Garrison Kelly's Blog, page 97
August 24, 2016
The Reflection of Perfection
Ian Flagg’s mouth watered at the plate of Indian curry sitting before him and another plate of the spicy treat across from him. Yet, the old man’s sniper sight focus burned a hole through the newspaper he was reading. Besides, he wouldn’t want to get any of that messy food on his clean white dress shirt and silver tie. Accountants of his social status can’t afford to look like that. A waitress came by and refilled his coffee mug, yet Ian never took his eyes away from whatever news story was assaulting his mind.
As soon as the waitress strolled away, a young man with a black ponytail, a green polo shirt, and tan khaki shorts entered the restaurant hunched over with exhaustion and stress. Then and only then did Ian take his eyes off his newspaper. The young man sat across from Ian and hung his head in exhaustion, the scent of the curry doing no favors for his energy level.
“You’re late, son. Is that acting schedule of yours keeping you down? For god’s sake, get some sleep, Payton,” said Ian.
“Sorry, Dad,” said Payton in a slow and medicated voice. “I’m assuming there’s a review of my new movie in that newspaper of yours. I stayed up until midnight reading those goddamn reviews online. What the fuck is wrong with people?”
Ian folded up his newspaper and said, “You can’t fault your critics for feeling the way they do, son. It’s a free country. Everybody’s entitled to their own opinions, even if they are overwhelmingly negative and come from a website about spoiled vegetables.” The father folded his hands across the table and said, “Son, you need to get out of this movie business. It’s not good for you. You can’t take criticism and it’s only going to get worse from here.”
Payton lifted his unshaven face and said, “So what’s the alternative to having my dream job? Doing what you do and crunch numbers all day long? No thanks, I’d rather roll around on a pile of actual rotten tomatoes.”
“Being an accountant sounds boring on the surface, I agree. Hell, most of the comedy movies out there make fun of this idea. But it’s a stable income and you don’t have to worry about where your next meal is coming from. You’re welcome for the curry, by the way,” said Ian.
Payton languidly stirred his fork around in his food and said, “Listen, pops. I spent way too much time and money just to get my acting career of the fucking ground. I’m not going to give up on it just because of some negative assholes online. Shit, man, there’s negativity everywhere I go, so I have to get immune to it sometime. Maybe not right now, but eventually.”
“But that’s the thing, Payton. You don’t get used to harsh criticism. You don’t improve your craft. You don’t get better in life. You feel like this world owes you something and you don’t cash in on that opportunity.” Ian leaned his face closer as if to intensify the seriousness of this conversation. “Payton, you need help. You need to start making some real money so that you don’t have to live like a goddamn bum.”
“So that’s it, huh?” said the actor as he shrugged his shoulders. “One failure and I should just give up on my dreams?”
“We’re not just talking about one failure, son. We’re talking about being universally panned by every critic in the country. I don’t care how good of an actor you are, because nobody can recover from something like that. You wouldn’t have to worry about this kind of thing if you got a math degree and took up accounting like me.”
After a while of glaring in disbelief at his father, Payton stood up, slammed his palms on the table (nearly knocking his curry on the floor), and screamed, “Fuck you, old man! Fuck you! You talk about stable incomes and the world not owing me anything, yet you sit here thinking that I owe you my dreams and my hard work! You’re a conformist! You’re a soul-dead son of a bitch and you want the whole world to be just as boring and sad as you! I don’t care how much money you’re making, because all the money in the world can’t buy you a charismatic personality!”
Ian stood up and slammed his own palms on the table before shouting back, “I’m trying to look after you, you goddamn fool! I don’t want you to end up homeless and begging for handouts! If you keep spiraling out of control like this, you’re going to hit rock bottom and you’re never coming back!”
Some of the restaurant patrons stared at the father-son duo with shock on their faces while others turned heel and walked away altogether. The waitress who filled Ian’s coffee earlier approached him and said, “Excuse me, sir, but the two of you need to calm down or else I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Ian held his palm in the waitress’s face and said, “I’m trying to get through to my idiot son, so if you could stay out of this conversation, that’d be wonderful!”
“Idiot?! You think I’m an idiot because I actually believe in myself?! You think I’m an idiot just because I refuse to give up?! I’d rather be an idiot than a boring piece of shit like you!” shouted Payton.
“This so-called boring piece of shit is alive and well thanks to his steady income, which is more than I can say about a fuck-up like you walking around in those slob clothes! You have a decision to make, young man! Either accept your responsibilities as a grown adult or live like a child and die of starvation! Life may be boring and sad, but it’s not going to change anytime soon just because you like to rebel against the system! The system is in place for a reason, son, because it works!” yelled Ian.
“Hey!” snapped the waitress, who finally found her footing in this conversation after shaking nervously throughout the screaming matches. “I’ve had it up to here with you two scaring away the customers! You can either calm down and eat your lunches or I can get my supervisor and have the two of you blackballed from here! Do you understand me?!”
The father and son slowly sat back down and glared at each other with fiery vision. “You know what?” said Payton as he dug in his shorts for his wallet. “I’m going to go ahead and pay for my meal and leave on my own terms. I don’t have a whole lot of money in my bank account, but not to worry, because that’ll all be fixed once I start crunching numbers in a plain old office. Here, take my goddamn card.”
The waitress eyeballed Payton’s debit card for a while before a small smile formed on her face. “You’re Payton Flagg? The actor?”
“Guilty as charged, though I don’t know if ‘the actor’ fits me anymore,” said Payton in a bummed out voice.
The waitress’s smile grew wider as she said, “You know what? I don’t care what any of those morons on Rotten Tomatoes think. I thought that movie was hilarious. I love dirty humor!”
A look of shocked disbelief formed on Ian’s face while one of surprise formed on Payton’s. The actor said, “Do you really mean that?”
“No, I’m screwing with you. Of course I mean it, you silly goose!” said the waitress with a giggle. “I’m training to become an actress myself. You wouldn’t mind letting me in on some of your connections would you?” The waitress playfully elbowed Payton in the arm.
“I don’t know. My connections aren’t exactly…”
“Come on, Payton, what’s the worst that could happen? You got your foot in the door, didn’t you? That’s more than I can say for myself right now. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be working here. What do you say? Will you hook me up?” said the waitress with a Hollywood smile.
Payton smiled himself and said, “You know what? I think that’s a good idea. I’ll come back here when you get off work and I’ll introduce you to some of my guys.”
“Yes!” squealed the waitress before hugging and thanking Payton repeatedly. It was an awkward hug, but Payton wrapped his arms anyways. He also gave his father a smart-assed wink before the tie-wearing sad sap rested his forehead in his hands. Even though Ian knew his son wasn’t the reflection of perfection, it hurt even more to know he was bested by the little hipster. Blind conformity seemed like a foolish route after all.
As soon as the waitress strolled away, a young man with a black ponytail, a green polo shirt, and tan khaki shorts entered the restaurant hunched over with exhaustion and stress. Then and only then did Ian take his eyes off his newspaper. The young man sat across from Ian and hung his head in exhaustion, the scent of the curry doing no favors for his energy level.
“You’re late, son. Is that acting schedule of yours keeping you down? For god’s sake, get some sleep, Payton,” said Ian.
“Sorry, Dad,” said Payton in a slow and medicated voice. “I’m assuming there’s a review of my new movie in that newspaper of yours. I stayed up until midnight reading those goddamn reviews online. What the fuck is wrong with people?”
Ian folded up his newspaper and said, “You can’t fault your critics for feeling the way they do, son. It’s a free country. Everybody’s entitled to their own opinions, even if they are overwhelmingly negative and come from a website about spoiled vegetables.” The father folded his hands across the table and said, “Son, you need to get out of this movie business. It’s not good for you. You can’t take criticism and it’s only going to get worse from here.”
Payton lifted his unshaven face and said, “So what’s the alternative to having my dream job? Doing what you do and crunch numbers all day long? No thanks, I’d rather roll around on a pile of actual rotten tomatoes.”
“Being an accountant sounds boring on the surface, I agree. Hell, most of the comedy movies out there make fun of this idea. But it’s a stable income and you don’t have to worry about where your next meal is coming from. You’re welcome for the curry, by the way,” said Ian.
Payton languidly stirred his fork around in his food and said, “Listen, pops. I spent way too much time and money just to get my acting career of the fucking ground. I’m not going to give up on it just because of some negative assholes online. Shit, man, there’s negativity everywhere I go, so I have to get immune to it sometime. Maybe not right now, but eventually.”
“But that’s the thing, Payton. You don’t get used to harsh criticism. You don’t improve your craft. You don’t get better in life. You feel like this world owes you something and you don’t cash in on that opportunity.” Ian leaned his face closer as if to intensify the seriousness of this conversation. “Payton, you need help. You need to start making some real money so that you don’t have to live like a goddamn bum.”
“So that’s it, huh?” said the actor as he shrugged his shoulders. “One failure and I should just give up on my dreams?”
“We’re not just talking about one failure, son. We’re talking about being universally panned by every critic in the country. I don’t care how good of an actor you are, because nobody can recover from something like that. You wouldn’t have to worry about this kind of thing if you got a math degree and took up accounting like me.”
After a while of glaring in disbelief at his father, Payton stood up, slammed his palms on the table (nearly knocking his curry on the floor), and screamed, “Fuck you, old man! Fuck you! You talk about stable incomes and the world not owing me anything, yet you sit here thinking that I owe you my dreams and my hard work! You’re a conformist! You’re a soul-dead son of a bitch and you want the whole world to be just as boring and sad as you! I don’t care how much money you’re making, because all the money in the world can’t buy you a charismatic personality!”
Ian stood up and slammed his own palms on the table before shouting back, “I’m trying to look after you, you goddamn fool! I don’t want you to end up homeless and begging for handouts! If you keep spiraling out of control like this, you’re going to hit rock bottom and you’re never coming back!”
