Author Archives: TheDisfigured

Some Fantasies are Lived

by in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged , , , | 2 Comments

My Aunt died over the weekend. She was a poet, in addition to many other things. I wanted to honor her, and share her skill with others.

I give you all the 2nd Place Winner in the 1979 New World’s Poetry contest, written by none other than Beverly Giambrese:

Some Fantasies are Lived
By Beverly Giambrese

I took a midnite boat to Corsica
where the Mediterranean
below cliffs of pink chateaus
carried the whore queen Cleopatra
safely to anchor her naked breasts
upon the shores of Caesar

Five miles out of town
where the people’s promenade
stretches toward Atlantis
I backpacked to a cove
where the fishermen
were unloading octopus and starfish
they told me strange stories
of slave traders from Afghanistan
whose teeth flash switchblades
at white women from America

The empty bottle of wine
rose in my cheeks
as I waited from my sleeping bag
to be sold

Abomination

by in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged | 4 Comments

Rage and hate burn away all other emotions, but they leave behind toxic ashes.

One day at a time. Each day drags, one day at a time. Substances make time pass faster, make life more bearable. Wondering always if there is one more thing to worry about, to feel. Guilt. Regret? One more bolt of regret. A dagger skins the conscious being, never letting it feel peace. Piece. Chunks of it.

Every day the rage grows. It isn’t always at the forefront. Screaming, punching, breaking, slamming. It’s subtle sometimes, like an inert volcano. Magma bubbles beneath until that breaking point, that breaking point where there’s an eruption. I can feel you death. Your claws reach but can’t catch yet. Staring into the hollow pits you call eyes, beholding the horror of beyond.

What about death? What about it? Consider the moment of death, knowing that it’s coming. There is no cure, no one to help. Only death. Do we feel death arrive? Does it make a grand entrance, or does it merely stumble backstage as we live the last few moments of life, waiting like a proud parent when out performance is done?

Death and pain are friends, but they have separate lives. Death teaches us one lesson, but pain teaches many. Death and pain. Rage. There is nothing but anger and there aren’t enough places to scream on this planet to lose it all. The killing comes to mind, right? Stab wounds, gunshots, crushing, beating, burning, hanging, strangling, drowning, bleeding. All normal. All feelings that are valid. Every piece of it all fits into place.

One cannot be expected to sit here and read such ramblings.

Rage, flowing forth as a molten stream of ire and vigor, hotter than any star. Blood, pain, death, rage burns them all away. Happiness, acceptance, kindness, rage burns them too. Anger incinerates, and leaves behind a greasy, sooty mess that stains the godamn soul to its core. Not even blood taken in retribution can wash the ashen marks. The scars of hot embers.

Anger always has fuel. It’ll eat all I feed it, and I have too much to give. I am a furnace, and this world hates my anger. Peace. Peace is the way to go, but what if one is not peaceful? What if one is prone to violence, pain, hate, and death? What place is reserved for those who resist peace, or who cannot accept peace, or worst of all, is unable to accept peace?

Each moment of peace is perforated by guilt. Guilt of lost time towards important things. Each moment of peace is corrupted by the passage of time, one second ticking away after the other. Blood leaks, time passes, and death swings his scythe, one loping swath, clear-cutting, grisly bounty. Harvest.

I am tried. Tired and angry. Cold. Energy used for staying awake and being polite wants to be transformed towards more active imaginings. I am tired.

So tired.

 

Creating Natural Dialogue

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul and tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Dialogue can be difficult.

I think the hardest part about it is making it seem natural. In all honesty, a writer is simply an individual that talks to him/herself. So when you’re just talking to yourself, how the hell can you create good dialogue? I took a gander on the internet to see if other people had tips, or stories to share. One link I found was pretty good. I usually stand against NaNoWriMo materials, but this one seemed pretty on par.

But, I didn’t read all of it. Couldn’t be bothered cuz I really didn’t give a shit, but you may. I don’t think I’m the master of dialogue. In fact, I fuckin’ hate writing it. It’s annoying, and it NEVER completely feels naturally to me, even when I’m reading the works of supposed “masters”.  Once again, I fucking HATE writing dialogue, but it’s something that must (should?) be done.

