Darren Endymion's Blog, page 33

H = Harry Potter (A-Z Challenge)

Harry Potter did not get me into reading. The books did not reinvent the way I looked at things. My love of the English culture and reading were not rekindled through the books. All of these things existed long before I ever picked up the first book. I was an adult when I read the first, and since I have not perfected the sought-after art of successfully reversing time, I was an adult when I read every last one and when I saw all the movies. But this in no way diminishes my love for the whole Harry Potter universe.

After reading the first book I was terribly charmed but thought it was a little on the kiddie side (though some of the dangers at the school were hazardous as hell). I didn’t read another book until after watching Prisoner of Azkaban about 15 times (I may be a Harry Potter pariah for saying this, but I think overall I like the movie more than the book — certain plot elements worked better in the movie, though I hate that certain things were omitted). The dam broke then. I read books two through six (the latter of which had just come out in hardcover), bought all the books in hardcover, and had become a rabid fan in time for the fourth movie.

I cannot praise this series enough. It is very much a coming of age story, the world is larger than life, the problems (love, bullying, unfair authority figures, etc.) are very real and things we deal with in everyday life. It was epic and vast while still being relatable. There was fantasy, it took you away, but it was something you could feel almost every part of. Epic fantasy usually involves huge wars for power with warring countries duking it out for control over resources or religious differences. Those are great, no doubt about it. But there’s something about the Harry Potter universe which is fantastic but so relatable.

Who hasn’t dealt with Snape or Umbridge, whether it be a parent, teacher, or boss? Essentially, they are people in power who abuse it. Young, old, middle aged, male, female, privileged, poverty stricken — it doesn’t matter. We’ve ALL been treated poorly by someone whose position should have dictated tact rather than aggression, or understanding rather than blind dogma.

Then there’s the humor. Sweet Merlin, the Weasley twins alone could make a person pee enough to be considered a sprinkler of incontinence. What about emotion. Who didn’t care about these people? When JK Rowling turned into a murder-happy wench in the last book, who wasn’t upset? When there was love, who didn’t feel with them?

The books are humorous, enchanting (no pun intended), loving, angering, rewarding, infuriating, happy, and wonderful. As a writer-ish, it gave me aspirations. The chances of any writer accomplishing what Rowling has are slim-to-non-existent, and that’s okay. It’s the aim and happiness that come with it. One of my dearest friends / critique partners and I decided to write a fan fiction about a billion years ago. We both wanted to write, it was pure fun, we were working at unpleasant jobs, and going through tough times, and this helped us. Not only that, but it helped me as a writer. Somewhere in there I stopped (poorly) emulating Rowling’s voice and found my own again, just as I was beginning to doubt that I had one anymore. I’m still finding that voice, and while we haven’t touched the fan fiction in years and years, I still go back and read it. It was nothing but fun and games and a way to insert ourselves (quite cleverly, I might add) into the Harry Potter world.

As aspiring writers, it was a way to practice our trades and to have fun doing it without the pressure of needing to be “serious”. The final page count of our first of three planned installments is staggering and an attestation to just how much fun it was. From Easy Weasley (Ginny), to Peeves, to a lecherous twenty-something trapped in the body of a plump first-year, to tying strips of toilet paper in Draco’s braided hair, to Trelawney actually being competent, to our characters inserting themselves in the world, the whole experience — every last sentence — was nothing but fun. I learned more than I thought I could, and don’t see it as time wasted. Now that I am published and have two things out of there of my own, though they are less original than what happens in my head every day (more safe, essentially), I can look back and see that writing this, that Harry Potter himself, has shaped me as a writer, has shown me what I can do, taught me to have fun with everything I write, and gave me my voice back. For that and the countless hours of enjoyment the Harry Potter books and movies have given me, I can’t possibly be thankful enough.

Alternate letter considerations: There were no other considerations, actually. And I don’t think I have done the subject matter justice here…but how could I?

G = Goonies (A-Z Challenge)

The movie The Goonies has a very special place in my heart and I think it shaped me in a several ways. I know that sounds like geeky hyperbole, but stick with me here.

Do you have any idea how much I wanted to live here, in THE Goonie house?

As a young boy, I was very shy but still had my friends. We were little assholes (as most young boys are), but what we really longed for was adventure. A quest for treasure, perhaps? We would go through the neighborhood pretending to be chased by older boys, robots, goblins (my personal addition), and of course the Fratellis. We watched The Goonies frequently, and I watched it more than them (I’m sure everyone in my house was SO sick of the movie that they could vomit).