Some of the restaurant patrons stared at the father-son duo with shock on their faces while others turned heel and walked away altogether. The waitress who filled Ian’s coffee earlier approached him and said, “Excuse me, sir, but the two of you need to calm down or else I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Ian held his palm in the waitress’s face and said, “I’m trying to get through to my idiot son, so if you could stay out of this conversation, that’d be wonderful!”
“Idiot?! You think I’m an idiot because I actually believe in myself?! You think I’m an idiot just because I refuse to give up?! I’d rather be an idiot than a boring piece of shit like you!” shouted Payton.
“This so-called boring piece of shit is alive and well thanks to his steady income, which is more than I can say about a fuck-up like you walking around in those slob clothes! You have a decision to make, young man! Either accept your responsibilities as a grown adult or live like a child and die of starvation! Life may be boring and sad, but it’s not going to change anytime soon just because you like to rebel against the system! The system is in place for a reason, son, because it works!” yelled Ian.
“Hey!” snapped the waitress, who finally found her footing in this conversation after shaking nervously throughout the screaming matches. “I’ve had it up to here with you two scaring away the customers! You can either calm down and eat your lunches or I can get my supervisor and have the two of you blackballed from here! Do you understand me?!”
The father and son slowly sat back down and glared at each other with fiery vision. “You know what?” said Payton as he dug in his shorts for his wallet. “I’m going to go ahead and pay for my meal and leave on my own terms. I don’t have a whole lot of money in my bank account, but not to worry, because that’ll all be fixed once I start crunching numbers in a plain old office. Here, take my goddamn card.”
The waitress eyeballed Payton’s debit card for a while before a small smile formed on her face. “You’re Payton Flagg? The actor?”
“Guilty as charged, though I don’t know if ‘the actor’ fits me anymore,” said Payton in a bummed out voice.
The waitress’s smile grew wider as she said, “You know what? I don’t care what any of those morons on Rotten Tomatoes think. I thought that movie was hilarious. I love dirty humor!”
A look of shocked disbelief formed on Ian’s face while one of surprise formed on Payton’s. The actor said, “Do you really mean that?”
“No, I’m screwing with you. Of course I mean it, you silly goose!” said the waitress with a giggle. “I’m training to become an actress myself. You wouldn’t mind letting me in on some of your connections would you?” The waitress playfully elbowed Payton in the arm.
“I don’t know. My connections aren’t exactly…”
“Come on, Payton, what’s the worst that could happen? You got your foot in the door, didn’t you? That’s more than I can say for myself right now. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be working here. What do you say? Will you hook me up?” said the waitress with a Hollywood smile.
Payton smiled himself and said, “You know what? I think that’s a good idea. I’ll come back here when you get off work and I’ll introduce you to some of my guys.”
“Yes!” squealed the waitress before hugging and thanking Payton repeatedly. It was an awkward hug, but Payton wrapped his arms anyways. He also gave his father a smart-assed wink before the tie-wearing sad sap rested his forehead in his hands. Even though Ian knew his son wasn’t the reflection of perfection, it hurt even more to know he was bested by the little hipster. Blind conformity seemed like a foolish route after all.
August 23, 2016
Watching Paint Dry
***WATCHING PAINT DRY***
I’ve done a lot of journals over the past few weeks talking about real life commitments. These commitments have kept me from meeting creative deadlines, but I don’t sweat it, because these house chores need to be done in a timely fashion. I’ll admit that all of these concerts I’ve been going to have been extracurricular when it comes to managing my energy, but there’s a reason I categorize them under life events on Face Book: because I may never get another chance to see these kick-ass bands in my home state. I’m pretty sure this is what that DeVry University commercial is talking about when they say, “Life is rich, full, and beautifully exhausting.”
The beautiful exhaustion will continue over the next few days, maybe even weeks. Ever since coming home from the Pain in the Grass festival on Sunday, I’ve been helping my family paint the walls of Reina and James’s bedrooms as well as helping them replace their flooring with new and fresh material. The next bedroom to be painted and remodeled will be mine. This whole process involves moving everything out of that particular room before the work is started. In my room alone, I have a computer desk, a Sleep Number bed, a book shelf, two chests of drawers, god knows what else.
Not only is this kind of intensive labor going to be taxing on my body and mind, but since my room is next, it means I’ll have to unplug my computer and move that somewhere else. I already have a bad internet connection now that the range extender in James’ room has been temporarily unplugged. Having an unplugged computer means minimal creative output and missed deadlines for beta reading and book reviewing. With that being said, I owe Andy Peloquin and Marie Krepps the biggest apologies for not being able to keep my commitments to them. Yes, I know that real life gets in the way of the most brilliant projects, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.
The entire month of August has been one chaotic cluster-fuck of physical labor and mental exhaustion. It’s taken a toll on the entire family. Forgive me if I sound whiny, because that’s not the message I’m trying to send. I love my family and I want us to live in a good-looking and clean house. All I’m saying is that if you don’t see me online for a while or if you’re getting impatient about a commitment I’ve made to you, this is why. I always pride myself on being there for the people in my life that matter the most. While my online friends fit that bill, my real life family fits it as well. This needs to be done and we’re not going to stop working until it is.
On that note, I’d like to thank all of you for being supportive and understanding during this tiring moment in our lives. Normalcy will be restored to this house soon enough. Until then, it’s time to shatter those millennial stereotypes of laziness and turn this house into a Port Orchard paradise!
***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“We’re going to deal with this the way any reasonable adult would: by ignoring it.”
-Ric Flair on an episode of “Camp WWE”-
I’ve done a lot of journals over the past few weeks talking about real life commitments. These commitments have kept me from meeting creative deadlines, but I don’t sweat it, because these house chores need to be done in a timely fashion. I’ll admit that all of these concerts I’ve been going to have been extracurricular when it comes to managing my energy, but there’s a reason I categorize them under life events on Face Book: because I may never get another chance to see these kick-ass bands in my home state. I’m pretty sure this is what that DeVry University commercial is talking about when they say, “Life is rich, full, and beautifully exhausting.”
The beautiful exhaustion will continue over the next few days, maybe even weeks. Ever since coming home from the Pain in the Grass festival on Sunday, I’ve been helping my family paint the walls of Reina and James’s bedrooms as well as helping them replace their flooring with new and fresh material. The next bedroom to be painted and remodeled will be mine. This whole process involves moving everything out of that particular room before the work is started. In my room alone, I have a computer desk, a Sleep Number bed, a book shelf, two chests of drawers, god knows what else.
Not only is this kind of intensive labor going to be taxing on my body and mind, but since my room is next, it means I’ll have to unplug my computer and move that somewhere else. I already have a bad internet connection now that the range extender in James’ room has been temporarily unplugged. Having an unplugged computer means minimal creative output and missed deadlines for beta reading and book reviewing. With that being said, I owe Andy Peloquin and Marie Krepps the biggest apologies for not being able to keep my commitments to them. Yes, I know that real life gets in the way of the most brilliant projects, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.
The entire month of August has been one chaotic cluster-fuck of physical labor and mental exhaustion. It’s taken a toll on the entire family. Forgive me if I sound whiny, because that’s not the message I’m trying to send. I love my family and I want us to live in a good-looking and clean house. All I’m saying is that if you don’t see me online for a while or if you’re getting impatient about a commitment I’ve made to you, this is why. I always pride myself on being there for the people in my life that matter the most. While my online friends fit that bill, my real life family fits it as well. This needs to be done and we’re not going to stop working until it is.
On that note, I’d like to thank all of you for being supportive and understanding during this tiring moment in our lives. Normalcy will be restored to this house soon enough. Until then, it’s time to shatter those millennial stereotypes of laziness and turn this house into a Port Orchard paradise!
***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“We’re going to deal with this the way any reasonable adult would: by ignoring it.”
-Ric Flair on an episode of “Camp WWE”-
Valley of Meat
VERSE 1
All of you demons look the same to me
When you’re ground into chunks of meat
Bloody morsels underneath my two feet
I think this calls for a heavy metal beat
Sausage strands for bass guitar strings
Deathly growls as you go through the machine
Banging the drums with your lovely bones
Ligament guitar strings to bring us all home
CHORUS
Welcome to the Valley of Meat
Welcome to your violent defeat
Prepare to become a monstrous treat
Prepare to be served rare, let’s fucking eat!
VERSE 2
This is not a garden of vegetables and fruits
This is a modicum of my bloody roots
This is not candy; I don’t sugarcoat shit
I don’t get hyperactive; I get fucking pissed
Feed all my enemies through the machine
Shred them into nothing, watch them bleed
All of them now void of individuality
Pulled down to hell with vicious gravity
CHORUS
Welcome to the Valley of Meat
Welcome to your violent defeat
Prepare to become a monstrous treat
Prepare to be served rare, let’s fucking eat!
VERSE 3
All you killers have been erased from history
All you bastards have become a cold mystery
All you thieves are gone from my mind
All your loved ones have been left behind
But how could they love such evil people
Who don’t see their own friends as equals?
Only the hungriest of wolves will love you
You shall all provide them with enough food
EXTENDED CHORUS
Welcome to the Valley of Meat
Welcome to your violent defeat
Prepare to become a monstrous treat
Prepare to be served rare, let’s fucking eat!
I’m hungry as hell, let the dinner bell ring
I’m starving for metal, let the front man sing
Clogged arteries are just a mere flesh wound
You’re ground up meat; you’re already doomed!
All of you demons look the same to me
When you’re ground into chunks of meat
Bloody morsels underneath my two feet
I think this calls for a heavy metal beat
Sausage strands for bass guitar strings
Deathly growls as you go through the machine
Banging the drums with your lovely bones
Ligament guitar strings to bring us all home
CHORUS
Welcome to the Valley of Meat
Welcome to your violent defeat
Prepare to become a monstrous treat
Prepare to be served rare, let’s fucking eat!
