well wishes for our elderly kitty baby, you can do so in the comments section. Even though he’s not capable of checking internet posts, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
As someone who was born in the mid-1980’s, I’m chronologically predisposed to sharing details of my life on the internet, especially if they’re going to have even the slightest impact on my creative activities. I don’t expect that this incident will, but it is something to think about for all the times I’ve been too exhausted to work.
Our gray and white kitty Ozzy has a nasty abscess on the side of his face and yesterday it burst open and sprayed blood all over Mom and Dale’s sheets. We don’t know how he got this gash, but we suspect he’s been in a fight with another animal. He loves to go on little adventures outside for long periods of time, so it was bound to happen sooner or later. Mom and Dale are currently vacationing in New Mexico and won’t be back until Thursday night, so it was up to me and James to take care of Ozzy-Pie.
We had the elderly cutie-kitty taken to a 24-hour emergency animal hospital in Silverdale. He cried the entire drive over and we couldn’t blame him. Going to the hospital is no fun for an animal, especially if draining abscesses is on the agenda. The good news is, the doctors were able to clear it out and disinfect it without much incident. The rest is up to me and James.
Ozzy will have to have his wound wiped out regularly, he’ll have to take antibiotic pills covered in Spam, and he’ll have to have liquid painkillers injected into his mouth. So far, so good. He likes the Spam and wasn’t too resistant to the pills or the water that had to be injected afterwards. I haven’t given him his painkillers yet, but I trust that’ll go smoothly too. The treatment will last for a whole week, but I think we’re going to make him a permanent indoor kitty from now on, lest he gets attacked again.
Being a good animal parent to Ozzy and the rest of our fur babies is more important to me right now than getting creative work done. I was frantic the whole time I was preparing to give him his medicine, because I thought it was going to be harder than it needed to be. Turns out it was painless. Just seven more days and he’ll have to go back to the vet for a follow-up. I can do this. Ozzy will get better. I know he will!
If you want to leave your well wishes for our elderly kitty baby, you can do so in the comments section. Even though he’s not capable of checking internet posts, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
October 11, 2018
Incelbordination, Chapter 18
Oswald Crow didn’t sign up for college just so he could sleep through the whole thing. He didn’t lose his parents to a drunk driver pretending to be a born-again Christian so that he could run into another fruit basket with the macho name Antero Magnus. College was supposed to be a learning experience, yet he saw his teachers not as mentors, but as obstacles. Maybe there was some truth to what Valerie Sand had been saying to him this whole time. Maybe she shouldn’t have had a piece of gym equipment named after her. Maybe…just maybe he really was loved in this world.
Rather than reflect on his many nights spent in the hospital (where his toes were surgically reattached and his ribs were held in place with Canisteo tape), Oswald wanted to go right back to work on his homework assignments. No misogynist criminals were going to hinder his process. No lack of marijuana was going to cloud his mind. It was do or die for the dwarf and he wanted to graduate as soon as possible. Summer was almost upon him. He needed to fix that C- paper. With a little more life experience under his belt and some hardcore Googling, his aching fingers danced across the keyboard to produce something he could actually smile about, even if only sadly.
He emailed the corrected paper to Valerie and sat in his computer chair staring at the medical boot on his surgically repaired foot. “Goddamn, that’s going to cost me,” he said. “Where the fuck is all this money supposed to come from?” Even successful authors needed extra employment every now and then. Oswald couldn’t picture himself sweeping popcorn off of movie theater floors or dipping frozen fries in boiling oil. Then again, he knew he had to start somewhere. The bottom of the ladder would be a welcome place if he could ever find it. He had weeks to think about it since graduation was on the horizon.
As Oswald trudged across campus with his medical boot and his cumbersome trench coat, he couldn’t help but notice the ghostly faces of everyone around him. No doubt that trauma was tearing them apart from the inside. “Goddamn you, Antero,” the dwarf said to himself. Even he felt like a wraith haunting the college grounds. One minute he was a hero and the next he was a part of this graveyard-like background. These people couldn’t cheer for him because they didn’t have the psychological energy to. As much as depression tried to tell him otherwise, he wanted to be understanding rather than dismissive of their “ignorance”.