Yet, everything seemed wrong. I desperately wanted to BE a Goonie, not some short skinny kid in sunny Southern California. (I still plan to make an adult geek pilgrimage to Astoria, but I regret to say that I have not yet been). I wanted the trees and wind and cold of Astoria, Oregon. As an adult, loathing the heat and too much sun the way I do, I’m not sure if this was an early manifestation of my odd reverse seasonal depression…or if I was just some weird kid who was overly obsessed with a movie.

Pictured: a short skinny kid’s dream.

But there was something else I didn’t realize until much later in life — I had a little boy crush on Brand, the older brother. And young Mikey wasn’t so bad, either. (Keep in mind that I was probably seven or eight years old when I finally first saw The Goonies).

I think part of me wanted an older brother to go on adventures with (Minds out of the gutter, please; this was totally innocent. Let’s keep this civil, thankyouverymuch), still another part of me wanted to grow up and be Brand or Mikey, and there was that just emerging part of me that kinda thought they were cool…in that way. *wink, wink* Looking back on that, I think it was my first real feeling of that sort, but I buried it away, and in some ways I’m glad I did. (Could you imagine how creepy watching that movie would be now?)

More than anything I wanted to live in Astoria and go on Goonie adventures. I wanted to have Goonie friends and hang out in windbreakers all day because it was cold. I wanted to go to THAT beach, which always looked delightfully cold and unpopulated compared to the near year-round sun of southern California. I wanted to search for treasure and go on pirate ships and be chased by pleasantly comedic-evil villains. (Walk the plank? Please. I could swim and loved the water. How was that bad?)

Contains treasure and an awesome diving board. Who’s game?

More than anything, The Goonies exuded a sense of camaraderie, of true friendship, of what was truly important in life: pirates, treasure, caves, hanging out with your friends, and an awesome place to live. It was like Stand by Me for kids (both movies co-starred Corey Feldman. Coincidence? Hardly.) It gave a generation of boys and girls a feeling that we were part of something, that we could all be Goonies — whether we were nerds, jocks, loudmouths, the fat kids, cheerleaders, the sarcastic ones, or child prodigy inventors. The Goonies were all inclusive. You could be 100% yourself and still be welcome.

Perhaps I’m reaching. Maybe I’m viewing this movie through the nostalgia of a childhood favorite which still makes me happy to this day. Maybe I still feel like a child, like an honorary Goonie, even when I watch it today. And you know what? I don’t care. It’s pure, unadulterated awesomeness to me. There is not a single negative feeling associated with this movie, but it can consistently make me feel like a child — happy, excited, and ready for adventure. I would say that I will probably love this movie until the day I die, but after all…

Alternate letter considerations: Golden Girls, Geekdom.

F = Final Fantasy (A-Z Challenge)

I have pretty much always been a geek. I have expressed this through movies, books, and video games. Video games when I was very young were pretty much limited. You had Mario, this blocky green-ish thing called Link, and (of course) Pac-Man. (I was Pac-Man obsessed when I was a kid. I watched the cartoon and played the hell out of the Pac-World game. I was never very good, damn it, but I loved it.)

As I have discussed previously, I was obsessed with Narnia, Oz, etc. They set my imagination on fire. One day I went to my aunt’s house and my step-uncle practically dragged me in the house. He and my aunt were glued to the NES watching some blue blocky thing with odd scenery fighting a slime. Said slime was red, I think, and it was kicking my uncle’s ass. I told him to dodge — the stupid slime was gonna kill him! He said he couldn’t dodge on purpose, but he had to sit there and take it. I thought that was incredibly stupid. An hour later I, like my aunt and uncle, was obsessed with Dragon Warrior.

Dragon Warrior 1

It was like playing a book to me. A bunch of the stuff in my head was out on the screen. Then Dragon Warrior 2 came out. Sweet mother of god! You have three people?! You get yourself, a mage-fighter, and a mage? Holy shit! I loved the mage. I loved the randomly assigned names they gave her. I loved everything about it.

Dragon Warrior 2

I was extolling the virtues of Dragon Warrior to my best friend and he looked at me like, “Mufuka, please.” He said, “Have you ever tried Final Fantasy?” Ugh. I wouldn’t be swayed. Then he said you could choose four people. I did a double take. Wait. FOUR people? And they could ALL be mages if I wanted them to be? I informed him that he was fucking with me and I thought he was despicable for doing so. We went to the video store with his mother and rented Final Fantasy for the NES. I was blown away. I still loved Dragon Warrior, but Final Fantasy became my go to for RPG entertainment.