VERSE 2
This is not a garden of vegetables and fruits
This is a modicum of my bloody roots
This is not candy; I don’t sugarcoat shit
I don’t get hyperactive; I get fucking pissed
Feed all my enemies through the machine
Shred them into nothing, watch them bleed
All of them now void of individuality
Pulled down to hell with vicious gravity
CHORUS
Welcome to the Valley of Meat
Welcome to your violent defeat
Prepare to become a monstrous treat
Prepare to be served rare, let’s fucking eat!
VERSE 3
All you killers have been erased from history
All you bastards have become a cold mystery
All you thieves are gone from my mind
All your loved ones have been left behind
But how could they love such evil people
Who don’t see their own friends as equals?
Only the hungriest of wolves will love you
You shall all provide them with enough food
EXTENDED CHORUS
Welcome to the Valley of Meat
Welcome to your violent defeat
Prepare to become a monstrous treat
Prepare to be served rare, let’s fucking eat!
I’m hungry as hell, let the dinner bell ring
I’m starving for metal, let the front man sing
Clogged arteries are just a mere flesh wound
You’re ground up meat; you’re already doomed!
August 22, 2016
Author Interview: Jesikah Sundin
1. What was the inspiration for you wanting to be an author?
Other authors, without question. I’ve always been fascinated by the art of storytelling. Even as a child, I would dissect books into their various parts: world building, characters, plot, and theme. Libraries were my favorite place outside of nature. Rows and rows and shelves upon shelves of adventures and information just waiting to be discovered and known. Happiness.
2. In your opinion, what are the qualities of a likeable book?
An immersive world, many complex plot layers, with believable characters is incredibly important to me as a reader. Flawed characters who elicit a gamut of emotional reactions are the absolute best. I also enjoy lyrical writing styles and vivid descriptions. I’m a sucker for good scenery exposition. I want to feel the magic of a waning sunset and rising moon, the wind touching each leaf, the spray of salt water colliding with earth. With this combination, everything around me dims as the words float off the page and become a living, breathing story.
3. Does music play a role in your creative process?
Absolutely! In fact, on Spotify I have a near-eleven-hour playlist with songs that feed my writing for this series, aptly titled The Biodome Chronicles. The music ranges from industrial electronica, alternative metal, grunge, dubstep, orchestral pieces from movies and video games, to pop and rock favorites from various bands.
4. What sources of creative fuel do you draw inspiration from?
Books, maps, poetry, as well as fantasy, scifi, and travel visuals on Pinterest. I love art. LOVE it. Sometime I peruse DeviantArt to absorb the beauty, whimsy, and ethereal imagery of people and words, real or imagined.
5. How did you break into the writing business?
Well, I had left a career a month earlier and yearned for a new adventure. Storytelling and writing is a huge part of who I am. So much so, a few friends and my father all suggested I write a novel. Within the year, a collection of serendipitous moments led me into relationship with other authors who kindly held my newbie hand through drafting, revision, and the various stages of publishing. They were so patient, answering my many questions and sharing their hard-earned wisdom. I owe so much to each of them.
6. Do you prefer paperback or digital books and why?
I prefer paperbacks. Nothing beats the feel of a book in your hand or flipping pages. I love the swish sound, too! *le sigh* However, I also read books on my phone and Kindle device. Sometimes I’m too impatient for the next book in series to arrive or don’t have space to pack the preferred paperback.
7. In your opinion, how important are libraries to our society?
Libraries are the cornerstone of a healthy society and the building blocks for freedom. All people should have free access to books and resources of information. I’m a huge supporter, whether neighborhood little lending libraries or government institutions.
8. What are the qualities of having a sympathetic main character?
This is a fantastic question. For me, a sympathetic character is flawed, either by choice or by circumstance. They should feel real, possessing both likeable and unlikeable qualities. Their struggles become my struggles. Their heartache my heartache. I want to grit my teeth when they make poor choices, hold my breath as they strive to overcome, and cheer when they finally do. And, if they don’t, empathize with their despair and disappointment. But in order for me to feel any form of sympathy? They can’t be perfect people who do perfect things every perfect moment of every perfect page.
9. What did you do for a living prior to becoming an author?
Oh, wow. A stew pot of occupations. Let’s see … most positions have been in business administration. I was a licensed bridal consultant / wedding coordinator at one point. Also a Kindermusik educator for ages newborn through five years. I worked in a boutique dress shop in my late teens, selling handmade designer antique-styled clothing fashioned from the Regency era, the 1920’s, and 1930’s. Loved the linens and pinafores and French peasant inspired colors and designs. But, those fun jobs were fleeting compared to years and years of administration odd-end jobs. The job I held right before authordom was Director of Operations for a Kindermusik studio.
10. Do you have any words of wisdom for aspiring authors who might be reading this interview?
Write. Pour words onto a page. Don’t worry if it’s well written or the worst stuff ever penned in the history of the world. As a writer, your job is to tell a story. That’s it. Tell a story. An editor will polish the writing to make your story shine. Beta readers will help you fill in plot and character cracks and crevices so the reading experience is even smoother. But your job is to purge the story, no matter how messy the process. Neatly chisel each word into existence or vomit the letters onto the page. But get them out. Once you do, editors, beta readers, and fellow writers will be there to help you the rest of the way. It takes a village to write a novel! :)
Other authors, without question. I’ve always been fascinated by the art of storytelling. Even as a child, I would dissect books into their various parts: world building, characters, plot, and theme. Libraries were my favorite place outside of nature. Rows and rows and shelves upon shelves of adventures and information just waiting to be discovered and known. Happiness.
2. In your opinion, what are the qualities of a likeable book?
An immersive world, many complex plot layers, with believable characters is incredibly important to me as a reader. Flawed characters who elicit a gamut of emotional reactions are the absolute best. I also enjoy lyrical writing styles and vivid descriptions. I’m a sucker for good scenery exposition. I want to feel the magic of a waning sunset and rising moon, the wind touching each leaf, the spray of salt water colliding with earth. With this combination, everything around me dims as the words float off the page and become a living, breathing story.
3. Does music play a role in your creative process?
Absolutely! In fact, on Spotify I have a near-eleven-hour playlist with songs that feed my writing for this series, aptly titled The Biodome Chronicles. The music ranges from industrial electronica, alternative metal, grunge, dubstep, orchestral pieces from movies and video games, to pop and rock favorites from various bands.
4. What sources of creative fuel do you draw inspiration from?
Books, maps, poetry, as well as fantasy, scifi, and travel visuals on Pinterest. I love art. LOVE it. Sometime I peruse DeviantArt to absorb the beauty, whimsy, and ethereal imagery of people and words, real or imagined.
5. How did you break into the writing business?
Well, I had left a career a month earlier and yearned for a new adventure. Storytelling and writing is a huge part of who I am. So much so, a few friends and my father all suggested I write a novel. Within the year, a collection of serendipitous moments led me into relationship with other authors who kindly held my newbie hand through drafting, revision, and the various stages of publishing. They were so patient, answering my many questions and sharing their hard-earned wisdom. I owe so much to each of them.
6. Do you prefer paperback or digital books and why?
I prefer paperbacks. Nothing beats the feel of a book in your hand or flipping pages. I love the swish sound, too! *le sigh* However, I also read books on my phone and Kindle device. Sometimes I’m too impatient for the next book in series to arrive or don’t have space to pack the preferred paperback.
7. In your opinion, how important are libraries to our society?
Libraries are the cornerstone of a healthy society and the building blocks for freedom. All people should have free access to books and resources of information. I’m a huge supporter, whether neighborhood little lending libraries or government institutions.
8. What are the qualities of having a sympathetic main character?
This is a fantastic question. For me, a sympathetic character is flawed, either by choice or by circumstance. They should feel real, possessing both likeable and unlikeable qualities. Their struggles become my struggles. Their heartache my heartache. I want to grit my teeth when they make poor choices, hold my breath as they strive to overcome, and cheer when they finally do. And, if they don’t, empathize with their despair and disappointment. But in order for me to feel any form of sympathy? They can’t be perfect people who do perfect things every perfect moment of every perfect page.
9. What did you do for a living prior to becoming an author?
Oh, wow. A stew pot of occupations. Let’s see … most positions have been in business administration. I was a licensed bridal consultant / wedding coordinator at one point. Also a Kindermusik educator for ages newborn through five years. I worked in a boutique dress shop in my late teens, selling handmade designer antique-styled clothing fashioned from the Regency era, the 1920’s, and 1930’s. Loved the linens and pinafores and French peasant inspired colors and designs. But, those fun jobs were fleeting compared to years and years of administration odd-end jobs. The job I held right before authordom was Director of Operations for a Kindermusik studio.
10. Do you have any words of wisdom for aspiring authors who might be reading this interview?
Write. Pour words onto a page. Don’t worry if it’s well written or the worst stuff ever penned in the history of the world. As a writer, your job is to tell a story. That’s it. Tell a story. An editor will polish the writing to make your story shine. Beta readers will help you fill in plot and character cracks and crevices so the reading experience is even smoother. But your job is to purge the story, no matter how messy the process. Neatly chisel each word into existence or vomit the letters onto the page. But get them out. Once you do, editors, beta readers, and fellow writers will be there to help you the rest of the way. It takes a village to write a novel! :)
August 18, 2016
Disturbed X Breaking Benjamin Concert
***DISTURBED X BREAKING BENJAMIN CONCERT***
I’ve been to a lot of concerts this year. It all started with Nightwish back in March and it continued with Rob Zombie X Korn in July and Slipknot X Marilyn Manson in early August. This coming Sunday, I’m going back to the frontlines with Disturbed and Breaking Benjamin as the main acts. They’re going to be part of a much larger festival called Pain in the Grass, a concert which starts at 1:00 in the afternoon and is supported by Alter Bridge, Saint Asonia, Anthrax, Pop Evil, Stitched Up Heart, and Windowpane. Holy shit, that’s a lot of heavy metal!
