Even In A Crazy World Where Impossibilities Are Daily, Stories Are Important As Keepers Of Fictional Accounts Of Real Terrors

I have uncorked the creative part of me today. I am not going to say the block I had is gone, nor am I going to say all is well in creative land in other ways, but given the reality of the world today, I am pretty happy that I can lose myself for twenty or thirty minutes writing something that other people may like and distract them from the nearly apocalyptic, dystopian hell-scape we find ourselves in presently.

So, in the spirit of social distancing and yet sharing my love for a thing, I wanted to throw ideas out in the void and see if any of them stick to anything. I am not asking for feedback per se, but if you see anything that you think you might like to read, let me know and I will see what I can do. Mostly though, this is to shake the shit out of my head that has been floating around my head for a few months now and see if any of it is worth writing at all.

This morning I started on the Card, which I think will be a fun little jaunt to some unexpected places. Plus, it has been a while since I wrote something really, hardcore, in my wheelhouse and let me tell you without telling you anything, this is REALLY in my fucking wheelhouse.

I have this other thought in my head where I would just pick a song and write a story using the “plot” of the song. For example, if I were to listen to Hammer Smashed Face by Cannibal Corpse, then perhaps, well, I would write a story about that very thing. That is a little too obvious, but I think the point I was going for definitely got across. I got the idea while I was listening to Turn Around, Look At Me by the Vogues/watching Final Destination 3 where the song is used expertly as a part of the storytelling framework. I listen to a range of music and I think it might be a fun thought experiment if nothing else.

Thanks to two wonderful women, I know how and I know what I am going to write for the book like thing I am going to write. The Help is going to get a rather significant addition (Probably 25-30K words) and I will flesh out the backstory as a whole as well as specifically with the delight Edward.

I have not forgotten about the Goddess Siobhan, our Priest friends, The Authority, or even the Eight Mothers themselves, I just will, especially for the latter, have to drastically rewrite a lot of things and it will take a long time to both have the time, even during the near Shelter-In-Place we find ourselves in, and the energy to go through hundreds of thousands of words and pull the good and cull the bad.

The rest of the ideas are one-off stories that for reasons only known to the internal workings of my brain I do not particularly like to write. I am much more of an episodic writer and I think I would have made a fair living as a pulp writer back in the day, maybe I would have even penned a decent penny dreadful or two farther back.

For now, I am going to go and try and see if I can get my head to wrap around the chaos that is the world and make sure I have done all the things I need to do to keep me, mine, and My Tribe in the limited ways I can, safe from this pandemic that sweeps across the world.

That would make a really good story if it wasn’t so damn real already.

A Sad Form Of Truth

I want to write a book. Well, I suppose by all practical measurements you can say that I want to write another one. I am not ashamed of the first one by any stretch, but I want to write a thing that is pure and totally me. Little Boy was an exercise to see if I could complete the National Novel Writers Month challenge, during which you are trying to write 50,000 words in thirty days. So it is rushed and it was something I did purely for the challenge, for the ability to say that I had done the thing.

So, now what?

I have written thousands of poems that are between things that make me cry in memory a decade later and things I will not delete purely because I need to never write that piece of shit again. I love poetry, it was my passion before I truly understood what that word meant. I would write these things to my first wife that would go on and on about her chestnut hair and eyes like smokey mirrors. I would write to Naomi about the beauty of childbirth and the creation of life with a schmuck like me. War and Death and Love, Angst and Joy, Forgiveness and Hatred. I have written about her forever eyes, Valkyries as my salvation and mothers that are far away that my love will never fade for.

I have written about The Assemblage and their awkwardly moralistic power plays on a global scale. I wrote about the Eight Mothers that came from that place Cosmic Horror begins and ends. I rewrote The Inferno as best as I could. The Dark Goddess Siobhan and the glory of her power over the hearts and minds of things that go bump in the night.

Am I out of things to write? No, that will never be the case.

What I don’t have, is courage.

I am terrified of rejection. Personally, professionally, artistically, even spiritually.

That’s it see, that’s what there is no book.

What if everyone hates it? What if it is the punchline of jokes and the object of derision.

Yeah, I know I can’t control any of that.

Truth is a stupid thing when it is in your head.


It is two minutes after five. I have been up since a little before four, and I went to sleep a little after eleven. I am not really kvetching that point, more of way to start the brain and hopefully get some coherent thoughts out into the world as opposed to just coming across as whining because I am up early, of which I always am when there are Ducks to get on buses. I actually don’t mind it most mornings, it is a nice and quiet time even with all three of them down here doing their routine things.

Just like that, I know what I am going to write about this morning.

I am a stickler for routine. I am sure there is a reason in the neurochemistry school of things, but for the purposes of this I think I will leave diagnosing to people who went to schools that give them the authority and the knowledge to do that thing. I just like the way the world operates when it is nice greased on the skids of the predictable. I know that in exactly fifty minutes medication gets taken, in eighty minutes people start this, then get on buses, then lather, rinse, repeat.It makes the anxiety skyrocket downward when I know what is going to happen in a given set of time.