The glass door from Valerie’s classroom was still in shambles, but the inside had improved quite a bit since Oswald was last here playing the role of hero. New desks were brought in. Wheeled chairs from the computer lab were also part of the furniture. There was even one lucky lady who got to sit in a fuzzy recliner chair. That lucky lady was none other than Nikita Johnson, whose black eye healed quite nicely over the past few days. She still had golden patches here and there and she tucked her chin to show her psychological frustration, but she was otherwise okay. Oswald wanted to take a seat next to her and tell her it would be alright, but ultimately left well enough alone when he sat in the back like he always did.
Valerie Sand stood at the head of the classroom also with her chin tucked, but was the only one brave enough to speak first. “Good morning, class. I know I don’t say this often enough, but thank you all for being here today. It’s been a bad few weeks as you can tell from the smashed door and whatnot. Some of our classmates couldn’t make it here today, either because of their traumatic experiences or because they’re no longer among the living. For those of you who were fortunate enough to live through these terrorist attacks, I have three words for you: life goes on.”
She wrote those words on the chalkboard and underlined them for extra emphasis. “It never ceases to amaze me what kinds of events bring people together. It could be music. It could be comedy. It could be theater. But in this case, as sad as it may seem, it took a war to bring us together. It’s because of our collective strength that we can truly say life goes on. We give each other the strength to push forward. We cannot divide each other at a time like this. Yes, Antero Magnus is finally behind bars. Yes, this is the first terrorist attack we’ve had on campus and we were wildly unprepared for it. But life goes on. It went on after 9/11. It went on after the various school shootings that took place around the country. Life goes on because we refuse to let negativity reign supreme. We are here for each other.”
Pointing her finger around the classroom, she said, “Each and every one of you.” She then looked Oswald dead in the eyes, “You included, Mr. Crow…you are all loved. If you have to find that love in the comfort of strangers, so be it. But it is there if you look for it. Help awaits you if you want it. It’s never too late to take care of yourself and each other. Look around you, ladies and gentlemen. These people are your friends. They’re your secondary family. Antero Magnus and the rest of Incelbordination failed to see that and they paid the price for it. Could they have been helped? It’s a debatable point, but I’d like to think we’re all capable of being helped at one point or another. I want to see the good in everyone. I want to believe that Antero wasn’t always a psychotic murderer. Something inside him snapped and he became this monster we know today. Don’t ever stray from the path of love. It’s never worth the pain.”
The entire classroom’s eyes, Valerie’s included, welled up with tears, but no sobbing took place. She thanked her students and they all applauded for her, including Oswald even though he still had sore hands. Making sure his teacher’s words were appreciated was more important than minor physical pain.
Once the clapping died down, Valerie said, “And because life goes on, it just so happens that I have your papers graded. I see a lot of improvements among you, some more than others, but then again, this is not a contest where the best grade wins. All that matters to me is that you’ve learned something from being in my class. I don’t care what grades you get after college is over. I’m more concerned with what kind of people you all will become. And that, my friends, is the biggest improvement of all.”
Oswald couldn’t help but give a sad smile at that sentiment. There was hope for him after all. There was hope for this world. There was hope for the future. The difficulty of believing his elders had finally been lifted from the dwarf’s shoulders. Valerie passed the corrected papers back to all of her students and of course, because Oswald sat in the back, he got his last. His anxiety bubbled up just a little bit, but it was more like a cup of tea rather than a raging lava pit. What he wouldn’t give for a cup of tea right at this moment. Such a relaxing thing to drink on a ghostly day like today. Maybe it would help his mental illnesses if only for a little bit.
The good news for Oswald was that upon receiving his paper, he was no longer a bastardized C- student. Instead that minus sign had a slash through the middle and his sad smile turned into a look of despair. He went from a C- to a C+ after Valerie just gave a speech about how everybody improved so much. Oswald’s inner voices told him to just tear the paper in half and toss it in the garbage, maybe spit some mucous onto it first…or piss on it right in front of the rest of the class.
But he did none of those things because he knew such reactions would prove nothing to a teacher who already made up her mind about him. Oswald felt no need to alienate himself further from his peers, so he quietly tucked the C+ paper into his backpack and maintained a stoic expression. If what Valerie said was true, then the C+ would be nothing compared to the feeling of becoming a new person. But was it true? Did Oswald really learn anything from being wrapped around Antero’s finger this whole time?