My therapist Rachel and her husband Michael have tickets to this show, so they’re going to be the ones who drive me to and from Auburn. Maybe this badass heavy metal show could be a form of psychological therapy for me and Rachel is writing the prescription. I’ve always said that music is my drug of choice. It’s the soundtrack to my screwed up mind and a generator of creative fuel for as long as I continue to write deliciously violent stories, which means forever.
Just like any other concert or vacation, I’m going to need some downtime afterwards to recharge my batteries. Introverts love downtime. They get cranky whenever they don’t get it. But seeing as how this concert is on a Sunday, there’s going to be more work to be done as far as moving furniture and ripping up carpets goes. This time, we’re spending the weekend on Reina’s room. Not to worry, because Reina’s room is a microcosm compared to downstairs. I may not be Brock Lesnar, but I’ll take her furniture to Suplex City anyways. Hehe!
What does this mean for my creative life? It may be interrupted due to tiredness, but that’s nothing new for me and I always recover in time to make a difference. I still have Andy Peloquin’s “Lament of the Fallen” novel to read and review. I still have Marie Krepps’ “Never Again” story to beta-read and give smart-assed critiques to. As far as the WSS goes…well….
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
I know you all were expecting a short story called “Hardcore Hogan”, an action packed piece of science-fiction where a Hulk Hogan parody beats the shit out of aliens and earns his freedom from being probed and prodded. However, the week of that contest was exhausting on so many levels, whether it was public life, sleep apnea problems, or doing piss-soaked chores. Aside from that, there were too many plot holes in my story for it to be taken seriously. I repeat: WAY too many plot holes. I pride myself on getting my first drafts right the first time, because that way I won’t have a shit load of work to do when the time comes to edit them. Never fear, loyal readers, because even though “Hardcore Hogan” may never get off the ground, “Fairytale” did and it’s a much superior story despite its lack of delicious violence. Well, there’s verbal violence, but that’s not the same thing.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Now that multiple women have claimed Bill Cosby raped them, black teenagers are telling Cosby, ‘Pull YOUR pants up.’”
-Bill Maher-
I’ve been to a lot of concerts this year. It all started with Nightwish back in March and it continued with Rob Zombie X Korn in July and Slipknot X Marilyn Manson in early August. This coming Sunday, I’m going back to the frontlines with Disturbed and Breaking Benjamin as the main acts. They’re going to be part of a much larger festival called Pain in the Grass, a concert which starts at 1:00 in the afternoon and is supported by Alter Bridge, Saint Asonia, Anthrax, Pop Evil, Stitched Up Heart, and Windowpane. Holy shit, that’s a lot of heavy metal!
My therapist Rachel and her husband Michael have tickets to this show, so they’re going to be the ones who drive me to and from Auburn. Maybe this badass heavy metal show could be a form of psychological therapy for me and Rachel is writing the prescription. I’ve always said that music is my drug of choice. It’s the soundtrack to my screwed up mind and a generator of creative fuel for as long as I continue to write deliciously violent stories, which means forever.
Just like any other concert or vacation, I’m going to need some downtime afterwards to recharge my batteries. Introverts love downtime. They get cranky whenever they don’t get it. But seeing as how this concert is on a Sunday, there’s going to be more work to be done as far as moving furniture and ripping up carpets goes. This time, we’re spending the weekend on Reina’s room. Not to worry, because Reina’s room is a microcosm compared to downstairs. I may not be Brock Lesnar, but I’ll take her furniture to Suplex City anyways. Hehe!
What does this mean for my creative life? It may be interrupted due to tiredness, but that’s nothing new for me and I always recover in time to make a difference. I still have Andy Peloquin’s “Lament of the Fallen” novel to read and review. I still have Marie Krepps’ “Never Again” story to beta-read and give smart-assed critiques to. As far as the WSS goes…well….
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
I know you all were expecting a short story called “Hardcore Hogan”, an action packed piece of science-fiction where a Hulk Hogan parody beats the shit out of aliens and earns his freedom from being probed and prodded. However, the week of that contest was exhausting on so many levels, whether it was public life, sleep apnea problems, or doing piss-soaked chores. Aside from that, there were too many plot holes in my story for it to be taken seriously. I repeat: WAY too many plot holes. I pride myself on getting my first drafts right the first time, because that way I won’t have a shit load of work to do when the time comes to edit them. Never fear, loyal readers, because even though “Hardcore Hogan” may never get off the ground, “Fairytale” did and it’s a much superior story despite its lack of delicious violence. Well, there’s verbal violence, but that’s not the same thing.
***COMEDIC QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“Now that multiple women have claimed Bill Cosby raped them, black teenagers are telling Cosby, ‘Pull YOUR pants up.’”
-Bill Maher-
August 17, 2016
Fairytale
Steve Mercer and Joey Mitchell spent the last thirty minutes staring at each other with angry frowns and fiery eyes, like they wanted to kill each other. Steve stood at one end of the holding cell still dressed in his wedding tuxedo and his wife sat at the bench across from him still in her cake-stained wedding dress. Steve had a silent and passive aura about him while Joey had passion and hot lava flowing through her veins.
At any moment, she could have screamed like a demon and strangled her would-be husband to where his head burst like a pimple. But instead, she chose to let her words be her fists of fury. “I can’t fucking believe you right now, Steve. All of that money spent and all of that frustrating planning went to waste. I really thought you were the one for me. And then you said, ‘I do not’ at the very last minute. Our families brawling afterwards was the icing on the cake. And yet, you have nothing to say for yourself right now.”
While rubbing his aching temples, Steve said, “Look, babe, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“That’s been your answer for every one of our arguments, Steve!” shouted Joey as she shot up from her seat. “It’s like you don’t give a shit about anything anymore! I might as well have been marrying a zombie at that wedding!”
“Please stop yelling, you’re making my head hurt,” said an exhausted and defeated Steve as he continued to give himself a head massage.
“No, I’m not going to stop yelling! I’m pissed off! You talk about your head hurting?! Well, I’m hurting too, asshole! I feel like any second now I’m going to burst into tears and you’re just going to stand there and do nothing about it! You’re a coward! You’re a goddamn coward, Steve!” shouted Joey as she pounded her fists to her sides.
“You want to see some passion, you crazy bitch?!” shouted Steve, prompting his now fearful wife to sit back down on the bench. “You want some fire?! You want some energy?! You’ve got it, babe!”
After a few angry breaths, he continued his oratory with, “You want to know why I said no at that altar? Fine, I’ll tell you why! Before we decided to get married, we’ve had nothing but love for each other. We kissed, we hugged, we made sweet monkey love on your couch, and we said, ‘I love you’ every damn day! And then after we got engaged, that’s when your so-called stress kicked in and we had nothing but fights to show for it. Every damn day was an argument about something whether it was leaving food on the table, not doing a certain chore correctly, or not having enough money for a cup of coffee. You know, the little things in life!”
“Wow, you’ve never really had a girlfriend before have you, Steve!” Joey fired back. “If you did, you would know that arguments happen all the time in relationships! That’s how problems get solved! Relationships require a little something called work! Even though we fought a lot during the wedding planning, I still loved you for everything you are!”
“Really? Because you had a funny way of showing it, that’s for sure!” shouted Steve while throwing his arms around in anger. “I always thought that romance was supposed to play out like a fairytale! I actually believed in happily ever after and making love until the end of time! And then you came along and destroyed that for me! Instead of solving your problems peacefully, you decided yelling at me every five minutes was the answer! Well, I may be the only one in this world who believes in fairytales, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong!”
Joey stood back up with her arms folded and said, “I really hate to burst your little fantasy bubble, Steve, but fairytale romances don’t exist! You spend way too much time with those novels and Disney movies of yours and you actually think that’s how love works! I don’t fight with you because I hate you, Steve! I fight with you because I love you! I’m fighting to keep our relationship together!” Her eyes welled up with tears and she wiped a few of them a way with her manicured finger. “I still have feelings for you, Steve. Please, don’t leave me!”
“So is that really why people get together in the first place?” asked Steve in a low, but firm voice. “They just get together and fight each other? Well, if you want to fight all the time, join the UFC. Hell, you’ll get paid big sums of money to do what you love to do. And you don’t even have to give your heart away, that’s the best part! Me? It’s too late for someone like me. I actually believe in solving problems peacefully. I believe that frequent arguments lead to breakups and divorces. I believe that drama is uncomfortable to watch and even worse to be a part of. Maybe I do believe in fairytales too much. That doesn’t mean I’m crazy.”
Joey sat back down on the bench and let out a frustrated sigh. After a few long seconds of ducking her head and wiping her tears away, she said, “Here’s the deal, Steve. You don’t realize it right now, but I still love you even after you basically incited a riot between our families and got us in jail in the first place. But I’m not sure you love me back anymore. So I’m giving you an ultimatum: love me or leave me. If you love me, I will make you the happiest husband you could ever be. If you leave me, you won’t find your fairytale romance anywhere else because relationships don’t work like that. Either way, the ball’s in your court, buddy.”
Steve folded his arms and sighed before saying, “I need the rest of the night to think about this.”
“What is there to think about, Steve? It’s a simple question with two answers! How could it be that difficult?!” said Joey while flailing her arms in anger.
