Rathan Krueger's Blog, page 11

The Fall of Huetta, The Rise of Nostalgia

An interesting thing happened earlier this week. I was writing “Huetta’s Grace” and realized that I didn’t want to finish “Huetta’s Grace”. It hit me that I wanted to write a story more than I had something to say, and that’s a horrible place to be. It’s a reason why I don’t write blogs as often as I used to. I didn’t have much to say so they’d end up being me saying “I don’t have much to say” in so many sentences.

So what exactly went wrong? All of the long-form stories I’ve written had something going on underneath the surface. They were metaphorical pieces. My short-form stories can be “fluff” with no problem on my part. I’m not spending a lot of time writing them, so why not let them mean a little less? That’s not to say that “Huetta’s Grace” was light. There was some heavy stuff going on in there, but it all could’ve been taken at face value. So it began to unravel for me. I felt bad for a while because I had to throw out what I’ve written. But it’s best to realize that thing about myself now than when there’s some serious money on the line. I knew that I still wanted to write something, then I read an article.

I’m not the most nostalgic person in the world. There are bits and pieces of things I grew up with that I hold on to, but I’m never “OH FUCK, PLEASE BRING THIS BACK!!” about stuff. It was cool for a little while, the resurgence of the past, the nods and nudges (apart from “Scream” and its ilk), but I expected it to go away. Now, I’m living in the age of remakes and rehashes. This does not bode well for the future of art. For the longest time, I wanted to comment on it in some way but I couldn’t figure out how. I did know that I had to do it soon because SOMEONE has to, and why not be a leader? Alas, the spark didn’t ignite. Some may say that “The World’s End” is a great critique on nostalgia (and a great film), and it is but it’s not what I wanted to say (thankfully). Within the past few days, however, I managed to find some mental flint.

The idea of making an eight-episode miniseries about two people trapped in nostalgia came to me. It started off as something that I could bring to a friend and we could write it together. I’ve been wanting to try writing a story together with someone for a while so that I know what that’s like. It’s not something I’d do often, but I might be more or less open to it if I tried it early. A funny thread that’s been weaving through my creative life is that the more I do alone, the more I do. I saw that thread shortly after I had the idea. The notion of getting an agent and signing up for the WGA (Writer’s Guild of America) presented itself to me because the idea wasn’t something I could do without money. I hate the idea of not being able to work because a group of people tell me “no”, and the idea of having to rely on someone to protect me, so those two notions quickly were shot down. Then I thought about making it into a novel.

Me writing a novel that’s essentially a TV show with eight, hour-long episodes intrigued me greatly. And it’s so different than “Lie”. I spent last night expanding upon the idea and came up with some nifty stuff. What I wasn’t expecting was a chance to take some things from “Love! in Bedlam” that I REALLY wanna use and use them. It seems like all I’ll have of that novel is its name and concept… but that’s alright (more room to play whenever I get around to writing it). I’m setting it in the real world… two towns over. Similarly to how I created the world of “Lie” except that I’m making up a town and placing it among real towns. The ones around me. Something I was looking forward to doing in “Love! in Bedlam” was exploring the area with the characters. Give the readers a sorta roadside attraction map. They won’t be able to visit the main town, but everyplace else will be fair game. And the novel will be an attack on nostalgia, like how “Lie” was an attack on generic female characters.

It’ll be called “Nostalgia Season” and it’ll make a few people angry when I’m done. But it’ll make a lot of people think, which works.

Enough about this novel that doesn’t exist yet, how about one that does? My first novel, “Lie”, is about four women who go on vacation to help one of their own through a life-changing decision. Its first four chapters are available here, courtesy of Goodreads. If you like what you read, you can pick it up for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold.

Thanks for reading.

New Guest Post! With Idette!

Thanks to Laurie’s Paranormal Thoughts and Reviews for giving me the chance to promote “Lie”, and for giving me the chance to revisit it in a great and groovy way.

 

See what Idette Rudelle has to say about a few things.

Cover of My NaNoWriMo Project: “Huetta’s Grace”

[image error]

And I get started tomorrow. Happy Hallowe’en!

Medals? Awards? A Jedi Craves Not These Things

Just a quick post.