Final Fantasy 1

Time progressed and the NES gave way to SNES. We were introduced to Final Fantasy 2 (Final Fantasy 4 in Japan). Again, it was my best friend who was playing it, but we weren’t hanging out as much anymore. If one wanted to make some shitty and stupid analogy, one could say that friendships faded, but Final Fantasy stayed…but that sounds too lame for words, so let’s remove that from our brains. My uncle (different uncle) was playing Final Fantasy II and I watched him. Little did I know that I was witnessing what would be my favorite and most-played video game ever.

Final Fantasy 2 SNES (4 in Japan)

I played the hell out of Final Fantasy 2 for the SNES. Then Final Fantasy 3 was released (6 in Japan). The story was better, the cast was larger, there were some elements that I never expected to see, it had the best soundtrack EVER, and it was almost overwhelming.

Final Fantasy 3 (6 in Japan)

Well, that was nothing compared to the jump from 6 to 7. That was some serious shit there. I went from feeling the limitations to something that felt like it was nearly limitless. It was pretty overwhelming, actually. For those who grew up in the age of the PlayStation and beyond, you can’t really know what it was like to see that change. And Final Fantasy Tactics? I can’t even talk about it. We would be here all night. Strategy RPGs…Disgaea…I can’t. Seriously…my love is unchained…

Final Fantasy 7

I eventually got over that overwhelming feeling, but sometimes I am still awed by games like Skyrim and Dragon Age, whose worlds are so open and almost daunting that it feels like everything is possible. I have not played Final Fantasy 13. It just feels and looks like it is a flashy, overrated spectacle for the ADD generation. I loved 12, and the screen shots I see for the new one look amazing.

Meh. Pretty but soulless? I’m sure I’ll try it someday.

I’ve been around for a while, and was gaming from a very young age. Dragon Warrior/Quest was my first and will always have a place in my heart. Sometimes I like that series’ non-evolution as it feels like coming home. Final Fantasy, though, has helped define me as a gamer and a geek. What I couldn’t find in the game, I made up in my head. Sometimes I wonder, were I a product of the PlayStation 2 generation, if my imagination would be as strong as it is now. Since I loved the games but filled in all the details for myself, my imagination grew strong. It helped me become a writer (in need of leveling up, mind you. If publications are levels, then I am at a whopping level 2).

Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I have seen the gaming industry explode and go from blocky squares to fully realized things that actually look like people. I’m glad I started gaming when I did and I’m glad my imagination developed in a way where every video game I play enhances my imagination instead of replacing it. I know that many people of the current era have flourishing imaginations which are only enhanced by the gorgeous games out there, but I think as a wide-eyed kid reading stories and wanting them to come to life, if I had sat down and played Final Fantasy 12 or Skyrim as my first RPG, my imagination would have been satiated. There would be no gaps for it to fill in. My brain wouldn’t be the realm of insanity it is now. So, here’s to Final Fantasy and all the irreparable assistance it has given me.

Alternate letter considerations: Fear, Fairy Tales (this one was hard to avoid, considering my recent release of the retelling of The Snow Queen, but I felt that my connection to Final Fantasy and gaming in general hadn’t been explored quite yet. Forgive me).

E = Elephantiasis (A-Z Challenge)

(Reader’s Note: After the slightest bit of research I have decided to include one picture of the actual symptoms, and that is relatively mild and at the very bottom of this entry. You are welcome.)

Also known as elephantitis, this is a disease which will either have no symptoms or will result in “large amounts of swelling of the arms, legs, or genitals.” This isn’t a chubby limb from water retention or the result of a male enhancement pill that really works, this looks like the batman villain, Clayface.

Only in real life.

This disease is actually caused by parasites, usually spread through the bites of a mosquito. As if we need more reason to hate them, right? Malaria, West Nile Virus, Dog Heartworm, and Puffy Nutsack/Tree Trunk Limb. If one believes in the Noah’s Ark business, one would have to wonder what the mosquitos were brought aboard for. Bird food? If so, it got out of control and we need Terror Bird on the case.

The real skull of a prehistoric Terror Bird. No, I wasn’t making that shit up.