“Hey! Do you want me to make the right decision or not?!” shouted Steve, opening a rift of uncomfortable silence between boyfriend and girlfriend. “If you want an answer, wait until morning. Right now, my head feels like it’s been jammed in a vice and I’ve got bruises all over my body from your stupid family’s punches. We’ve done enough arguing for the evening. I just want to rest right now and clear my head. Is that so wrong? Or do you want to argue some more because fairytales don’t exist?”
Joey hung her head in silent sorrow while Steve laid down on the floor of the holding cell, where he would spend the rest of the evening snoozing away and sounding like a machinegun as he snored. Joey slept peacefully on her bench like she was at a comfortable hotel. A part of her wanted fairytales to exist. She wanted to have a seaside honeymoon with her husband and make love until the end of time while eating chocolate-covered strawberries. Her husband’s innocent ways put a small smile on her face. She hoped he would make the right decision by the time the morning sun shone through their cell.
When morning finally came, it wasn’t the brilliant orange skies that woke her up, but the sounds of war-like thunder followed by foggy visuals through her window. Even though Joey and Steve slept like rocks, they woke up so sore and stiff that sleeping on a bed of barbed wire would have been more comfortable. The argumentative couple cracked her joints and stretched their limbs before staring at each other blankly. Had Steve made his decision? Was he ready to accept the responsibilities of marriage or was he too much of a sucker for fairytales?
“Good morning, lovebirds,” said the police officer standing at the holding cell door. “Mr. Mercer, you’re free to go. Your family posted bail.” The cop opened the cell door and motioned for Steve to come over.
Steve dragged his stiff and aching body toward the door, holding his ribs like they had just taken a massive beating. Once freedom was within reach, he stopped for a minute and turned around to give Joey the most sorrowful look he could. Tears started forming in the bride’s eyes once more. She needed an answer so badly that anxiety was building up in her stomach and ice water was passing through her veins.
Steve looked down at his wedding band for the longest time before sliding it off of his finger and tossing it into Joey’s hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Not with you, not with anyone else. Romance sucks.” He turned heel and walked out the door without so much as a wave or a blown kiss.
Once the cell door closed behind him, Joey’s stomach felt like she had been punched with a loaded glove. Her heart felt like it was being ripped into confetti. Her eyes felt like they’d been gouged out as hot tears poured from her face. She let out an animalistic, “NO!!” and pounded the bench with her fists. She spent the next few minutes allowing her tears to dampen the concrete floor beneath her. Was there something to be said for fairytale endings? Did she and Steve really fight as much as he said they did? Is anybody else worth putting her trust into? So many questions, but no answers, only tears and red puffy eyes.
At any moment, she could have screamed like a demon and strangled her would-be husband to where his head burst like a pimple. But instead, she chose to let her words be her fists of fury. “I can’t fucking believe you right now, Steve. All of that money spent and all of that frustrating planning went to waste. I really thought you were the one for me. And then you said, ‘I do not’ at the very last minute. Our families brawling afterwards was the icing on the cake. And yet, you have nothing to say for yourself right now.”
While rubbing his aching temples, Steve said, “Look, babe, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“That’s been your answer for every one of our arguments, Steve!” shouted Joey as she shot up from her seat. “It’s like you don’t give a shit about anything anymore! I might as well have been marrying a zombie at that wedding!”
“Please stop yelling, you’re making my head hurt,” said an exhausted and defeated Steve as he continued to give himself a head massage.
“No, I’m not going to stop yelling! I’m pissed off! You talk about your head hurting?! Well, I’m hurting too, asshole! I feel like any second now I’m going to burst into tears and you’re just going to stand there and do nothing about it! You’re a coward! You’re a goddamn coward, Steve!” shouted Joey as she pounded her fists to her sides.
“You want to see some passion, you crazy bitch?!” shouted Steve, prompting his now fearful wife to sit back down on the bench. “You want some fire?! You want some energy?! You’ve got it, babe!”
After a few angry breaths, he continued his oratory with, “You want to know why I said no at that altar? Fine, I’ll tell you why! Before we decided to get married, we’ve had nothing but love for each other. We kissed, we hugged, we made sweet monkey love on your couch, and we said, ‘I love you’ every damn day! And then after we got engaged, that’s when your so-called stress kicked in and we had nothing but fights to show for it. Every damn day was an argument about something whether it was leaving food on the table, not doing a certain chore correctly, or not having enough money for a cup of coffee. You know, the little things in life!”
“Wow, you’ve never really had a girlfriend before have you, Steve!” Joey fired back. “If you did, you would know that arguments happen all the time in relationships! That’s how problems get solved! Relationships require a little something called work! Even though we fought a lot during the wedding planning, I still loved you for everything you are!”
“Really? Because you had a funny way of showing it, that’s for sure!” shouted Steve while throwing his arms around in anger. “I always thought that romance was supposed to play out like a fairytale! I actually believed in happily ever after and making love until the end of time! And then you came along and destroyed that for me! Instead of solving your problems peacefully, you decided yelling at me every five minutes was the answer! Well, I may be the only one in this world who believes in fairytales, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong!”
Joey stood back up with her arms folded and said, “I really hate to burst your little fantasy bubble, Steve, but fairytale romances don’t exist! You spend way too much time with those novels and Disney movies of yours and you actually think that’s how love works! I don’t fight with you because I hate you, Steve! I fight with you because I love you! I’m fighting to keep our relationship together!” Her eyes welled up with tears and she wiped a few of them a way with her manicured finger. “I still have feelings for you, Steve. Please, don’t leave me!”
“So is that really why people get together in the first place?” asked Steve in a low, but firm voice. “They just get together and fight each other? Well, if you want to fight all the time, join the UFC. Hell, you’ll get paid big sums of money to do what you love to do. And you don’t even have to give your heart away, that’s the best part! Me? It’s too late for someone like me. I actually believe in solving problems peacefully. I believe that frequent arguments lead to breakups and divorces. I believe that drama is uncomfortable to watch and even worse to be a part of. Maybe I do believe in fairytales too much. That doesn’t mean I’m crazy.”
Joey sat back down on the bench and let out a frustrated sigh. After a few long seconds of ducking her head and wiping her tears away, she said, “Here’s the deal, Steve. You don’t realize it right now, but I still love you even after you basically incited a riot between our families and got us in jail in the first place. But I’m not sure you love me back anymore. So I’m giving you an ultimatum: love me or leave me. If you love me, I will make you the happiest husband you could ever be. If you leave me, you won’t find your fairytale romance anywhere else because relationships don’t work like that. Either way, the ball’s in your court, buddy.”
Steve folded his arms and sighed before saying, “I need the rest of the night to think about this.”
“What is there to think about, Steve? It’s a simple question with two answers! How could it be that difficult?!” said Joey while flailing her arms in anger.
“Hey! Do you want me to make the right decision or not?!” shouted Steve, opening a rift of uncomfortable silence between boyfriend and girlfriend. “If you want an answer, wait until morning. Right now, my head feels like it’s been jammed in a vice and I’ve got bruises all over my body from your stupid family’s punches. We’ve done enough arguing for the evening. I just want to rest right now and clear my head. Is that so wrong? Or do you want to argue some more because fairytales don’t exist?”
Joey hung her head in silent sorrow while Steve laid down on the floor of the holding cell, where he would spend the rest of the evening snoozing away and sounding like a machinegun as he snored. Joey slept peacefully on her bench like she was at a comfortable hotel. A part of her wanted fairytales to exist. She wanted to have a seaside honeymoon with her husband and make love until the end of time while eating chocolate-covered strawberries. Her husband’s innocent ways put a small smile on her face. She hoped he would make the right decision by the time the morning sun shone through their cell.
When morning finally came, it wasn’t the brilliant orange skies that woke her up, but the sounds of war-like thunder followed by foggy visuals through her window. Even though Joey and Steve slept like rocks, they woke up so sore and stiff that sleeping on a bed of barbed wire would have been more comfortable. The argumentative couple cracked her joints and stretched their limbs before staring at each other blankly. Had Steve made his decision? Was he ready to accept the responsibilities of marriage or was he too much of a sucker for fairytales?
“Good morning, lovebirds,” said the police officer standing at the holding cell door. “Mr. Mercer, you’re free to go. Your family posted bail.” The cop opened the cell door and motioned for Steve to come over.
Steve dragged his stiff and aching body toward the door, holding his ribs like they had just taken a massive beating. Once freedom was within reach, he stopped for a minute and turned around to give Joey the most sorrowful look he could. Tears started forming in the bride’s eyes once more. She needed an answer so badly that anxiety was building up in her stomach and ice water was passing through her veins.
Steve looked down at his wedding band for the longest time before sliding it off of his finger and tossing it into Joey’s hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Not with you, not with anyone else. Romance sucks.” He turned heel and walked out the door without so much as a wave or a blown kiss.
Once the cell door closed behind him, Joey’s stomach felt like she had been punched with a loaded glove. Her heart felt like it was being ripped into confetti. Her eyes felt like they’d been gouged out as hot tears poured from her face. She let out an animalistic, “NO!!” and pounded the bench with her fists. She spent the next few minutes allowing her tears to dampen the concrete floor beneath her. Was there something to be said for fairytale endings? Did she and Steve really fight as much as he said they did? Is anybody else worth putting her trust into? So many questions, but no answers, only tears and red puffy eyes.
August 16, 2016
Lucha Mexico
MOVIE TITLE: Lucha Mexico
DIRECTORS: Alex Hammond and Ian Markiewicz
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Pro-Wrestling Documentary
RATING: Unrated, though it contains bloody violence and language
GRADE: Pass
Mexico has always been plagued with poverty, crime, and corrupt politics. The one escape from the country’s negative features has always been Lucha Libre, a high-flying, mask-wearing style of professional wrestling. This documentary takes you behind the scenes of Mexican wrestling from the torturous training to the violently entertaining matches to the dire personal lives of the luchadors. Lucha Libre has a rich history and a colorful culture, but it’s also a business that requires a great deal of toughness in order to survive. Some luchadors become popular and draw in a lot of money. Most of them don’t and they suffer in obscurity. The raw honesty of this filmmaking style is one of this movie’s most prominent features.