Dialogue usually comes in good moments. Or at least I’ve found that. I’ll have days where things just fit between two characters. I don’t have to think, and their personalities literally allow a conversation. But let’s be real, shall we? I’m simply talking to myself. So here’s something I try that actually works pretty well.

Literally, I speak dialogue out loud (when alone, or one the shitter hopefully alone) like I’m rehearsing a part for a play, or movie. I’m tellin’ you, it works for me. It works, and I’m gonna stick with it. Sometimes, I play out entire plot points in real time. Often in the car. I’ll choreograph fight scenes, plan conversation/confrontation, and see how they play out. Also, you have to know your characters.

That is one thing I can say with confidence. I know my characters very well, and when they surprise me, I’m delighted. These sudden left turns add definition to a character, and keeps readers interested while punishing them at the same time. Also, being an only child with OCD, my imagination is stronger than my concept of reality, and it helps me weave decent stories and dialogue. Fuck, I hate writing it so much I had to find a way to make it fun for myself.

What about you? How do you create dialogue? Plot? How do you move the story along?

Kone 2.0 Concept Art and…Other Things

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul, Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Life is one long stretch of time where shit happens that is good and bad.

True is this for real people and fictional characters. This blog entry will focus on Kone, one of Alistar’s friends in Blestemul, the new book I’m writing. Kone is an Ironsoul, which means that he has mechanical parts mixed in with organic ones. After a particularly nasty bit of business in the plot line, Kone had most of his living body destroyed, meaning now he is almost completely mechanical. His brain did not survive; rather they stuffed “Kone” into an extremely sophisticated CPU, where he is who he is, but now he can process like a computer. Traumatic to say the least, but not without its benefits. Kone now is a sophisticated war machine, meaning that he has all sorts of military-grade treasures and goodies (I won’t reveal why). Navigation systems, enhanced tracking and sensory awareness, strength, reflex, and agility augmentation, hacking, electronic disruption, and a whole laundry godman list of other terrific shit. Take a look at some (shitty) concept art that I drew for Kone 2.0:

KoneConceptArt2_TCoUBlestemul

The skin on him cannot even fit over the mechanical parts, making it look unnatural. The face plate is synthetic, and does nothing to add humanity. I can’t say why I did this to Kone. And not in a “reveal the ending” kind of way, I truly don’t know why I did this to him. Perhaps I deemed him uninteresting, and needing a new angle. Maybe I was getting lazy, and needed an ace in the hole for later chapters. Maybe I just felt…cruel that day. Or maybe it was a combination of something else entirely. I don’t know.

Shit happens. We are all aware of this, whether it is fictional or real, everything happens to everybody for a specific reason. These reasons are either identifiable immediately, or take some time to reveal themselves. Sometimes, I can feel the world plotting. And I don’t mean people, I can feel the noose of life tighten around my fragile, mortal neck and then loosen when I least expect it. I felt the world plotting against me all my life, but I didn’t really understand what it meant until recently. Yesterday, my car got smashed into by an old man with shitty eyes and a big car. I could feel the incident looming long before it occurred.

Sometimes, I feel as though it maybe is death keeping my ego in check. God, devil, demon, angel, who knows. I worry. I worry because I this time of year always means trouble for me. And as the demons travel in threes, I worry. I worry because maybe this isn’t the end. I worry because maybe there’s more darkness to come.

I will always be on the edge of the abyss, staring into the black. It’s where I belong. Partially (mostly) by choice. And maybe sometimes this bleeds into my writing. Maybe all this shit means something, and I am just a lil’ ol’ pawn in a Chess game so grand and convoluted that I’ll never be anything more than just a basic piece. Maybe I’m full of shit.

Feelings of doom, bad omen, signs. They are everywhere. They can be heeded, ignored, embraced, destroyed, hidden, a whole manner of things. The feelings I get, the thoughts I have, the dream I dream. They are all connected somehow in a massive web that connects me to life, and all the forces that drawn upon it.

Or maybe I’m just a Pawn aspiring to be a King.