While Oswald’s mind didn’t race nearly as hard is it normally did after receiving a bad grade, he did find it hard to concentrate on that day’s lecture. He still didn’t participate in the conversation, but then again, not a lot of students did that day. This wasn’t just candles burning at both ends. This terrorist attack truly did take its toll on the student body. But life goes on as Valerie wisely said. Life goes on…
By the time Oswald could gather his wits together, Valerie was already dismissing her class. One-by-one they filed out of the room, but the dwarf just sat in his desk in silence. The teacher said his name several times, but didn’t get his attention with a sharp tone this time around. Instead she told him, “It’s good to have you back, Mr. Crow. This place isn’t the same without you.”
All the dwarf could do about that was nod like a bobble-head and gingerly leave the classroom. The garbage bin was right there. He could rebel against the system once again if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He walked right passed the teacher and her bin and gazed into the pink clouds, which looked lovely in an environment where the student body were paranoid and peaceful at the same time.
Rather than reflect on his many nights spent in the hospital (where his toes were surgically reattached and his ribs were held in place with Canisteo tape), Oswald wanted to go right back to work on his homework assignments. No misogynist criminals were going to hinder his process. No lack of marijuana was going to cloud his mind. It was do or die for the dwarf and he wanted to graduate as soon as possible. Summer was almost upon him. He needed to fix that C- paper. With a little more life experience under his belt and some hardcore Googling, his aching fingers danced across the keyboard to produce something he could actually smile about, even if only sadly.
He emailed the corrected paper to Valerie and sat in his computer chair staring at the medical boot on his surgically repaired foot. “Goddamn, that’s going to cost me,” he said. “Where the fuck is all this money supposed to come from?” Even successful authors needed extra employment every now and then. Oswald couldn’t picture himself sweeping popcorn off of movie theater floors or dipping frozen fries in boiling oil. Then again, he knew he had to start somewhere. The bottom of the ladder would be a welcome place if he could ever find it. He had weeks to think about it since graduation was on the horizon.
As Oswald trudged across campus with his medical boot and his cumbersome trench coat, he couldn’t help but notice the ghostly faces of everyone around him. No doubt that trauma was tearing them apart from the inside. “Goddamn you, Antero,” the dwarf said to himself. Even he felt like a wraith haunting the college grounds. One minute he was a hero and the next he was a part of this graveyard-like background. These people couldn’t cheer for him because they didn’t have the psychological energy to. As much as depression tried to tell him otherwise, he wanted to be understanding rather than dismissive of their “ignorance”.
The glass door from Valerie’s classroom was still in shambles, but the inside had improved quite a bit since Oswald was last here playing the role of hero. New desks were brought in. Wheeled chairs from the computer lab were also part of the furniture. There was even one lucky lady who got to sit in a fuzzy recliner chair. That lucky lady was none other than Nikita Johnson, whose black eye healed quite nicely over the past few days. She still had golden patches here and there and she tucked her chin to show her psychological frustration, but she was otherwise okay. Oswald wanted to take a seat next to her and tell her it would be alright, but ultimately left well enough alone when he sat in the back like he always did.
Valerie Sand stood at the head of the classroom also with her chin tucked, but was the only one brave enough to speak first. “Good morning, class. I know I don’t say this often enough, but thank you all for being here today. It’s been a bad few weeks as you can tell from the smashed door and whatnot. Some of our classmates couldn’t make it here today, either because of their traumatic experiences or because they’re no longer among the living. For those of you who were fortunate enough to live through these terrorist attacks, I have three words for you: life goes on.”
She wrote those words on the chalkboard and underlined them for extra emphasis. “It never ceases to amaze me what kinds of events bring people together. It could be music. It could be comedy. It could be theater. But in this case, as sad as it may seem, it took a war to bring us together. It’s because of our collective strength that we can truly say life goes on. We give each other the strength to push forward. We cannot divide each other at a time like this. Yes, Antero Magnus is finally behind bars. Yes, this is the first terrorist attack we’ve had on campus and we were wildly unprepared for it. But life goes on. It went on after 9/11. It went on after the various school shootings that took place around the country. Life goes on because we refuse to let negativity reign supreme. We are here for each other.”
Pointing her finger around the classroom, she said, “Each and every one of you.” She then looked Oswald dead in the eyes, “You included, Mr. Crow…you are all loved. If you have to find that love in the comfort of strangers, so be it. But it is there if you look for it. Help awaits you if you want it. It’s never too late to take care of yourself and each other. Look around you, ladies and gentlemen. These people are your friends. They’re your secondary family. Antero Magnus and the rest of Incelbordination failed to see that and they paid the price for it. Could they have been helped? It’s a debatable point, but I’d like to think we’re all capable of being helped at one point or another. I want to see the good in everyone. I want to believe that Antero wasn’t always a psychotic murderer. Something inside him snapped and he became this monster we know today. Don’t ever stray from the path of love. It’s never worth the pain.”