Anyway, the parasites inserted by these flying douchebags of doom are usually worms which damage the lymphatic system. Prevention is a pain in the ass. They have to treat an entire goddamned group of susceptible people every year for about six years. This doesn’t kill the adult worms. That would be too easy. No, it just stops the worms from growing bigger until the worms die on their own. I’m not sure what happens after that — does it just stop getting bigger? So, if your arm already looks like sixteen hams are stapled to your sleeve, it just doesn’t add a seventeenth and eighteenth? I suppose that’s good, but…

At the same time, the trademark swelling of everything is like some cruel concoction of Mother Nature’s anger. It’s not just fat worms burrowing in the flesh that make it bulge out and fold over like the elephant’s skin it is presumably named after. It takes several factors to make this happen. It’s a stunningly complex interaction of the worm, symbiotic bacteria inside the foul worm, the poor person’s immune system (trying to get that evil shit out, I imagine), and the fun of infections which normally follow some poor infested bastard. This causes swelling, and not swelling as in, “Oh, I got a tiny cut and it’s swollen.” No, this is like, “Someone poured fifty pounds of liquid wax into a trash bag and stuck it to my leg, arm, and testicles.”

Incidentally, the only surgery available works only on the testicular form of elephantiasis. If you have it on your arms, hands, or legs, you pretty much are stuck with a puffy Clayface arm forever. This unfortunate horror mainly affects people in Africa and Asia, and there are great steps to fighting it. Some antibiotics will kill the aforementioned bacteria in the worm and health authorities are expecting to have a vaccine by 2020.

It is a sad, unfortunate condition whose perfect storm of causes make it seem like Mother Nature is seriously pissed off and is in need of a vacation. If you are easily grossed out, do not Google this disease. If you have a tender heart, likewise avoid looking it up. If you are male and care about your testicles, looking at pictures of some of the guys with this disease will make yours cry out in pain. Below is a very mild picture found on Wikipedia of a portrait done of a woman with leg elephantiasis.

Alternate letter considerations: Elizabeth I…and that’s about it. I immediately knew I wanted to go for the gross out factor here. I think I’m going to stay away from diseases for a while with this blog challenge…or not. I really don’t know. When your brain really is a fountain of randomness, you never know what’s going to come out.

D = Dick’s Test (A-Z Challenge)

It’s not what you think. It’s not a test to see if someone’s a jerk, nor is it a test to…well, you just get your mind out of the gutter with that one.

Gladys Henry Dick (WTF kind of unfortunate name for a female was that?!) and George Frederick Dick invented Dick’s Test in 1924 as a way to see if someone is susceptible to scarlet fever.

Scarlet fever is characterized by sore throat, fever, a bright red tongue with a scary white patch at the back, paranoia, hallucinations, abdominal pain, vomiting, and a distinct rash. It looks like a peppering of spotted rash and would eventually begin to peel. The fever could get up to 101 or higher, it could cause sepsis, and would eventually kill you. And by “you” I mean “children.” It was most common in children and was featured in the Velveteen Rabbit, Charles Darwin lost kids to it, it is likely what caused Helen Keller to lose her senses (literally), could lead to kidney/liver damage, could develop into the “flesh eating” bug, and it was known for wiping out an entire family’s children, leaving the parents physically unharmed.

The Dick Test was a way to check and isolate those in danger. They would basically shoot your skin up with the disease to see if you would get it. People who did not react were considered to have sufficient antibodies and were therefore not in danger. This seems pretty messed up. Granted, they had a way to nullify the topical effects, but it’s almost like the kind of “logic” extant at the Salem Witch Trials. “We are going to dunk you in this cold, cold river until you admit that you are a witch. Then, we will likely kill you…because you are a witch. If you are not and you die from this torture, well, surely someone will write a sincere letter of apology in a few hundred years.”

However, it seemed to work. It was a fair enough indication of who would catch this (at the time) dreaded disease. Since scarlet fever used to kill and did so very often, their achievements were groundbreaking and revolutionary. They probably saved many lives. The Dicks eventually even created a vaccine…only to have this replaced by penicillin in 1940. Now, neither the Dick’s Test nor the vaccine are in use. Gladys died in 1963 and George died in 1967, so they saw everything they did, all their toil and pain, turn to complete ashes. I imagine there is nothing like watching your best known work (a.k.a. life’s work) be totally eclipsed and made irrelevant by another person’s discovery.