The audience can easily get a rich education from watching Lucha Mexico. They can learn how a luchador’s mask can protect private lives and give personality and flavor to the wrestlers wearing them. They can learn the huge differences between Mexican wrestling, which is all about the high flying action, and American wrestling, which is monologue-heavy and slower-paced. They can learn about the risks and rewards of embarking on a professional wrestling career whether it’s getting an injury or becoming wildly popular. By the end of this movie, the viewers will gain a great deal of respect and appreciation for what these athletes have to go through on a day to day basis. The movie will create new wrestling fans and it will rekindle the fire within those already converted. It’s not just “man drama” as UFC commentator Joe Rogan once stupidly called it. It’s a passionate form of entertainment.
Speaking of entertainment, if you want to see delicious and action-packed violence, Lucha Mexico is happy to oblige. Sure, the wrestling matches are in short snippets, but there’s just enough content where the audience can enjoy back flips, slams, top rope dives, and most brutal of all, bloodletting. Yes, from time to time, they actually do hardcore style, which if you’re not a wrestling fan means the luchadors are allowed to use weapons and they will make each other bleed nearly to death for the crowd’s entertainment. No matter what kind of match is taking place, you will either wince in pain or you’ll be on the edge of your seat in anticipation for the big finish. That’s what wrestling is all about: creative storytelling and violent choreography. Again, Joe Rogan, it’s not “man drama”, you fool.
As long as I’m dragging Mr. Rogan’s name through the mud, there’s another thing this movie is good for: debating. The kind of debating I’m talking about is between Mexican and American styles of wrestling. Since Mexican wrestling is more action-oriented, you don’t get a lot of the bigoted promos that American wrestling has been known for over the past two decades. Meanwhile, some American wrestling fans would argue that all villain heat is the same and promos build up more tension between the two battling wrestlers. Both sides of the fence have good points to make and I’m not going to list all of them in this review, because I want my readers to make up their own minds. They can do that when they watch Lucha Mexico since they’re not overly preachy or pushy. It’s just raw, honest filmmaking, that’s all.
In this movie there’s something for everybody, which includes complete laymen. Lucha Mexico will either be a rich educational journey, more pride in being a wrestling fan, or both at the same time. Nobody is walking away from this movie unaffected. If you’re still feeling neutral after all is said and done, you probably sleep in an underground coffin at night. Or you’re Joe Rogan, one of the two. Or maybe you’re both, I don’t know. I give this movie a passing grade for giving my inner wrestling geek a reason to do more back flips and cartwheels than the luchadors themselves. Excellent work!
DIRECTORS: Alex Hammond and Ian Markiewicz
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Pro-Wrestling Documentary
RATING: Unrated, though it contains bloody violence and language
GRADE: Pass
Mexico has always been plagued with poverty, crime, and corrupt politics. The one escape from the country’s negative features has always been Lucha Libre, a high-flying, mask-wearing style of professional wrestling. This documentary takes you behind the scenes of Mexican wrestling from the torturous training to the violently entertaining matches to the dire personal lives of the luchadors. Lucha Libre has a rich history and a colorful culture, but it’s also a business that requires a great deal of toughness in order to survive. Some luchadors become popular and draw in a lot of money. Most of them don’t and they suffer in obscurity. The raw honesty of this filmmaking style is one of this movie’s most prominent features.
The audience can easily get a rich education from watching Lucha Mexico. They can learn how a luchador’s mask can protect private lives and give personality and flavor to the wrestlers wearing them. They can learn the huge differences between Mexican wrestling, which is all about the high flying action, and American wrestling, which is monologue-heavy and slower-paced. They can learn about the risks and rewards of embarking on a professional wrestling career whether it’s getting an injury or becoming wildly popular. By the end of this movie, the viewers will gain a great deal of respect and appreciation for what these athletes have to go through on a day to day basis. The movie will create new wrestling fans and it will rekindle the fire within those already converted. It’s not just “man drama” as UFC commentator Joe Rogan once stupidly called it. It’s a passionate form of entertainment.
Speaking of entertainment, if you want to see delicious and action-packed violence, Lucha Mexico is happy to oblige. Sure, the wrestling matches are in short snippets, but there’s just enough content where the audience can enjoy back flips, slams, top rope dives, and most brutal of all, bloodletting. Yes, from time to time, they actually do hardcore style, which if you’re not a wrestling fan means the luchadors are allowed to use weapons and they will make each other bleed nearly to death for the crowd’s entertainment. No matter what kind of match is taking place, you will either wince in pain or you’ll be on the edge of your seat in anticipation for the big finish. That’s what wrestling is all about: creative storytelling and violent choreography. Again, Joe Rogan, it’s not “man drama”, you fool.
As long as I’m dragging Mr. Rogan’s name through the mud, there’s another thing this movie is good for: debating. The kind of debating I’m talking about is between Mexican and American styles of wrestling. Since Mexican wrestling is more action-oriented, you don’t get a lot of the bigoted promos that American wrestling has been known for over the past two decades. Meanwhile, some American wrestling fans would argue that all villain heat is the same and promos build up more tension between the two battling wrestlers. Both sides of the fence have good points to make and I’m not going to list all of them in this review, because I want my readers to make up their own minds. They can do that when they watch Lucha Mexico since they’re not overly preachy or pushy. It’s just raw, honest filmmaking, that’s all.
In this movie there’s something for everybody, which includes complete laymen. Lucha Mexico will either be a rich educational journey, more pride in being a wrestling fan, or both at the same time. Nobody is walking away from this movie unaffected. If you’re still feeling neutral after all is said and done, you probably sleep in an underground coffin at night. Or you’re Joe Rogan, one of the two. Or maybe you’re both, I don’t know. I give this movie a passing grade for giving my inner wrestling geek a reason to do more back flips and cartwheels than the luchadors themselves. Excellent work!
August 15, 2016
Ghostbusters
MOVIE TITLE: Ghostbusters
DIRECTOR: Paul Feig
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Supernatural Comedy
RATING: PG-13 for language and violence
GRADE: Pass
Dr. Erin Gilbert is a university professor who used to tinker with supernatural experiments as a child, but no longer believes in ghosts as an adult. When she investigates a haunted house disturbance alongside her childhood friend Abby Yates and her partner Jillian Holtzmann, Erin’s fascination with the paranormal is rekindled once more. The team adds subway clerk Patty Tolan and goofy assistant Kevin Beckman to their camp and they become The Ghostbusters. Despite public backlash and skepticism, the Ghostbusters continue to track down ghosts and demons in the streets of New York City using energy weapons and containment shells.
The elephant in the room with this movie is the all-female protagonist cast, which has generated an unfair amount of criticism from misogynists and fans of the original Ghostbusters movies from the 80’s. The last time I heard that much whining, I was babysitting puppies. What’s so bad about having strong female characters? Why must all badass women run around in bikinis and have fast romances with hunky men? The Ghostbusters don’t fit any female stereotype and they’re not sexualized in any way. They’re just everyday women that you would see on the street…except for the fact that they shoot nuclear lasers at ghosts and laugh in their doubters’ faces throughout the movie. In the end, if they can save New York City from being overrun by monsters and demons, they’ve got my support no matter what. Keep up the good work, ladies!
In addition to having strong female characters that destroy obstacles and defy gender roles in convincing fashion, you’ve also got a main villain who many people can identify with despite his evilness. His name is Rowan North and he’s the one who’s been unleashing a horde of monsters on everyone in sight. He is so awkward and weird that nobody wants to even be within ten feet of him. If you’ve ever been labeled as a weirdo during your younger years, you know how much pain this man is in. Hell, there are times when my own awkwardness gets in the way of personal progress. While Rowan’s anger toward a cruel and unfeeling world is understandable, never forget that he is a villain and his weapon of choice could destroy an entire city, maybe even the whole world. Would it kill anybody to give this guy a hug? Hell, even Erin Gilbert and Abby Yates could identify with Rowan!
Now that I think about it, there aren’t very many characters in this movie that are dislikable. The monsters are brutal and violent, the humans are quirky and humorous in their own way, and there are even actors from the 80’s Ghostbusters movies that reappear, although as completely different characters. The minute Bill Murray’s face popped up on the screen, the entire movie theater erupted with laughter. When even more actors like Sigourney Weaver and Dan Akroyd appeared in the movie, there was laughter and cheering mixed into one sweet package. This blending of old school and new will create a lot of cheerful and hilarious moments, crude insults and dark jokes included.
With this kooky cast of characters all in one movie, you’d be hard pressed to find a single sorrowful moment in the whole film. Since when did positivity and fun-filled entertainment become things to scoff at? Is all of this harsh criticism really about the main cast consisting mostly of women? Do you really need a sandwich that badly? Then for god’s sake, go to Subway and shell out five dollars for a foot-long! Heaven forbid that women find their own source of strength and shatter the glass ceiling into snowflakes. Ghostbusters has earned a passing grade from me not just for the fast-paced action or the silly jokes, but also for being a model for progressive change. Nothing stays the same forever, not even hate.
DIRECTOR: Paul Feig
YEAR: 2016
GENRE: Supernatural Comedy
RATING: PG-13 for language and violence
GRADE: Pass
Dr. Erin Gilbert is a university professor who used to tinker with supernatural experiments as a child, but no longer believes in ghosts as an adult. When she investigates a haunted house disturbance alongside her childhood friend Abby Yates and her partner Jillian Holtzmann, Erin’s fascination with the paranormal is rekindled once more. The team adds subway clerk Patty Tolan and goofy assistant Kevin Beckman to their camp and they become The Ghostbusters. Despite public backlash and skepticism, the Ghostbusters continue to track down ghosts and demons in the streets of New York City using energy weapons and containment shells.