The entire classroom’s eyes, Valerie’s included, welled up with tears, but no sobbing took place. She thanked her students and they all applauded for her, including Oswald even though he still had sore hands. Making sure his teacher’s words were appreciated was more important than minor physical pain.
Once the clapping died down, Valerie said, “And because life goes on, it just so happens that I have your papers graded. I see a lot of improvements among you, some more than others, but then again, this is not a contest where the best grade wins. All that matters to me is that you’ve learned something from being in my class. I don’t care what grades you get after college is over. I’m more concerned with what kind of people you all will become. And that, my friends, is the biggest improvement of all.”
Oswald couldn’t help but give a sad smile at that sentiment. There was hope for him after all. There was hope for this world. There was hope for the future. The difficulty of believing his elders had finally been lifted from the dwarf’s shoulders. Valerie passed the corrected papers back to all of her students and of course, because Oswald sat in the back, he got his last. His anxiety bubbled up just a little bit, but it was more like a cup of tea rather than a raging lava pit. What he wouldn’t give for a cup of tea right at this moment. Such a relaxing thing to drink on a ghostly day like today. Maybe it would help his mental illnesses if only for a little bit.
The good news for Oswald was that upon receiving his paper, he was no longer a bastardized C- student. Instead that minus sign had a slash through the middle and his sad smile turned into a look of despair. He went from a C- to a C+ after Valerie just gave a speech about how everybody improved so much. Oswald’s inner voices told him to just tear the paper in half and toss it in the garbage, maybe spit some mucous onto it first…or piss on it right in front of the rest of the class.
But he did none of those things because he knew such reactions would prove nothing to a teacher who already made up her mind about him. Oswald felt no need to alienate himself further from his peers, so he quietly tucked the C+ paper into his backpack and maintained a stoic expression. If what Valerie said was true, then the C+ would be nothing compared to the feeling of becoming a new person. But was it true? Did Oswald really learn anything from being wrapped around Antero’s finger this whole time?
While Oswald’s mind didn’t race nearly as hard is it normally did after receiving a bad grade, he did find it hard to concentrate on that day’s lecture. He still didn’t participate in the conversation, but then again, not a lot of students did that day. This wasn’t just candles burning at both ends. This terrorist attack truly did take its toll on the student body. But life goes on as Valerie wisely said. Life goes on…
By the time Oswald could gather his wits together, Valerie was already dismissing her class. One-by-one they filed out of the room, but the dwarf just sat in his desk in silence. The teacher said his name several times, but didn’t get his attention with a sharp tone this time around. Instead she told him, “It’s good to have you back, Mr. Crow. This place isn’t the same without you.”
All the dwarf could do about that was nod like a bobble-head and gingerly leave the classroom. The garbage bin was right there. He could rebel against the system once again if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He walked right passed the teacher and her bin and gazed into the pink clouds, which looked lovely in an environment where the student body were paranoid and peaceful at the same time.
Let Them Cry
VERSE 1
There’s always one asshole out of the bunch
Who wants to eat your self-esteem for lunch
He doesn’t like the way you dress
He wouldn’t hate your ass any less
He doesn’t like the way you look
Punishes you for the chance you took
He can’t stand the fact that you’re even alive
He has the maturity of someone less than five
CHORUS
Let them cry! Let them cry!
For you are many and will never die!
Let them cry! Let them cry!
Until their eyeballs are fucking dry!
VERSE 2
Some people hate everything on the planet
Calling everybody “freaks” and “faggots”
Some people don’t know what happiness is
Some people have the mental age of six
CHORUS
Let them cry! Let them cry!
For you are many and will never die!
Let them cry! Let them cry!
Until their eyeballs are fucking dry!
BRIDGE
Don’t let the world get you down
Don’t listen to their asonia sounds
Don’t change for any woman or man
Giant size is how tall you’ll stand
VERSE 3
Take your success and laugh in his face
Let him cringe like his eyes are full of mace
Let him crawl into his safest space
You’ve earned your right to run this place
EXTENDED CHORUS
Let them cry! Let them cry!
For you are many and will never die!
Let them cry! Let them cry!
Until their eyeballs are fucking dry!
Let them whine! Let them bitch!
Let them crawl into a ditch!