You have to imagine these Dicks getting, say, strep throat or some other infection and being prescribed penicillin. I can picture them in the doctor’s office thinking, “Seriously, if this fucking doctor prescribes me penicillin, I am going to jam his stethoscope right up his urethra and show him what a REAL Dick’s Test is like.” I can picture them, bitter at the pharmacy (or apothecary or potion shack, I have no freakin’ clue what they had in those days), slamming the prescription on the counter, looking like they had just sucked a lemon dry and ate the rind, unable to talk from their swollen, infected throats, and just glaring at the bottle when they got home. “It’s 3 o’clock. Time to take the Dream Destroyer,” swallowing a penicillin tablet (and no small amount of bile, I expect), and just spending the day pissed off.

Gladys Dick eventually went on to do other things, but she never did anything as significant as this now-obsolete test. My Oracle (a.k.a. Wikipedia) tells me almost nothing more about George Dick. As bacteriologists, they were probably very happy that something else came out to treat not only scarlet fever, but a myriad of other conditions. Still, I wonder if they weren’t the least bit bitter. Penicillin stole their thunder.

Unfortunately for them, Xanax wasn’t released until 1981 and Prozac remained a dream until 1986 to early 1987. Alcohol, however, had been around for centuries.

I picture, somewhere in the afterlife, Gladys and George have heard about MRSA and other antibiotic-resistant strains of diseases which could potentially throw our medical practice back to the Dark Ages, and they are maybe just a little bit pleased. “Should have stuck with our vaccine, huh? Who’s obsolete now, bitches?”

Alternate letter considerations: Deadlights (It), Deadites (Evil Dead), deadlines.

C = Cartman (A-Z Challenge)

Jimmy Valmer: Hey, fellas, where is Cartman?

Stan Marsh: Cartman isn’t our friend anymore.

Kyle Broflovski : We’re ignoring him.

Token Black: Ignoring him? How come?

Kyle Broflovski : Because he’s a fat, racist, self-centered, intolerant, manipulating sociopath.

Token Black: Oh, yeah.

All that may be true, but is there any greater, more amusing sociopath than Eric Cartman?

Evidence.

I am almost at a loss for words when it comes to Eric Cartman. From Weight Gain 4000 to Casa Bonita to Fat Butt and Pancake Head to the personal favorite La Petite Tourette, Cartman’s antics have made the series South Park what it is in many ways. There are too many things to mention, and as soon as I finish writing this and post it, I will think of a dozen episodes I should have mentioned (Scott Tenorman Must Die, The Red Badge of Gayness, Awesome-O, The Wacky Molestation Adventure, Cartmanland, Ginger Kids, etc.).

Eric Cartman is a kid who pretended his hand was a more talented Jennifer Lopez (Taco, taco!), gave another kid HIV for making fun of him, tied a kid to a flagpole and told him he was poisoned and needed to saw his own leg off to get the antidote, tried to exterminate the Jews in his town, organized the Ginger Separatist Movement and tried to kill all the non-gingers (with lava, no less), prepared some rather disturbing chili, ate Vagasil to make himself stupid enough to qualify for Nascar, pretended to be retarded to win the Special Olympics, and faked having Tourette’s so that he could say anything he wanted. As a real person, he would be a deplorable, awful, criminal, potential mass/serial killer. As a cartoon 3rd/4th grader, he’s a hilarious parable warning against lenient parenting, crack cocaine abuse, nanny reality shows, rampant racism, and overeating.

But why take my word for it? Why not let Cartman speak for himself?

“…I’ll make you crap yourself ’till you look like Karen Carpenter!”

“Respect my ah-thori-taaah!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Actually, what I said was… *picks up a megaphone* ‘How would you like to suck my balls, Mr. Garrison?’”

“Spooge, balls, bloody vaginal belch.”

“Tom Hanks can’t act his way out of a nutsack!”

“No dude, independent films are those black and white hippie movies. They’re always about gay cowboys eating pudding.”

“Taco, taco! Burrito, burrito!”

“I’m not going to hell, Butters, I’m not black.”

“Screw you guys; I’m going home.”

“Titty sprinkles!”

“I’d never let a woman kick MY ass. If she tried anything, I’d be like, ‘HEY! Why don’t you get your bitch ass back in the kitchen and make me some pie!’”

“Oh yeah? I run with twelve gangs, and we only commit hate crimes! Whateva! I do what I want!”

“Fuck Jesus!”