It is both the reason I haven’t been writing and the reason it is bothering me not to. Slipping the skin of the writer on is a stretch of muscles I don’t remember having until I start writing and then the comfort of it is like a gravity blanket pressing against my skin and squeezing the panic of the world out of me. Writing about Siobhan and the Fae, The Marquess and the Rituals, the Marquis and Pain, and even the sweet octuplet of matriarchs that rule it all.

Yes, there are many times in the next month or so when there is going to be a lot of Dark seeping and floating to the surface of my brain and getting spread thinner and thinner each time I write about it as a form of catharsis. Yes, I am going to not keep a schedule no matter how much I wan to try to keep one. Finally, yes, I will stop writing for a chunk of future and come back and write something apologizing for all that and starting the entirety of the Masquerade over again.

I am listening to Somebody to Love by Queen and it makes me smile. Not just because my obviously well-raised children are quasi-soft head banging to the riff of the guitar and the Elder Duck is singing along to Freddie of the soaring vocals. I am smiling because it seems an appropriate song to have on at the moment. Lately I have not been very kind to myself in that sense and I have listened to the inner monologue of doubt and self-hatred a little too closely, so hearing this first thing in the morning gives me pause and makes me think of all the people I do love and the people I know love me and it makes the world spin a little easier and the shadows in the corners of my brain seem a little less dark.

Now, it is time to go and dome Daddy Bear things and snuggle a duck or two before they are off to the delightful institutions they disappear to for huge chunks of the day.

Tá mé ach seirbhíseach



I am rather cognizant of the fact that I want to create an entire universe. I know that I am tackling an ambitious, to put it lightly, undertaking and it will actually require a lot ,more follow through than I am used to in my writing.

So, as I sit here at half past 6 on a Sunday morning, I thought I would share some thoughts on the brutal, and yet essential, restructuring I have to do in order for this to work at all, never mind in a way I find ascetically pleasing.

As it is now, there are three main divisions of the writing I have done on this site.

The Major Dramatis Personae specific and ONLY specific to the Universe. This includes, at the moment since there are more coming, Banazari, Nuria, The Marquis, The Marquess, The Shuffler.

Siobhan is a separate entity that exists in her own Universe that is separate from this one and she always will be separate.

The Mythological Dramatis Personae, in this Universe known as The Eight Mothers which thus far consist of two of the eight, Yidhra and The Broken Goddess.

The third element, thus far completely absent from here is the history, locale description, and general non-character specific background information. This is both the easiest and the most difficult to write in that the ideas are plentiful, the stitching is a little harder to work in order to make everything snugly fit together.

So, I told you all of that so I can tell you this next part.

I will continue to post and update the ones listed here as often as I can. However, I need to write a lot of background things that will make things coming up make a lot more sense than they would if I were to leave it out.

As all of you can probably tell, the holidays suck a lot of suckable things for me and my motivation lowers a great deal this time of year. I am not going to give up and I plan on pushing through this and writing. Writing helps relieve the depression and anxiety as it is.

Lastly, I have every intention of doing more of the poetry reading things in the very near future and I have not forgotten that a lot of you actually want to listen to me blather on about assorted things until you either fall asleep or an aneurysm type thing happens in your thinky parts.

Oh yeah I will try to throw more blog things, assorted stories and original poetry in here as well, because, I mean, why limit myself to a dozen things?

I got this. Hold my fucking beer.

This Week, GROWL

This week can fuck off and die.

However, on a lighter note I am happy to hear back from people who apparently liked my foray into poetry reading. I was terrified to post that because I have a huge fear of rejection, but hearing positive feedback was a goodness to be sure. Any and all requests will be filled, seriously, anything. I love to read aloud, it is a passion of mine and it is how my Elder Duck learned how to read and how I helped my own little brother learned how to read when the time came.

I think I am going to do a complete recording of The Hobbit. I love Tolkien and he has been my personal favorite since my gran read him to me when I was less than four years old, and if the stories she told me are true, she even read him to me while my mom was resting and I was still in the womb. I have other reasons to read it as well, so I think it is a win-win for everyone involved. Since it will be free and all I am pretty sure I won’t nailed for violating a copyright, and if I do, well, I do.

It is a cold and dark Saturday morning and I am so okay with that it hurts. I can snuggle with my ducks, watch some college football and wait for the inevitability of the oncoming Darkness That Consumes.

Writing. Yes, I have been a tad less diligent as of late. Some deeply disturbing personal things have happened that even I won’t tell the Internet and I have had to focus my efforts elsewhere for the time. Worry not however. I have plans for Nuria and Banazari, The Marquis and Marquess, The Shuffler and Siobhan, and especially the delightful Mothers I have introduced to you.

I have a wicked migraine forming, I am assuming because of weather things in addition to the loathing that the Lord feels when he sees the worthlessness of my soul. it is hovering just between tolerable and throw darts at a board to see how I can rip my own head off without causing too much of a mess. Generally, this time of year for me is better and I don’t get as many, I am truly hoping that my small respite has not been taken from me. If it has, well, it has and I will just have to adapt to yet another new normal.