Let them cry until the end of time!
Their two cents aren’t worth a thin dime!
There’s always one asshole out of the bunch
Who wants to eat your self-esteem for lunch
He doesn’t like the way you dress
He wouldn’t hate your ass any less
He doesn’t like the way you look
Punishes you for the chance you took
He can’t stand the fact that you’re even alive
He has the maturity of someone less than five
CHORUS
Let them cry! Let them cry!
For you are many and will never die!
Let them cry! Let them cry!
Until their eyeballs are fucking dry!
VERSE 2
Some people hate everything on the planet
Calling everybody “freaks” and “faggots”
Some people don’t know what happiness is
Some people have the mental age of six
CHORUS
Let them cry! Let them cry!
For you are many and will never die!
Let them cry! Let them cry!
Until their eyeballs are fucking dry!
BRIDGE
Don’t let the world get you down
Don’t listen to their asonia sounds
Don’t change for any woman or man
Giant size is how tall you’ll stand
VERSE 3
Take your success and laugh in his face
Let him cringe like his eyes are full of mace
Let him crawl into his safest space
You’ve earned your right to run this place
EXTENDED CHORUS
Let them cry! Let them cry!
For you are many and will never die!
Let them cry! Let them cry!
Until their eyeballs are fucking dry!
Let them whine! Let them bitch!
Let them crawl into a ditch!
Let them cry until the end of time!
Their two cents aren’t worth a thin dime!
October 10, 2018
In Love (Incelbordination Theme Song)
VERSE 1
I’m in love with my lust, in death we trust
I’m in love with the societies that crumbled to dust
I’m in love with my machete, her name is Betty
The only girl whom I could really go steady
I’m in love with terrorism on the television
And how the lives saved were a tough decision
I’m in love with chaos, I was raised in that mess
I’m in love with my ability to control and infest
CHORUS
You can call me a fruit basket
But I’ve already bought the caskets
You can call me an extremist
But it’s me you will believe in
VERSE 2
I’m not in love with your sexy sister
Don’t try to say that I’d ever kissed her
I’m not in love with your trophy wife
I’m not in love with the married life
I’m not in love with your daughter
I’m not in love with being led to slaughter
Nobody can save me however they try
The world is mine, one-by-one they die
CHORUS
You can call me a fruit basket
But I’ve already bought the caskets
You can call me an extremist
But it’s me you will believe in
BRIDGE
Beauty is only skin deep at best
The game of life is a fucking test
One that I’ve failed ten times over
Might as well be another freeloader
VERSE 3
I’m in love with the lives I hold in my hands
I’m in love with being the last man who stands
I’m in love with being the walking Armageddon
I don’t care if you don’t seem to fucking get it
CHORUS
You can call me a fruit basket
But I’ve already bought the caskets
You can call me an extremist
But it’s me you will believe in
FINAL LINES
I’m in love!
I’m in love!
I’m in love!
And no one cares!
I’m in love with my lust, in death we trust
I’m in love with the societies that crumbled to dust
I’m in love with my machete, her name is Betty
The only girl whom I could really go steady
I’m in love with terrorism on the television
And how the lives saved were a tough decision
I’m in love with chaos, I was raised in that mess
I’m in love with my ability to control and infest
CHORUS
You can call me a fruit basket
But I’ve already bought the caskets
You can call me an extremist
But it’s me you will believe in
VERSE 2
I’m not in love with your sexy sister
Don’t try to say that I’d ever kissed her
I’m not in love with your trophy wife
I’m not in love with the married life
I’m not in love with your daughter
I’m not in love with being led to slaughter
Nobody can save me however they try
The world is mine, one-by-one they die
CHORUS
You can call me a fruit basket
But I’ve already bought the caskets
You can call me an extremist
But it’s me you will believe in
BRIDGE
Beauty is only skin deep at best
The game of life is a fucking test
One that I’ve failed ten times over
Might as well be another freeloader
VERSE 3
I’m in love with the lives I hold in my hands
I’m in love with being the last man who stands
I’m in love with being the walking Armageddon
I don’t care if you don’t seem to fucking get it
CHORUS
You can call me a fruit basket
But I’ve already bought the caskets
You can call me an extremist
But it’s me you will believe in
FINAL LINES
I’m in love!
I’m in love!
I’m in love!
And no one cares!