The elephant in the room with this movie is the all-female protagonist cast, which has generated an unfair amount of criticism from misogynists and fans of the original Ghostbusters movies from the 80’s. The last time I heard that much whining, I was babysitting puppies. What’s so bad about having strong female characters? Why must all badass women run around in bikinis and have fast romances with hunky men? The Ghostbusters don’t fit any female stereotype and they’re not sexualized in any way. They’re just everyday women that you would see on the street…except for the fact that they shoot nuclear lasers at ghosts and laugh in their doubters’ faces throughout the movie. In the end, if they can save New York City from being overrun by monsters and demons, they’ve got my support no matter what. Keep up the good work, ladies!
In addition to having strong female characters that destroy obstacles and defy gender roles in convincing fashion, you’ve also got a main villain who many people can identify with despite his evilness. His name is Rowan North and he’s the one who’s been unleashing a horde of monsters on everyone in sight. He is so awkward and weird that nobody wants to even be within ten feet of him. If you’ve ever been labeled as a weirdo during your younger years, you know how much pain this man is in. Hell, there are times when my own awkwardness gets in the way of personal progress. While Rowan’s anger toward a cruel and unfeeling world is understandable, never forget that he is a villain and his weapon of choice could destroy an entire city, maybe even the whole world. Would it kill anybody to give this guy a hug? Hell, even Erin Gilbert and Abby Yates could identify with Rowan!
Now that I think about it, there aren’t very many characters in this movie that are dislikable. The monsters are brutal and violent, the humans are quirky and humorous in their own way, and there are even actors from the 80’s Ghostbusters movies that reappear, although as completely different characters. The minute Bill Murray’s face popped up on the screen, the entire movie theater erupted with laughter. When even more actors like Sigourney Weaver and Dan Akroyd appeared in the movie, there was laughter and cheering mixed into one sweet package. This blending of old school and new will create a lot of cheerful and hilarious moments, crude insults and dark jokes included.
With this kooky cast of characters all in one movie, you’d be hard pressed to find a single sorrowful moment in the whole film. Since when did positivity and fun-filled entertainment become things to scoff at? Is all of this harsh criticism really about the main cast consisting mostly of women? Do you really need a sandwich that badly? Then for god’s sake, go to Subway and shell out five dollars for a foot-long! Heaven forbid that women find their own source of strength and shatter the glass ceiling into snowflakes. Ghostbusters has earned a passing grade from me not just for the fast-paced action or the silly jokes, but also for being a model for progressive change. Nothing stays the same forever, not even hate.
August 14, 2016
Ice Cream
VERSE 1
I saw you eating the ice cream on TV
I broke up with you so no one would see me
Side by side with a piggish eater
You ranked lower than a careless cheater
I saw you with hot fudge on your face
I saw you with chocolate all over the place
I had to get away, please try to understand
It’s not you, it’s me; I’m breaking up the band
CHORUS
He’s the loser, she’s the victor
If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her
To the victor go the spoils
Is that enough to get your blood to boil?
VERSE 2
Join the party, it’s not totally awkward
The host himself made the final offer
He’s keeping his lips tight about the breakup
But there’s still no chance to kiss and makeup
You can read his lips from a mile away
“Let’s sleep together” is what he’ll say
One letter off and you’re like a volcano
Yet she’s the one with the wings and halo
CHORUS
He’s the loser, she’s the victor
If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her
To the victor go the spoils
Is that enough to get your blood to boil?
BRIDGE
Hop in the car and get out of the arena
For this disaster, you’ll have to call FEMA
Don’t worry about useless small talk
If worst comes to worst, get out and walk
EXTENDED CHORUS
He’s the loser, she’s the victor
If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her
To the victor go the spoils
Is that enough to get your blood to boil?
If this is comedy, your sense of humor is dark
You make slaughter sound like a walk in the park
Just another item on the list of failures
That ship has left and you’re the sailor
I saw you eating the ice cream on TV
I broke up with you so no one would see me
Side by side with a piggish eater
You ranked lower than a careless cheater
I saw you with hot fudge on your face
I saw you with chocolate all over the place
I had to get away, please try to understand
It’s not you, it’s me; I’m breaking up the band
CHORUS
He’s the loser, she’s the victor
If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her
To the victor go the spoils
Is that enough to get your blood to boil?
VERSE 2
Join the party, it’s not totally awkward
The host himself made the final offer
He’s keeping his lips tight about the breakup
But there’s still no chance to kiss and makeup
You can read his lips from a mile away
“Let’s sleep together” is what he’ll say
One letter off and you’re like a volcano
Yet she’s the one with the wings and halo
CHORUS
He’s the loser, she’s the victor
If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her
To the victor go the spoils
Is that enough to get your blood to boil?
BRIDGE
Hop in the car and get out of the arena
For this disaster, you’ll have to call FEMA
Don’t worry about useless small talk
If worst comes to worst, get out and walk
EXTENDED CHORUS
He’s the loser, she’s the victor
If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her
To the victor go the spoils
Is that enough to get your blood to boil?
If this is comedy, your sense of humor is dark
You make slaughter sound like a walk in the park
Just another item on the list of failures
That ship has left and you’re the sailor
August 12, 2016
Robotic Junkyard
***ROBOTIC JUNKYARD***
Just like with the Necrocosm, the Robotic Junkyard will be another opportunity for creative fuel, whether you’re a writer yourself or an artist of another genre. Really, this blog entry is just an excuse to give you updates on my life, but as long as I’m flapping my gums, I might as well give you a prompt suggestion. You could write a whole novel or short story around it. You could paint a picture of it. You could completely ignore it. No matter what you choose, I’m keeping the buffet table of creative food for thought open all night. You can come back for seconds, thirds, and maybe even the dessert version of food for thought.
The idea of a robotic junkyard isn’t new, but it’s also something I’ve only seen one time and I’d like to see it more often. In other words, it’s highly underrated for all of the potential it could have. I think it was Mega Man 7 for the Super Nintendo that had a boss enemy called Junk Man. His stage was the robotic junkyard and the gimmick was basically throwing mechanical parts at Mega Man until he was junk himself. Morph Moth from Mega Man X2 might have also had a robotic junkyard for a stage, but I’m not one-hundred percent sure.
Either way, getting mechanical robot parts thrown at you doesn’t feel very good, or so I’m told. Imagine getting clocked upside the head by a flying hubcap. Maybe a flying saw blade would be worse. Maybe a broken down machine will come to life and beat your ass into nuts and bolts. And this is just the overhead level. Once you get underground, then the metal parts will really start to fly. I could have just as easily said, “The shit really starts to hit the fan,” because that would be just as accurate.
I experimented with these ideas back in 2011 when I wrote a novelette called “Thunder Ballz”. Yes, you read that correctly. I have nothing to gain by lying to you about that. It was a hybrid of Dragon Ball Z and Mega Man X written by a member of Generation Y. I just used X, Y, and Z in the same sentence. High five! Anyways, this novelette read more like a game of Mega Man X with the number of different places the characters went to and how they defeated their chief enemies in short order. One of the places was a robotic junkyard and the boss battle ended when the upper level of junk came crashing down on the villain. Ouch! That’s a lot of goddamn metal! More metal than the Pain in the Grass concert I’m going to later this month!
Obviously, Thunder Ballz never went anywhere even when all eleven chapters were written. But really, how could you expect it to when the whole objective of the story was to find lizard testicles. Again, I’m not profiting in any way by telling you this. In fact, I’m making my younger self sound like a total toolbox. Hehe! What this means is that the robotic junkyard idea is still up for grabs if I want to recycle it into another story. Heh, I said “recycle” in a conversation about junkyards.
If I was hosting a D&D campaign with a metallic scrapheap as the villain’s main base of operations, there are a few questions I need to answer for myself before starting the game. One, who in their right mind would want to live in a dingy place like a junkyard, and two, why are robotic limbs in the same universe as a fantasy role-playing game? While living in a pigsty isn’t always ideal to us semi-civilized humans, it would be for a tribe of orcs, ogres, or goblins. To answer the second question, if Magic: the Gathering can get away with using futuristic technology, so can D&D. They are, after all, distant cousins of one another since they were invented by Wizards of the Coast.
So you have the dirtiest and most classless races of monsters living in this scrapheap. Now what? What could possibly drive a wandering group of adventurers into this suicide mission? If they’re looking for priceless artifacts, they’d have just as much luck as a hobo diving in a dumpster: none. If a bounty head is hiding out here, that would be a little more realistic. He has protection from the disgusting creatures and, let’s face it, nobody would ever think to look in a place like this because nobody would want to hold their nose for that long. My mother, bless her soul, doesn’t even like being around wild rats. Adventurers like being around smell places even less. When you think about wanderlust and magical battles, a robotic junkyard isn’t the first thing that comes to mind.
But what kind of clues would you, the DM slash author, have to leave behind for someone to even consider digging through a place like this? New shipments? Bills? Noises? Activity? Or maybe one of the protective villains gets unlucky and can’t shake the adventurers off his tail, so he unknowingly leads them into the junkyard. Then again, maybe finding this hellhole of metallic crap isn’t such a good thing after all. You’ve still got swinging motors and flying anvils to duck and dodge. Don’t worry about getting a concussion, because you won’t be alive long enough to experience it!
So how about it, my creative brothers and sisters? Do you have any heroes who are crazy and/or stupid enough to want to go on a suicide mission in a metal scrapheap? Actually, it’s not considered good form to have stupid people for main heroes, unless you’re filming Forrest Gump. If your heroes are going to poke around a dangerous and filthy place, they’d better have a damn good reason. A dead body, a live body with a criminal past, or even an accidentally placed valuable artifact (which would be rare) would tickle the senses of even the most conservative adventurers. If you must adventure in the junkyard, the least you could do is take a gas mask with you. Breathing through your mouth doesn’t actually do anything to sooth the bad smell; that’s just a myth.