A few minutes ago, I was thinking about what sort of… prizes I hope to have throughout my life as an artist and an entertainer. Wouldn’t it be cool to win a Saturn Award or a Stoker Award or an Oscar or a Grammy or so on? Sure. But you don’t get into an artistic field for medals and awards. They’re nice to have, but they’re not what make you. Plus, your art doesn’t come from an honest place. Unless you count greed. And no offense to the medals and awards, but people rarely remember exactly who won what and why. Can you name the last five Best Actress Oscar winners? Or the last five Best Pop Vocal Album Grammy winners? Steven Spielberg has won Oscars for his films: can you name three?

The best prize any artist or entertainer can win is longevity. When people care about you for years, and for years after you die.

Dustin’ Cobwebs

Well, let’s see where I am now. Last night, I gathered my notes for “Love! in Bedlam” with the intention of looking over everything and figuring out how I’ll rework it. I knew that I wanted the tone to be more serious because “Lie” had an overall light tone (well…). “Love! in Bedlam” had a similar overall tone (well…) and I didn’t wanna repeat myself. Or I like the dark more. I knew that it wouldn’t be a hard switch for me. What I didn’t expect was how far removed I was from the person who wanted to tell that story a year ago. I looked at my notes and no part of me wanted anything to do with them. I love the concept and wanna do something with it later, but I can’t do anything with the things I have now. It’s like running into an old friend and having only one thing to vaguely talk about.

But I still wanted to write something longform and I told myself to write a novel. My main fear about “Love! in Bedlam” came true, that I waited too long to write it. The two films that I could write, “Tangle Core” and “Murderhounds”, could wait. Well… “Murderhounds” could. Its story is such that me at any age could make it (but it’ll be written shortly after “Tangle Core”). “Tangle Core” needs to be written and filmed within a year before I feel too far away from it. Which means that I don’t have to write it now, which means that the urge to write a novel can be sated.

So what to write? The idea came to me quickly. A short story I wanted to write as a birthday present to me. “Huetta’s Grace”. It was gonna be a rather long short story, but now it can grow into an honest novel. It’ll be a more fantastical story, about a woman who changes from a good person to a horrible human being. With where I want to take things and have them happen more rationally than in “Lie”, I’m gonna spend a lot more time world-building. The world HAS to justify what happens. I’m absurdly proud of “Lie”, but I don’t want readers thinking that I’m Random Krueger. With the few things I came up with last night, methinks I’ll be fine.

I think I’ll try the normal publishing routes with “Huetta’s Grace”. I don’t have any problems with self-publishing, I just wanna see what the other side’s like. So I can complain properly with my third novel (whenever that’ll be). Self-promoting’s going well. Review responses are still slowly trickling in and soon, I’ll be posting ads in magazines.

In geekier news, I see Robert Englund tomorrow. That’s right: Freddy Krueger meets Rathan Krueger. I hope I can keep my composure. I did when I met Christopher Nolan, but I was hella sleep-deprived. I’ll also be seeing the 50th anniversary of “Doctor Who”, “Day of the Doctor”, in theatres with other Whovians and Wholigans. It’ll be in 3D and I’m not at all pleased about it… but it’s The Doctor, goddamnit. The last thing I saw in 3D was “Drive Angry”, almost three years ago. I am not at all part of the 3D or HD revolution… but it’s The Doctor, goddamnit. I hope it’ll be as fun as the first time I was “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World”, “The World’s End”, and “Pacific Rim”. It’d have to be, right? What to wear… I know I’m bringing my sonic screwdriver (The Eleventh Doctor’s). Geek!

For a taste of what I have to offer, why not read the first four chapters of my novel, “Lie”? It’s a surreal dramedy about four women who go on vacation to help one of their own through a life-changing decision. If you like what you read, you can pick it up for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks a bunch.

A Bit of a Problem

(best if read like Joe Pesci)

I got a bit of a problem. I like to self-destruct. It all started when I was 43, when my wife left me. Said I was around too much. Can ya believe that? Said I was smothering her. Can ya believe that? The gall on that broad. Yeah, I had a little drinking problem but she, SHE had a spending problem. And a little crustacean problem, if you catch my hint. But that’s what happens when you SLEEP WITH HALF THE FUCK-ING TOWN. Ya see why I drink? Ya see why I gotta fuckin’ drink? I gotta continue being the bad guy in the story she tells everyone. Like the milkman. Yeah, we still get that guy. Yeah, she banged ‘im. Ha ha. No, I’m lactose- intolerant.

Anyway, I come home one day to find a completely empty home. I mean nothin’, save for one fuckin’ thing. I find a note on the door, but I’m too busy seeing fuckin’ red to read it. I got an idea of what it said, though. “Lay off the booze, dear. I need my space, hon. I’m sorry for giving you crabs, darling.” I made that last part up, because the BITCH didn’t gimme the common courtesy of admitting it was her. Wha, you think I gave ‘em fuckin’ to her? The only time I see a fuckin’ fat rabbit is my birthday, and that’s a fuckin’ maybe at best.