October 8, 2018
Solutions
***SOLUTIONS***
Before I begin, I want everyone to know that this particular topic isn’t directed at one person in particular; it’s just something I’ve had brewing for a while. One of the most popular ways to generate interest in your story is by piling on problems on your main character’s already hefty workload. Or as TV Tropes likes to say, Just Add Ninjas. Or as Jenna Moreci says as well, “Break your hero’s legs with a baseball bat.” I will admit that I struggle with not putting my characters in enough danger. It’s not because I don’t like tension or that I’m intentionally babying my heroes. The main problem with me is that I can’t come up with realistic solutions to these many problems the heroes are facing.
For example, a recent critique against Incelbordination’s seventeenth chapter is that subduing Antero was too easy of a task for Oswald. That’s actually a fair criticism. For a guy who had Oswald wrapped around his finger the entire story, Antero certainly chose the dumbest way to confront him, armed with just a machete and no backup. In hindsight, Antero should have had a better plan. But how many obstacles for Oswald are too many before the little guy gets brutally murdered and nothing is solved? Suppose Antero brought a handgun instead of a machete. It’d be smarter, but how would Oswald realistically combat someone with that kind of advantage? Suppose Antero drove a tank to the dorms. Should Oswald turn into a Super Saiyan Level Four and throw a Kamehameha wave at the oncoming war machine? Again, I’m not trying to disparage the person giving me the critique, but these are points that need to be considered if such a debate will happen.
Another example of something I can foresee going wrong is how easily Scott George from Silent Warrior was freed from prison. Spoiler alert: his bail was paid via a Go Fund Me page set up by Principal Williams. Given the nature of Scott’s crime and how little he knows about prison life, how else was he supposed to walk free? Perhaps instead of bunking with Alan Young, he could have Andy Dufresne from Shawshank Redemption as his cell mate. Once the two dig a tunnel behind a Raquel Welsh poster, they can read copies of Count of Monte Crisco by Alexandree Dumbass until the end of time. Even if escaping jail somehow became the non-sarcastic solution, it’s too ambitious of a plan for someone like Scott. Once he’s free, he’s forever on the run and has no way of redeeming himself. He doesn’t get the girl (Adrienne Simpson), he doesn’t graduate from high school, and he doesn’t teach Adrienne’s father a valuable lesson in respect.
Want another example? Of course you do, that’s why you’re here. About a year and a half ago, I wrote a heavy metal urban fantasy novel called Demon Axe, about a singer who uses a magical microphone to slay his enemies (audiomancy). The microphone in question is considered a MacGuffin, which is defined as any object in which the story revolves around. Spoiler alert: the microphone determines the outcome of the story. MacGuffins are considered a literary sin in most critical circles, but then I ask, what else is Daniel Mercer (the singer) supposed to do? How can he realistically combat someone who has enough fighting experience to murder entire crowds of people at once (that person being the elven terrorist Roger Zee). Daniel’s only combat experience comes from barroom brawls, which hardly emphasizes the technique Roger spent decades learning. Having a powerful weapon like the MacGuffin microphone is the only way to subdue someone as powerful as Roger.
Solutions to major storyline problems aren’t easy to come by, especially if you’ve painted yourself into a corner like I’m so often afraid to do. It’s okay to ask for help. In fact, that’s one of the beta reader’s roles in his or her job: to help come up with solutions for seemingly impossible situations. Granted, they can’t do everything for you, but if you split the brainstorming 50/50, I’m sure the two of you can come up with some feasible solutions. It could be that there is no solution and that your characters have to die a nasty death. It could be that something major has to change in the storyline before the solution is readily available. Working out such kinks is a team effort and acknowledging this will lead to a healthy professional relationship with your beta reader. You’re not alone. You’re never alone.
I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“If you need somebody, call my name. If you want someone, you can do the same. If you want to keep something precious, got to lock it up and throw away the key. You want to hold onto your possessions, don’t even think about me. If it’s a mirror you want, just look into my eyes. Or a whipping boy, someone to despise. Or a prisoner in the dark, tied up in chains you just can’t see. Or a beast in a gilded cage, that’s all some people ever want to be. You can’t control an independent heart. Can’t tear the one you love apart. Forever conditioned to believe that we can’t live here and be happy with less. With so many riches, so many souls, with everything we see that we want to possess. If you love somebody, set them free.”