***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***
If you’ve already heard me talk about this on Face Book, feel free to ignore this section and move onto the next. But it’s true, people: last night I went to see Slipknot and Marilyn Manson at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn and they tore the motherfucking house down. They were heavy, they were creative, they were scary as hell, and they were fun to watch. While Slipknot was playing “Killpop”, I sang along with them in the most aggressive and passionate voice I could muster up. Apparently, this was enough for a guy to fist-bump me and for a sexy lady in a dress and a cowgirl hat to kiss the back of my hand. In the foolishly-written words of Anastasia Steele from “Fifty Shades of Grey”, my face was the color of the Communist Manifesto after that kiss. All in all, it was a fun-filled, magical night. On Sunday August 21st, I get to do this all again at the annual Pain in the Grass festival headlined by Disturbed.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
Despite the energy I’ve spent over the past few days, I’m definitely competing in this week’s “Celestial” contest. I wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to write “Hardcore Hogan”, which goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling
Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego
Kasabian, Alien Lord
Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kasabian’s ship is flying through the celestial bodies.
SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Looks like I’ve got another Occupy Wrestling villain on my plate and his name is Dovald. He used to have a last name, but I can’t remember what it was and Marie and I both agreed that he shouldn’t have one. Lots of WWE wrestlers only have one name like Kane, Konnor, Viktor, and Kalisto just to name a few. Dovald’s gimmick is that of a dark paladin with thick metal armor and a big fucking flail. The worst part about him? He has a tag team partner named Garra who’s every bit as brutal and badass. Of course, when the time comes to draw Garra, he won’t look anything like Dovald. They may be twins in Occupy Wrestling, but they don’t have to be twins in my drawing gallery.
***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“It’s not a war on drugs; it’s a war on personal freedom. Keep that in mind at all times. Thank you and have a nice day.”
-Bill Hicks-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Hey, that could be another reason why someone would want to go to a robotic junkyard: drugs! There could be a meth lab on the underground floor! A perfect place for filthy and freaky people to hide out!
Just like with the Necrocosm, the Robotic Junkyard will be another opportunity for creative fuel, whether you’re a writer yourself or an artist of another genre. Really, this blog entry is just an excuse to give you updates on my life, but as long as I’m flapping my gums, I might as well give you a prompt suggestion. You could write a whole novel or short story around it. You could paint a picture of it. You could completely ignore it. No matter what you choose, I’m keeping the buffet table of creative food for thought open all night. You can come back for seconds, thirds, and maybe even the dessert version of food for thought.
The idea of a robotic junkyard isn’t new, but it’s also something I’ve only seen one time and I’d like to see it more often. In other words, it’s highly underrated for all of the potential it could have. I think it was Mega Man 7 for the Super Nintendo that had a boss enemy called Junk Man. His stage was the robotic junkyard and the gimmick was basically throwing mechanical parts at Mega Man until he was junk himself. Morph Moth from Mega Man X2 might have also had a robotic junkyard for a stage, but I’m not one-hundred percent sure.
Either way, getting mechanical robot parts thrown at you doesn’t feel very good, or so I’m told. Imagine getting clocked upside the head by a flying hubcap. Maybe a flying saw blade would be worse. Maybe a broken down machine will come to life and beat your ass into nuts and bolts. And this is just the overhead level. Once you get underground, then the metal parts will really start to fly. I could have just as easily said, “The shit really starts to hit the fan,” because that would be just as accurate.
I experimented with these ideas back in 2011 when I wrote a novelette called “Thunder Ballz”. Yes, you read that correctly. I have nothing to gain by lying to you about that. It was a hybrid of Dragon Ball Z and Mega Man X written by a member of Generation Y. I just used X, Y, and Z in the same sentence. High five! Anyways, this novelette read more like a game of Mega Man X with the number of different places the characters went to and how they defeated their chief enemies in short order. One of the places was a robotic junkyard and the boss battle ended when the upper level of junk came crashing down on the villain. Ouch! That’s a lot of goddamn metal! More metal than the Pain in the Grass concert I’m going to later this month!
Obviously, Thunder Ballz never went anywhere even when all eleven chapters were written. But really, how could you expect it to when the whole objective of the story was to find lizard testicles. Again, I’m not profiting in any way by telling you this. In fact, I’m making my younger self sound like a total toolbox. Hehe! What this means is that the robotic junkyard idea is still up for grabs if I want to recycle it into another story. Heh, I said “recycle” in a conversation about junkyards.
If I was hosting a D&D campaign with a metallic scrapheap as the villain’s main base of operations, there are a few questions I need to answer for myself before starting the game. One, who in their right mind would want to live in a dingy place like a junkyard, and two, why are robotic limbs in the same universe as a fantasy role-playing game? While living in a pigsty isn’t always ideal to us semi-civilized humans, it would be for a tribe of orcs, ogres, or goblins. To answer the second question, if Magic: the Gathering can get away with using futuristic technology, so can D&D. They are, after all, distant cousins of one another since they were invented by Wizards of the Coast.
So you have the dirtiest and most classless races of monsters living in this scrapheap. Now what? What could possibly drive a wandering group of adventurers into this suicide mission? If they’re looking for priceless artifacts, they’d have just as much luck as a hobo diving in a dumpster: none. If a bounty head is hiding out here, that would be a little more realistic. He has protection from the disgusting creatures and, let’s face it, nobody would ever think to look in a place like this because nobody would want to hold their nose for that long. My mother, bless her soul, doesn’t even like being around wild rats. Adventurers like being around smell places even less. When you think about wanderlust and magical battles, a robotic junkyard isn’t the first thing that comes to mind.
But what kind of clues would you, the DM slash author, have to leave behind for someone to even consider digging through a place like this? New shipments? Bills? Noises? Activity? Or maybe one of the protective villains gets unlucky and can’t shake the adventurers off his tail, so he unknowingly leads them into the junkyard. Then again, maybe finding this hellhole of metallic crap isn’t such a good thing after all. You’ve still got swinging motors and flying anvils to duck and dodge. Don’t worry about getting a concussion, because you won’t be alive long enough to experience it!
So how about it, my creative brothers and sisters? Do you have any heroes who are crazy and/or stupid enough to want to go on a suicide mission in a metal scrapheap? Actually, it’s not considered good form to have stupid people for main heroes, unless you’re filming Forrest Gump. If your heroes are going to poke around a dangerous and filthy place, they’d better have a damn good reason. A dead body, a live body with a criminal past, or even an accidentally placed valuable artifact (which would be rare) would tickle the senses of even the most conservative adventurers. If you must adventure in the junkyard, the least you could do is take a gas mask with you. Breathing through your mouth doesn’t actually do anything to sooth the bad smell; that’s just a myth.
***SLIPKNOT X MARILYN MANSON CONCERT***
If you’ve already heard me talk about this on Face Book, feel free to ignore this section and move onto the next. But it’s true, people: last night I went to see Slipknot and Marilyn Manson at the White River Amphitheater in Auburn and they tore the motherfucking house down. They were heavy, they were creative, they were scary as hell, and they were fun to watch. While Slipknot was playing “Killpop”, I sang along with them in the most aggressive and passionate voice I could muster up. Apparently, this was enough for a guy to fist-bump me and for a sexy lady in a dress and a cowgirl hat to kiss the back of my hand. In the foolishly-written words of Anastasia Steele from “Fifty Shades of Grey”, my face was the color of the Communist Manifesto after that kiss. All in all, it was a fun-filled, magical night. On Sunday August 21st, I get to do this all again at the annual Pain in the Grass festival headlined by Disturbed.
***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***
Despite the energy I’ve spent over the past few days, I’m definitely competing in this week’s “Celestial” contest. I wouldn’t want to pass up an opportunity to write “Hardcore Hogan”, which goes like this:
CHARACTERS:
Garrison Kelly, Captured Earthling
Hardcore Hogan, Garrison’s Alter Ego
Kasabian, Alien Lord
Random Squid-Faced Alien Warriors
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Kasabian’s ship is flying through the celestial bodies.
SYNOPSIS: Garrison wakes up one day and finds himself in an alien ship’s prison cell. He has no idea what he’s doing there, but when he tries to shake the bars and complain, he gets electrocuted by the guards. Just when he is about to give in, he finds the Hall of Fame ring of his favorite professional wrestler Hardcore Hogan in the corner of the cell. When Garrison puts the ring on, he transforms into the muscular wrestler and puts a beating on the aliens after ripping the bars off the cell door. Kasabian serves as his final enemy and the only person who could possibly explain why Garrison/Hogan is on this ship to begin with.
***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***
Looks like I’ve got another Occupy Wrestling villain on my plate and his name is Dovald. He used to have a last name, but I can’t remember what it was and Marie and I both agreed that he shouldn’t have one. Lots of WWE wrestlers only have one name like Kane, Konnor, Viktor, and Kalisto just to name a few. Dovald’s gimmick is that of a dark paladin with thick metal armor and a big fucking flail. The worst part about him? He has a tag team partner named Garra who’s every bit as brutal and badass. Of course, when the time comes to draw Garra, he won’t look anything like Dovald. They may be twins in Occupy Wrestling, but they don’t have to be twins in my drawing gallery.
***POLITICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***
“It’s not a war on drugs; it’s a war on personal freedom. Keep that in mind at all times. Thank you and have a nice day.”
-Bill Hicks-
***POST-SCRIPT***
Hey, that could be another reason why someone would want to go to a robotic junkyard: drugs! There could be a meth lab on the underground floor! A perfect place for filthy and freaky people to hide out!