So she left me and the first thing I did was steal a car. Some sporty Italian thing a jerk-off buys when they wanna impress their daughter after winnin’ one of those lottery scratch-off gimmicks. Handled like a dream. I drove it east for about an hour. Dunno why. Just… east. Felt right, y’know? I ended up in a secluded area, popped the trunk, and found a crowbar. To my chagrin, as my ex-wife woulda said. For the next four hours, I beat the shit outta that fine car. Now, here’s where that self-destruction creeped its head in for the first time. The car was leaking gas like a fuckin’ stuck pig, and I decided to lie in the new mud with a lit cigarette. That shit was cold. I could hear the premium grade trickling as I puffed away. Even almost dropped my fuckin’ cherry a few times. Anyway, the gas stopped and I finished smokin’. Walked home because no cabbie would take a guy soaked in flammable dirt. Fancy that.

Since that day, I’ve been kinda teetering on what a professional might say is on the edge of destruction, disillusionment, and chaos. I saved myself a few bucks and figured that I’m a depressed sumbitch. But hey, life goes on, right? Life goes fuckin’ on. Unless my pal Baretta here interjects.

If you wanna read something (a lot) less misogynistic, why not the first four chapters of my novel, “Lie”? It’s a surreal dramedy about four women who go on vacation to help one of their own through a life-changing decision. Some say it’s as if Kevin Smith wrote a novel and handed it off to David Lynch at a certain point. If you like what you read, you can pick it up for less than two dollars wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.

100th Post! 1st Interview! 1st Giveaway!

Courtesy of The Bibliophilic Book Blog. Thanks a bunch to Star and to you.

The Mercy of Apathy

Welcome, welcome. Take a seat. Any will do. Have you come to see the wounded thing? It will not stay together long. We are far below your city of Asinus: no eyes will notice you. None save for the ones of the wounded thing. He came to us– Yes, “he”. We managed to find out that much. After many a poke and prod and… oh, forgive me. My pleasures get away from me occasionally. They melt together and reach for the sun. He, however, came to us quite literally from the night sky. Already wounded, perhaps from the fall. Naturally, we thought it something celestial, but gods do not bleed or recoil from the light as he does.

Oh, forgive me. I have not shared my name. But then… neither have you. I will be the gentleman who introduces himself as Mason Sorrows, chieftain of the Lethargy. We make up what has been known for ages as the Mercy of Apathy. You have passed our tests of status, spectacularly so, which is why you are in that chair. Not intruded upon by my blade. So it does not matter if you reveal your name, for we know where you live. Not a threat, let me assure you. Solely a… reminder. I am always amused with the types who end up coming to my theatre. No two are alike save in one respect. But you do not need me to remind you of your shade.

The wounded thing– I have named him “Endymion”, keeping in theme with his birthplace of sorts. I would gladly have called him whatever he wanted, but he has not said anything since he “arrived”. Stubbornly so. The Mercy of Apathy has woven centuries of decay into Asinus, has crippled the love and thoughts of its denizens, has nursed an entire metropolis into a perpetual prison… surely we can convince Endymion to give something as simple as his name. To tell us what he is.

Sadly, he has proven to be particularly stubborn during his time here. We have perfected every act of torture imaginable. They tell tales that render us vicious and unkind so the mere thought of us will make weighty the trousers of even the burliest man. Even the Dark Lord is on bended knee. Hundreds of years of refinement and legions of flesh affords one a delectable opportunity of pain. Alas, there is boredom in perfection. And his potential flesh is too precious to damage more than it is. But his mind… Endymion may be monstrous, but glimmers of what could be “humanity” can be seen in his eyes. So he can be tormented like any other man.

The first night after I arrived at this realization– Are you comfortable? If you would like a refreshment, you need only ask. Carrying on. That night, I sent a few of the Lethargy out with Endymion, leashed. Hm. I would like to reveal to you a little-known secret about the Mercy of Apathy. My reasons are three: I rarely get to tell a secret; you seem genuinely interested; we know where you sleep. Me and mine, ages ago, happened upon Asinus due to a myth that, to our wonder, proved true. The Wood of Delights. A scarce group of enchanted trees that spoke to those on the wind, if they took the time to listen. They whispered about people in need, and what could be more delightful than the feeling you get after hearing “thank you”? I can see in your eyes that you are curious as to why we would want such a thing. To destroy. If one can not profit from something, why allow it to exist? Oh, how the air screamed while we slaughtered. We did leave one tree alive. The sawdust butcher lost a wager with one of the Lethargy. We bound it in chains and salt, and it grew into a contorted mess due to its shackles. It still whispers pleas… but it is far easier and more fun to destroy than it is to care.