“Your tears are so yummy and sweet. Ohhh, the tears of unfathomable sadness! Yummy, you guys!”

Every sensibility, every shred of good person within us makes realize that everyone on the planet should hate Eric Cartman and everything he stands for. As a person, he is everything I would abhor in real life. He is everything we should strive to work against. As a society,we should try to stamp out the real life bigotry and evil he personifies. He is a monster, a sociopath, a ghastly racist and bigot, dangerously unstable, and one of the most socially irresponsible creations of the last six thousand years.

And I love him. One could reeeeeach and say that he is a lesson to not be like him, but the reality is that as a person he would be pure social evil. As a cartoon, he’s diabolically funny because of how morally repugnant he is. I think I’m going to go watch some South Park…

Alternate letter considerations: Catherine de Medici, Cancer (not the astrology sign), Cersei Lannister.

B = Birthday (A-Z Challenge)

Why do these things keep happening to me? This whole practice of getting older needs to stop, seriously. I have a birthday coming up in the next few days and I’d rather it not happen. Not that I want to die or anything, I just don’t like the thought of aging. I am fully prepared for and capable of lying about my age; that’s not the problem. I come from good genetic stock, and when I tell people my real age (which isn’t often), I get looks of shock, even from those people who don’t like me and don’t care about flattering me. Since I objectively know that I’m not old at all, that’s not the problem.

The problem is what I have done with the time I have had.

Every birthday I think of all the things I could have done to better myself, my situation, and my goals. I think about where others are in my age group (or younger) and where I could be if I had applied myself. I try to calm this, to think about where I want to be and who I want to be, and to make goals and plans to get there. Instead I lament that I haven’t done more.

I thought that publishing a novel (and with a short story out there as an added bonus) this inner nagging voice would calm at least a little bit, but if anything it has gotten worse. It wasn’t until I started making last minute plans for the Evil Day that I realized what was bothering me so much: I’m in roughly the same place I was last year. And the year before that. And that.

Now that I have this book and story published, I think part of me goes back a few years to when I was desperate for publication, when I wanted nothing more than that in the whole world. I remember thinking then that once I had an agent or a good publisher (or even a bad one, which mine is not, all things considered), once I had that “in” I would be a writing fiend. Yet I have not been.

I am very much my own worst enemy. I am ambitious yet lazy, focused yet flighty, a dreamer currently lacking the will to pull myself up and write the dreams in my head into a document and allow others to read them. I am scared and yet one of the bravest people I know, I sometimes ooze with unrealized potential but do almost nothing with it. Yet, if that is true, am I not worse than the lazy sod who lies around the house all day doing nothing, going to his part time job, drinking and wrecking his trailer during the day? I have a steady job, savings, a few close friends, and lots of wishes. My will and strength to make them happen grows every day, yet it seems like it does so in such small increments.

These are the thoughts which plague me on my birthdays. Can’t I just fucking go out, get drunk, party, and be merry like other people? Sheesh. This pseudo-deep thinking is annoying.

Happy impending birthday to me!

Alternate letter considerations: Bates Motel, Beetlejuice (Perhaps I should have gone with one of these as they are a bit more cheery. Oh, well. I shall make it up tomorrow).

A = Abominable Snowman (A-Z Challenge)

When I was a kid I loved amusement parks and the faster rides contained therein. However, I could only go on rides for which the height restrictions were minimal, as I was a very small child. This pretty much left Disneyland, and one of my most loved and hated rides was the Matterhorn Bobsleds.

It seemed so fast and sleek to me, and as an overly imaginative child I always pretended that I was on an expedition in uncharted territory, that I was the boy explorer with secret psychic powers which would aid me on my quest for jewels, treasure and, probably, some hidden path to Oz or Narnia, from which I would obviously be smart enough to never return. (Those bitches always seemed to miss their families or try to investigate some bullshit they knew they shouldn’t. Screw that! I would have pushed my family into the Deadly Desert so fast…and a lamppost? No thanks. If it feels like a barrier, it probably is one. I’m staying, thanks.)

Well, my psychic powers failed me on the Matterhorn ride, because I never knew when the Abominable Fucking Snowman was going to pop out, roar, and turn me into some horrified infant girl. I grew up watching Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, Aliens, etc. and I was fine. Yet one animatronic dildo with matted fake fur and glowing eyes scared the hell out of me.

Said dildo.