Dire Times = Dire Changes

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul and tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

So…Blestmeul ran wild last night.

I was just putzin’ along, writin’ my shit, and low and behold, the story threw me a curve. Not me, the story itself. In this situation, one of the main characters, Kone? He makes a very big decision that ultimately effects how the story will run. It’s strange sometimes how that happens.

Well, I don’t want to tell you what he did of course. It’ll fuck up the book if you ever want to read it. But I changed him completely all the same. Due to an event that I won’t disclose, Kone went from being partially cybernetic to almost completely all robot. That’s not all, either. He got a shit ton of military grade robotics and upgrades to make him a more efficient man-machine (I’ll post concept art detailing this in the near future). I’m not sure why I did that, to be honest. The story just…took a left turn.

This isn’t the first time its happened in this story. Originally, Kone wasn’t even a character. He came in to help progress the plot early in the book. I built him on a whim, and then added dimension as needed. No, he was supposed to forge a greater relationship with Alistar as time passed. I wanted them to be in each other’s pockets, but that might not be the case right now.

Turns out, Spek, my Groar character? He took over. His life force and personality in the story completely overshadowed Kone, and I simply ran with it. Now now, I’m not ditching Kone. I just found his purpose, and his purpose is not what I expected. The only relationship that is headed in the original direction I intended was with Jala and Alistar. Blestemul isn’t even the same anymore.

See, that’s why I don’t like to plan too much. I don’t like to have the whole story piece by piece, bit by bit laid out for me. If I start sticking to a well crafted plan I’ve made for myself, the writing turns to shit. I mean it too. Unreadable, even by friends or family. My mind is too obsessive and frantic to follow a plan. Does that make me better? No. But it does…force me to think in a different way. Special? No. Unique? I like to think so.

Anyway, this whole entry was on sudden changes if you’re playing the shitty home game. Sometimes, a story just doesn’t go the way you want it to. But that doesn’t mean that you no longer have a story. You simply have a new one. Everyone is so afraid of change, I feel. Especially writers. That’s why I don’t identify with that crowd.

Sometimes, a sudden turn in what seems to be the wrong direction can be the best godamn thing you can do for whatever piece of art you’re working on. Fuck, it can be the best thing for just living your life! Don’t be afraid if your novel is going in a place you don’t like, or understand straight away. Let it run! And if it still turns out shitty?

Just write another one.

Writing and the Mind- Getting Back on Track

by in The Chronicles of Urth: Blestemul and tagged , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Finding the strength to write is like gripping sand.

Dragging myself out of the brine of complacency, I have lied to myself as to where I need to be, and what I need to do. The mind is a terrible thing. Not to waste, but a terrible thing. I have imagined and seen things in my mind’s eye that have irrevocably changed how I think. By a little bit. Every day. Completely changing, over and over again. That’s how all minds work. Not just mine. I’m not unique there.

I’ve been writing again. Who knows why the flow slows? Who knows why my stomach drops when I think about slamming down a few more words outta a keyboard? I don’t know. And I’ve spent too much time in my life trying to figure out a final reason, a final truth. It might as well be a holy grail for Christsake. Unattainable. Impossible. Unreachable. The mind is too complex for me, or for anyone else to fully understand.

I’ve discovered that forcing myself to write just a little bit begins the flow again. I haven’t been able to write for hours in a long time, but I can feel the inspiration coming. It happens like this every time I write a novel; I reach a point where I’m goin’ through the motions, and then I come back full force. I can feel it. It’s there. As for drawing and art, there isn’t much left now. Concept art for Blestemul I mean. In case you couldn’t tell, I’ve been clutching and clawing for exposure through posting pictures. Simply because the content of my blog has been shit lately.

Time to get back on track. I’ve written over 200 pages in this new book, and I’ll I’ve been doing is pissin’ and moanin’ about how hard writing is when I should be doing the thing I created this fuckin’ blog for. So here we go.

As of right now, I’ve been trying to develop character connections through difficult experiences and trust loops. Along with this, I’ve been changing my main character, twisting him into something the reader might not like. But I always have a plan when it comes to something like this. I won’t disappoint.