-Sting singing “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free”-
Before I begin, I want everyone to know that this particular topic isn’t directed at one person in particular; it’s just something I’ve had brewing for a while. One of the most popular ways to generate interest in your story is by piling on problems on your main character’s already hefty workload. Or as TV Tropes likes to say, Just Add Ninjas. Or as Jenna Moreci says as well, “Break your hero’s legs with a baseball bat.” I will admit that I struggle with not putting my characters in enough danger. It’s not because I don’t like tension or that I’m intentionally babying my heroes. The main problem with me is that I can’t come up with realistic solutions to these many problems the heroes are facing.
For example, a recent critique against Incelbordination’s seventeenth chapter is that subduing Antero was too easy of a task for Oswald. That’s actually a fair criticism. For a guy who had Oswald wrapped around his finger the entire story, Antero certainly chose the dumbest way to confront him, armed with just a machete and no backup. In hindsight, Antero should have had a better plan. But how many obstacles for Oswald are too many before the little guy gets brutally murdered and nothing is solved? Suppose Antero brought a handgun instead of a machete. It’d be smarter, but how would Oswald realistically combat someone with that kind of advantage? Suppose Antero drove a tank to the dorms. Should Oswald turn into a Super Saiyan Level Four and throw a Kamehameha wave at the oncoming war machine? Again, I’m not trying to disparage the person giving me the critique, but these are points that need to be considered if such a debate will happen.
Another example of something I can foresee going wrong is how easily Scott George from Silent Warrior was freed from prison. Spoiler alert: his bail was paid via a Go Fund Me page set up by Principal Williams. Given the nature of Scott’s crime and how little he knows about prison life, how else was he supposed to walk free? Perhaps instead of bunking with Alan Young, he could have Andy Dufresne from Shawshank Redemption as his cell mate. Once the two dig a tunnel behind a Raquel Welsh poster, they can read copies of Count of Monte Crisco by Alexandree Dumbass until the end of time. Even if escaping jail somehow became the non-sarcastic solution, it’s too ambitious of a plan for someone like Scott. Once he’s free, he’s forever on the run and has no way of redeeming himself. He doesn’t get the girl (Adrienne Simpson), he doesn’t graduate from high school, and he doesn’t teach Adrienne’s father a valuable lesson in respect.
Want another example? Of course you do, that’s why you’re here. About a year and a half ago, I wrote a heavy metal urban fantasy novel called Demon Axe, about a singer who uses a magical microphone to slay his enemies (audiomancy). The microphone in question is considered a MacGuffin, which is defined as any object in which the story revolves around. Spoiler alert: the microphone determines the outcome of the story. MacGuffins are considered a literary sin in most critical circles, but then I ask, what else is Daniel Mercer (the singer) supposed to do? How can he realistically combat someone who has enough fighting experience to murder entire crowds of people at once (that person being the elven terrorist Roger Zee). Daniel’s only combat experience comes from barroom brawls, which hardly emphasizes the technique Roger spent decades learning. Having a powerful weapon like the MacGuffin microphone is the only way to subdue someone as powerful as Roger.
Solutions to major storyline problems aren’t easy to come by, especially if you’ve painted yourself into a corner like I’m so often afraid to do. It’s okay to ask for help. In fact, that’s one of the beta reader’s roles in his or her job: to help come up with solutions for seemingly impossible situations. Granted, they can’t do everything for you, but if you split the brainstorming 50/50, I’m sure the two of you can come up with some feasible solutions. It could be that there is no solution and that your characters have to die a nasty death. It could be that something major has to change in the storyline before the solution is readily available. Working out such kinks is a team effort and acknowledging this will lead to a healthy professional relationship with your beta reader. You’re not alone. You’re never alone.
I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!
***LYRICS OF THE DAY***
“If you need somebody, call my name. If you want someone, you can do the same. If you want to keep something precious, got to lock it up and throw away the key. You want to hold onto your possessions, don’t even think about me. If it’s a mirror you want, just look into my eyes. Or a whipping boy, someone to despise. Or a prisoner in the dark, tied up in chains you just can’t see. Or a beast in a gilded cage, that’s all some people ever want to be. You can’t control an independent heart. Can’t tear the one you love apart. Forever conditioned to believe that we can’t live here and be happy with less. With so many riches, so many souls, with everything we see that we want to possess. If you love somebody, set them free.”