It wasn’t that he was so scary, it was that I made up a whole back story for him, and it changed so that he could scare me anew each time I saw him. Sometimes he was a human who was turned into a yeti by the evil magick of the mountain. Other times he was a once captive beast who had never known kindness and had broken free from his bonds, now preferring to snack on humans, sucking the marrow from their severed limbs. (I didn’t say I was a well-balanced child). Then he was the beast from Hoth, angry about his missing limb, who had been teleported to Earth to get the arms of children — because their arms would still grow, you see. (Duh.)

Wanted: one snuggly young boy for cuddles and arm wrestling.

Had I been older, I would have associated him with the Christmas movies depicting him as a grumpy but lovable pet in need of an ornament and a hug (with both arms, thankyouverymuch). If I was much younger, I could have associated him with the Pokémon. Instead, I had some bitter, armless creature and an overactive imagination.

Much easier to deal with.

The real (or not) abominable snowman is supposed to be in the Himalayan region of Tibet and Nepal. In pre-19th century mythology, the yeti were said to have been ape-like Glacier Beings whose blood was used for mystical ceremonies. (Again with the blood and severing of things!). In the 20th century, people took photos of footprints which supposedly can neither be explained as fakes nor confirmed. A scalp was found which looks like the owner would immediately be required to lip-synch for his/her life. In 1957, poop was found with unknown parasites, implying that, since every organism has its own parasites, the creature from whose bum this feces was expelled was also unknown to science. Other footprints were found in this century which were too morphologically correct to be fake.

I think it’s arrogant to believe that we know all the creatures on the remote spots of this earth (especially when one thinks of the ocean, of which we have explored something ridiculous like 5-15%). Might the yeti not be some ape which adapted to the cold? Is it likely to be a hoax? Either way, I couldn’t care less. What I can tell you is that, though I laugh at the abominable snowman at Disneyland now, the thought of a real one is intriguing and terrifying.

Almost as intriguing as the thought of a literal abominable snowman, perhaps brought to live by an angry Snow Queen?

Alternate letter considerations: Abercrombie and Fitch, Age, Absolution, Animaniacs.

Potential A-Z Blog Challenge

So, after much deliberation (and probably not enough thought), I have decided to take on the A-Z blog challenge/madness. I guess the “official” month is April, but I had a release that month, so skipped it.

Essentially, it’s an exercise where you blog every day of the month except for Sundays, and each day is thematically based around a letter of the alphabet. On Monday you could do A for ass, Tuesday would be B for buttocks, C could be for cunnilingus, all the way up to I for Intense Psycho-Sexual Therapy and beyond. (No, god help us, I don’t plan to do anything like that).

I think as a writer it would help me to write more often, get a schedule, and just, you know, for the hell of it. Plus, I have a lot of personal stuff going on that I would rather not think about, so diving into work may be fun.

Wish me luck!

Release Day…Again!

So, earlier today the Torqued Tales anthology was released. I’m thrilled to not only be part of it, but to have another release. Let’s get to it, shall we?

Here is the cover for the anthology. If one chooses to buy my story, “The Snow Queen”, individually, it will be the same cover, but with my name on it. I absolutely love this cover. I think it’s awesome and almost has an Alice in Wonderland feel to it (for me):

And the buy link is here:

http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=76&products_id=4167

You can also get it from Amazon, All Romance E-Books, Barnes and Noble, Bookstrand, Smashwords, and others.

Also, something I had no input into, but which I love (and the timing couldn’t be beat), I got this from my publisher. My first novel, Winter’s Trial, is on sale this week on my publisher’s site:

Get 20% off selected titles from Darren Endymion and Rob Rosen this week! http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=specials

What I love about this and about the short story project is that, since my first novel was priced rather high (because it was so long), if someone wanted to get a taste for my writing, this short story is a good, inexpensive try. As for the sale price of my novel, I think that’s absolutely great.

As for the stories, no, I obviously didn’t have the space to put in all the world building and character building in “The Snow Queen” that I did with Winter’s Trial, but “The Snow Queen” is more fantasy, which is where my heart has always been, whereas Winter’s Trial is contemporary.

Anyway, thanks to everyone for listening to my marketing crap. I think next time I will talk a little about the original story “The Snow Queen”, its influences, how much inspiration it has brought to people, and about the beauty of the original story.

Or, I’ll pull something out of my ass and fling it at my monitor. It depends on my mood. *monkey sounds, cackle, running away*