As for the beginning of the novel, it starts out simply enough. An alcoholic, washed-up “soldier” eeks out a living on some godforsaken shit hill town when an opportunity to redeem himself in the eyes of himself presents itself. Alistar, the main character, has given himself up to the demon, Blestemul, his symbiotic demon-pistol. Stuck inside his head, the demon goads, supports, and torments him as he strikes back at those who have held him down, and are continuing to destroy other peoples’ lives in plain view, under the guise of innocent righteousness.

I also tried to break stereotypes in this book. I created races that seem more bestial, but I developed them like any other “human” character. They have personalities, they wear clothes, cologne, they have opinions, jokes, likes, dislikes, loss and gain. It shows that a good person is a good person, and one can transcend any ignorance with a little effort.

Right now, one friend of Alistar’s, Kone, is missing. One recovered after a traumatic event that she (Jala) shared with AListar, and Spek is now looking for Kone inside of a primordial and very dangerous swamp. They are close to reaching the location of their main objective, and then the book should take off with aggression and grace.

That’s where I am. Now you know, and now I’ve said it. Wrote it. And I feel better. I’m giving you the writing you deserve to read. Am I god’s gift to the written word? NO. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to try. Thanks for reading and sticking with my fury. I won’t disappoint you. I promise.

I’ll Write when I Godamn Please

by in Thoughts with a Sharp Tongue and tagged | 1 Comment

Havent’ written in a while. The last post I did was shit because my heart wasn’t in it.

As of right now, things are hard. Excuses and pity are not for me, though. But it can still get you down. Writing anything is work. It’s work that you can enjoy, or that you can loathe. I think that it is both sometimes. Completely and totally, actually. Every page can be a struggle sometimes. Every little fucking punctuation mark can feel like a fuckin’ knife being driven into your fucking HEAD like it does right now. I don’t wanna write right now. I don’t fucking care right now.

But here we are.

I figured that I could use all my hate, anger, frustration and self loathing to produce an honest piece of writing. Feels honest. How well crafted, I’m not sure. As for Blestemul, work has come to a halt for now. After 200 pages, I don’t feel like writing anything more about that book for a little while. It’s frustration that stops me. Mostly how I don’t want to write, I want to sit and stare off into oblivion.

But I do write. And I think about my characters. What about you? Hmm? What do you think? Of course none of you assholes will reply, but let’s pretend for 10 seconds that you actually give a shit. Do you keep your characters in your head after you’ve written them? Do you sometimes feel resentment towards them for exsistence? Do you feel resentment towards your audience for the feeling you inflict upon yourself (guilt) when you haven’t been writing. I do. I blame everthing but myself, but that’s what this entry is for, honestly.

Fuck.

Weapons- Lots and Lots of Weapons

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Imaginary worlds allow one to create anything.

That’s why I like writing the most. Fuck the whole writing for an audience thing- I might aw well be masturbating at this point. I like makin’ shit up and then having it work in a world that will never be. My own fantasies coming to life, could it get any better? Of course it could, but for me it’s pretty close to a perfect hobby.

Anyway, before I delete that last paragraph, I wanted to touch down on weapons. I like weapons. A lot. And more than liking weapons, I enjoy creating my own. I’ve always had a fascination with things that can kill. I don’t know why. I don’t hunt, fish, or do other activities that put animals directly in harm’s way. But I do like violence, and I do like bad people getting what they deserve, so I guess weapons always have, and always will, hold a special place in my thundering heart.

Here’s some pictures of shit I made up:

WeaponConcepts3_TCoUBlestemul

These sketches are some mixed concepts. I included a Fundament assault rifle (they’re the main baddies in the book) along with some Incub technologies. Incubs have one eye, so I tried to develop a weapon that would cater to that. Larger rifles would have a stock that one would put against the chest, and stare down the sight without being able to blink. The harmonic knife is a weird one…I’m not sure how it works but it disrupts atoms, literally shaking them apart to create horrific wounds when used on soft targets. Here’s another slab ‘o art:

WeaponConcepts4_TCoUBlestemul

These weapons are almost ALL of Incub design. The two worth noting are the plasma hook and the longshot at the bottom. The plasma hook is a lofty idea- you could generate an arc of plasmatic energy that moves like a boomerang (without returning to you) and explodes with tremendous violence upon impact. As for how it would work, I have no idea. The longshot at the bottom is basically the most accurate projectile weapon on Urth. As long as its sight/scope is calibrated properly, the shot will literally go wherever the crosshair/bead is. Only operator error can alter the shot. More shit:

WeaponConcepts5_TCoUBlestemul

These are all Groar weapons. Heavy, artistic, and functional, these weapons personify what being a Groar means. Their version of a pistol weighs forty pounds, and uses a projectile that pierces through tough armor, and then shatters into stages all along the soft and doughy insides of their target.

Well, that about does it for today. I’m tired and bored of boring you. Take a look at my shit, leave a comment, all that good crap. Bye-bye.

 

Stepping Forward in Shit

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Life can be a real sour cunt, you know that?

I’ll warn you now. I’m gonna bitch and moan and have meaningful insight all in this motherfucker, so if you’re bored already, stop reading. Still here? What’s wrong with you? Anyway, the world will shit on you, disappoint you, wear you out and fuck you up. And it’s not just big things. You’d be surprised how often a little bump in the path can totally throw someone off the deep edge. Definitely a “straw that broke the camel’s back” situation. These past few weeks have been very tough for many people. Saying that, these last few decades have been very rough for some people. Many people, so as much as I want to bitch and moan about how annoying my life can be, I don’t. I don’t because there are others out there that would love to have my life.

Am I grateful? Sometimes. Sometimes I just want to smash anyone that looks at me cockeyed. Other times, I want to set myself ablaze and stand unflinching in a shopping mall, never screaming as people watch in horror as I amble towards them. Sometimes I want to be feared. Hated. Respected. Powerful. I feel my fists clench, my jaw tighten, and my patience wear thin, and a familiar burning resentment towards others that I envy boils up from my core, spills over, and all I want to do is shit all over the world and watch it burn down with me.

Looking for a positive turnaround paragraph? Nope. Not here. I guess you could say that this is a more…jaded and cynical part of my life, or more accurately, week. Usually edged with sarcasm to fake my own intelligence, but let’s just say what this shit boils down to. Jealousy. I am jealous. Competitive. I always have been. I don’t mind if my wife talks to other men. Kisses them, hugs them, fuck even flirts with them. Because I trust her. But every drop of testosterone I own in this haggard carcass surges right from my balls and into my brain when I see someone else trying to make a move on her. I am jealous of others that have more than me, have less than me (by choice), are smarter than me, stronger than me, all sorts of stupid mortal-based petty bullshit that now as I write, feels like angsty emo horseshit. Perhaps I need to save me from myself while I cut myself to feel because I’ve been asleep so long that I need someone to save me.

Or perhaps this is just a rough patch, and I need to get over myself and be happy for what I have, and what I can create. Anger and frustration are a part of life, and I certainly don’t help my situation with personality. I hide behind a wall of sarcasm and faux intelligence to hide what I am: Jealous, angry, and resentful. Secretive and obsessive. Hateful. Intense. And at times? Ignorant.

Do I want pity? Fuck no. What do I want? Fuck if I know. Or no. Don’t care. Most of the time. Sometimes?

Making Indie Publishing and Social Media Work together

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You NEED social media. Period.

Curt Matthews's avatarGone Publishing

I have been arguing in this space that successful indie publishing is largely a question of understanding and working a niche or niches. If that is truly the case, all of us in the indie book business need to be looking hard at the question of how to use social media to promote our titles. The internet is a terrific place to find and exploit niches; and social marketing looks to be fairly easy, relatively cheap, and, if cleverly executed, astonishingly effective. Every day we consume packets of digital information—video clips, sound bites, images, memes, news items, even books—that have “gone viral” on the internet.

If only it were that simple. Here is a list of concerns to consider when exploring the complicated world of social media as it relates to indie publishing:

The number of blogs, Facebook pages, Pinterest boards–to say nothing of twitter profile and tweets—continues to expand…

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