-Sting singing “If You Love Somebody Set Them Free”-
Lonesome Town
VERSE 1
Like smoking fifteen cigarettes a day
A dead body is the price you will pay
A dead mind is all you’ll ever find
Can’t say isolation without saying I
Depression’s killing you deep inside
Under the blankets is where you hide
It’s never too late to ask for some help
Could be a stranger or one you know well
CHORUS
Welcome to Lonesome Town
Everyone is feeling down
Everyone is reaching out for love
But sometimes it’s never enough
VERSE 2
A crowded party feels empty and cold
No one to talk to and nobody to hold
Nobody is worth being so damn bold
The cycle of sadness is getting so old
Another night of loneliness and shame
Another night of brokenhearted pain
Another night of feeling like shit
Another night of getting sick of it
CHORUS
Welcome to Lonesome Town
Everyone is feeling down
Everyone is reaching out for love
But sometimes it’s never enough
VERSE 3
On the day of your coffin slumber
Do you regret being torn asunder?
Does taking a chance hurt that badly?
The answer is always yes, sadly
No place lonelier than the grave
Out of reach is the love you crave
Is there a next time? I don’t know
Is it worth the pain so deadly and slow?
CHORUS
Welcome to Lonesome Town
Everyone is feeling down
Everyone is reaching out for love
But sometimes it’s never enough
Like smoking fifteen cigarettes a day
A dead body is the price you will pay
A dead mind is all you’ll ever find
Can’t say isolation without saying I
Depression’s killing you deep inside
Under the blankets is where you hide
It’s never too late to ask for some help
Could be a stranger or one you know well
CHORUS
Welcome to Lonesome Town
Everyone is feeling down
Everyone is reaching out for love
But sometimes it’s never enough
VERSE 2
A crowded party feels empty and cold
No one to talk to and nobody to hold
Nobody is worth being so damn bold
The cycle of sadness is getting so old
Another night of loneliness and shame
Another night of brokenhearted pain
Another night of feeling like shit
Another night of getting sick of it
CHORUS
Welcome to Lonesome Town
Everyone is feeling down
Everyone is reaching out for love
But sometimes it’s never enough
VERSE 3
On the day of your coffin slumber
Do you regret being torn asunder?
Does taking a chance hurt that badly?
The answer is always yes, sadly
No place lonelier than the grave
Out of reach is the love you crave
Is there a next time? I don’t know
Is it worth the pain so deadly and slow?
CHORUS
Welcome to Lonesome Town
Everyone is feeling down
Everyone is reaching out for love
But sometimes it’s never enough
October 5, 2018
Psycho Crusher
VERSE 1
My psycho power knows no limits
Wreck your ass within just a minute
Steal your soul in a ritual so dark
Your new nickname is The Human Scar
CHORUS
Psycho Crusher! X4
VERSE 2
Throw your fireballs all you desire
Throw your lightning kicks until you tire
A hundred hand slap could finish any fight
But victory is mine even if only for tonight
Meet me in Thailand for the final round
Throw punches so hard, they shake the ground
This world is mine to conquer and rule
You’re a worthy opponent, but a blind fool
CHORUS
Psycho Crusher! X4
M. BISON QUOTE
Get lost! You can’t compare with my powers!
VERSE 3
You trained your ass off to get to this point
But in the end, your battle cries are white noise
Your hurricane kicks are just cheap ass tricks
Your dragon punches make me fucking sick
You never stood a chance in my tournament
You plead for mercy without earning it
Better luck next time, you second rate hack
Try again when you’re not lying on your back
CHORUS
Psycho Crusher! X4
M. BISON QUOTE
Anyone who opposes me must be destroyed!
My psycho power knows no limits
Wreck your ass within just a minute
Steal your soul in a ritual so dark
Your new nickname is The Human Scar
CHORUS
Psycho Crusher! X4
VERSE 2
Throw your fireballs all you desire
Throw your lightning kicks until you tire
A hundred hand slap could finish any fight
But victory is mine even if only for tonight
Meet me in Thailand for the final round
Throw punches so hard, they shake the ground
This world is mine to conquer and rule
You’re a worthy opponent, but a blind fool
CHORUS
Psycho Crusher! X4
M. BISON QUOTE
Get lost! You can’t compare with my powers!
VERSE 3
You trained your ass off to get to this point
But in the end, your battle cries are white noise
Your hurricane kicks are just cheap ass tricks
Your dragon punches make me fucking sick
You never stood a chance in my tournament
You plead for mercy without earning it
Better luck next time, you second rate hack
Try again when you’re not lying on your back
CHORUS
Psycho Crusher! X4
M. BISON QUOTE
Anyone who opposes me must be destroyed!