Before my tangent, I began telling you about the first torment of the silent Endymion. Allow me to continue. The Wood of Delights whispered to me through its rusted metal of a building in need of our… services. This world is in dire need of two things: more funds and less conflict. These two things are more connected than one would believe. The only reason conflict exists is because there are funds to fuel it. Paupers fail against kings and queens. At least, that is what I believed until the Wood of Delights brought something to my attention. Supply and demand. If funds can not acquire soldiers because they are nonexistent, the country will have more money than it could ever spend. And who makes the best soldiers than orphans? And who makes the best soldiers than orphans?

I feel that as I continue, I must state that the Mercy of Apathy is not a political creature. We leave politics to the clowns of the court. We do not care what wars are about or what good will come from them. We have been amongst you for so long that we know it is all pointless. Regimes change, reasons change, relations change, retaliations change. The only constant is that it is constant. Like dirt into mud into dirt into so on.

As the Lethargy arrived clad in shrouds and leather armor to the orphanage, they prepared their combustible materials before the wounded thing. I would have preferred to dispose of these lost children in the womb, but I abhor abortion. The mere word is enough to disgust me to my cuticles. I did not accompany them because it is not my business to leave our home, Loxodonta. It rests like a stern eye above the circular Asinus, with arms that lead below. You traveled through one of them to get here. Ah yes, the Lethargy. Endymion could tell what they were up to. One held up a sign to him as the others slipped into the brick-lined cradle. Plunging it in flammable liquids inside and out, unnoticed by all but one. “Tell us your name: they live.” I was told that his tears were blood as the children and their minders were burned, marrow to fabric. Never uttering a syllable. Shame.

A few nights later, I went to the Wood of Delights for more advice. I held what I could of it in my arms and pulled its chains tenderly. It bled its prism sap onto me as it told me what I wished to hear. To do the best in life, one must be properly motivated. My magical friend brought to my attention the people who need the most motivation. The foulness in the streets of Asinus: the hobos, the tramps, the shit. Endymion is too precious for anything other than torment. But I have no qualms with torturing those plights on my paved streets. Also, it would have done Endymion some good to properly introduce him to the horrors the Mercy of Apathy was capable of.

The Lethargy gathered some of the foulness into one of our temples with promises of a fine meal. It is so simple to lure the pathetic. Of course, we did not feed them. Not a course. They were poor for a reason and deserved nothing less than what a niggardly pig would leave behind. Thus it is a gift, our tortures. We were wasting effort that could have gone towards something more profound, like urinating. Again, leashed, the wounded thing was forced to watch the fresh hell being hailed upon the foulness. My stenographer of sorts wrote every scream, whelp, and plea from those disgusting creatures. I took tremendous pleasure in reading them, not minding the dots of blood. However, I was disappointed when I read nothing of Endymion.

So, before you, I shall cleave him to pieces and feed them to the furnace.

If you enjoyed that bit of darkness, and there’s no shame if you did, give the first four chapters of my novel, “Lie”, a read (courtesy of Goodreads). It’s a surreal dramedy about four women on vacation to help one of their own through a life-changing decision. If you like what you read, you can pick it up for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.

Witness

I’ve been having a bit of trouble with the Clive Barker short story. How long I felt it should be isn’t how long it’s telling me it should be. It wants to be shorter and I’ve accepted that, but now it’s a matter of wrapping my imagination around it. For a while, I’ve told myself that it’ll be a BIG story with BIG THINGS happening. I want to haven it done by the end of the week, even though it’s not due until the 30th. When I looked over the notes I wrote for it a month or so ago, I was shocked by how little world-building I did. I thought I had more, so there was a bit of that going on for a while. The world-building made what’ll be the short story more of a satire than I thought it’d be. Why and how? My notes were originally about the major points of the story, which were mildly satirical. But a story is more than its moments. So I focused on the city it takes place in and names and a basic idea of how things work, and more satire started slipping in. It’s still mildly satirical, it’s just spread around more.

I’ve reached the breaking point and will start making music again this week. I’ve been saying that before and I’ve never followed through because I didn’t have proper headphones. I create electronic music and I prefer to be as in the process as possible. I’m not creating music for headphones, though. That’d be silly. The program I use has a… chart that allows me to make sure that the sound levels are right for regular speakers. The headphones make creating as insular as possible. I’ll be going in with a clearer idea of the kinds of songs I wanna make. My issue before was that I love all kinds of music and created clashes instead of songs. Writing little notes to myself before each song should help me work.

This week will be insanely geeky and informative. I have four Kevin Smith concert films and a 400-minute documentary (with four hours of special features) about the “Friday the 13th” series coming in the mail. I occasionally need inspiration/motivation, and they’ll help. And the one-volume edition of the animated adaptation of “Dark Knight Returns” comes out tomorrow. I didn’t realize until yesterday that it’ll be my last new Batman purchase unless something amazing happens in the future. I’ve got an embarrassment of riches when it comes to Batman stories, and I don’t like where DC’s taking the character. I’m still a big fan, just not one who’ll continue to follow him. And my “Hobbit” calendar says that this month, me birth month, is lorded over by Gandalf. Gotta make some magic.

Stick around and read the first four chapters of my novel, “Lie”, courtesy of Goodreads. It’s about four women who go on vacation to help one of their own through a big problem. If you like what you read, pick it up for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks.

The Worst News is No News

Fuck, what am I gonna do? My meeting earlier with Ms. Humbert… I can’t believe she’s asking me to do this. I can’t believe… lie! She wants me to lie! No, excuse me: “be creative” and “find” a news story by tomorrow morning. I went to– GRADUATED from journalism school. Sure, it wasn’t the most prestigious but, damnit, I worked my ass off and I made it. To the great Channel 44, BLST in Podunk, This State.

I had dreams, Diary. DREAMS. Pages of them between your covers. Where did I go wrong? Where did I go wrong? I’m gonna check. Oh great. Fucking great. I do a good thing and I’m thrown into the trash compactor of the U-S-wacky-A. I do a report on how the caretaker of an orphanage was misappropriating funds for years… and I’m the fucking villain because Lost Children shut down a month later. How does that work, Diary? How, in the name of Cronkite, the fuck does that work?

BLST was the only network that would accept me after– Wait, you know all that afterword stuff. This is why you don’t drink, Diary. As much as I hate it, despise it, abhor it, wanna feed it sideways into a woodchipper… I need this job. I love being a reporter and it’s the only thing I’m good at. Remember, heh, remember that time I tried working retail? You’d think, “I like people, working in a store will be great while I school.” Maybe something happens when they walk through the door, some strange beam gets zapped into their brains (story idea?). People become fucking stupid and reckless when it comes time to buy things. Remember that crackpipe I found in one of the aisles? Or when someone made The Biggest Mess on the bathroom walls? The womens’ bathroom walls.

Well, this bottle of rum’s almost gone. I think I’ve fucked-off enough journalistic integrity and credibility and all those other itties to do Ms. Humbert’s biddy. Ms. Humbert’s bidding. Bitch. “Man Tortured by Bullet Ants by NRA Member”. “Joker Vomits in Trashcan: No One Laughs”. “Woman Orgasms to Death While Bike-Riding on a Bumpy Road”. “Girl Perpetually Falling Down Up-Escalator; Brother Feeds Her with a Fishing Rod”. “THE DOWN SYNDROME UPRISING”.

Schadenfreude rules these days, so I should think of something violent. And sexy. And… stuff. The bullet ants thing would’ve worked, but no one knows what the fuck bullet ants are. I’ll snatch the torture thing– No, wait… I don’t wanna bring back waterboarding. What else can you do with someone in a locked room? Murder or rape them. But that’s boring. What if there were two victims? Two murders or two rapes? How symmetrical. Twit. Wait… what if they were being held captive and their sadistic captor made one of his– her– her. Equality, right? This horrible woman makes the other woman choose between either murdering or raping her boyfr– FIANCE! He proposed to her earlier that… No, she finds the ring in his pocket when she drops his pants because she decides to rape him. With a broomstick. Because that’s love. “Calamity Jane Ruptures Nuptials”. Brilliant.

Don’t stop now! Read the first four chapters of my novel, “Lie”, courtesy of Goodreads. It’s a surreal dramedy about four women who go on vacation to help one through a life-changing decision. And if you liked what you’ve read, you can pick it up for only $1.99 wherever eBooks are sold. Thanks for reading.