Well crap….
January 22, 2017
I’ve made some bad mistakes before. Some I’m so embarassed by I’ve blocked them, or at least go out of my way to bury them. What I did just a little bit ago might not be the worst thing ever, but I feel like I’ve made such a stupid, amateur mistake that it might cost me.
I just submitted a story to a few publications. You know, the typical thing. Unfortunately, instead of using my professional email address that I always do, I was still signed in to my regular, personal use email.
I highly doubt any of these publications even notice that stuff, let alone care. For all I know, they might have authors that use emails like footlongdong_69@yahoo.com. I don’t even know if that’s real, nor do I care. And I’m sure they don’t either.
The point is, I can’t believe I let myself overlook that basic thing. Especially because on every cover letter and within the submission itself, my professional email address was on there. They might be like, huh? But then realize what a dolt I am, and toss it in the trash.
Maybe that’s why NewMyths.com rejected the story within ten minutes?
Yep, no joke. Never happened, not ever, not once. Not even with The Dark, who is quick enough to get their rejections to me within 12 hours.
Anyway, I hope this doesn’t cost me. I doubt it will, but when it comes to the things we love, the things we put our hearts and souls into, we worry about minutae, because we demand perfection.
So why can’t we give ourselves what we want?
PS – Glad to hear about so many women in the Women’s Marches all across the country today! I know several fine ladies who participated, and I’m so proud and happy to see so many people banding together against tyranny and oppression! Keep up the awesomeness!
Rogue One
January 16, 2017
I wrote this a few weeks ago, but it goes beyond simply talking about the plot and fun stuff of the latest Star Wars movie, and more into writerly motivations and musings, but still, please stop reading if you don’t want spoilers. That’s right: SPOILER ALERT!
I’ve always loved Star Wars. In fact, it’s what inspired me to become a writer. Back in 1994 I was reading Kevin J. Anderson’s Jedi Academy trilogy, and loved every minute of it. I know a lot of people have given some horrid reviews of the 90’s era Star Wars novels, and I’m sure if I went back after 20+ years and reread them, I’d agree. But hey, I was 14 and thirsty for anything Star Wars related.
I loved the role playing game by West End Games and drove my friends insane begging them to play it with me. We had fun, but it was no AD&D Second Edition. One of the coolest parts of that game was the digest with new scenarios and characters and fiction. One night while flipping through, I saw at the front of the book submission information…and decided I’d write a story.
It lasted all of one page and I gave up after a week.
Regardless, I will always and forever love Star Wars.
So it’s no surprise that I loved Rogue One!
What a great, gritty story. Hopeful, but intense as hell at the same time. And from a writer’s point of view, incredible characters.
I felt like I knew enough about all of them to care. They had their motivations, their strengths and weaknesses, and their own story arcs. Sadly enough, they all died, but not surprisingly. Some went out in a blaze of glory, and others had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Which brings me to my only complaint about the movie: Baze Malbus.
Going into this film, I loved the look of this guy. Big, heavy weapons, a gritty appearance, and the faithful companion to his oldest friend. I was not disappointed in the movie at all, as they did an excellent job with his character. Except for his death…
They could have done a better job giving him a reason for it. His friend died, and ran out into an active firefight to check on him, took out a few enemy troops, and then died in an explosion. It really accomplished nothing. Like I said, I know that in real life, these things happen, but why did he have to be so mindless about it?
As a writer, I’m taught that things need to happen for a reason. There needs to be a motive, a purpose, something that makes a man do what he’s doing. So why couldn’t they have him just get enraged and charge the battlefield, taking out as many guys as he could along the way? Why not have him jump onto a troop transport swarming with enemy troops and pull a grenade, taking out himself and everyone else, thus securing a safe passage for the other characters?
It bugged me, and still does. I know it can’t change, but it makes me realize that when I write something, I’ll need to follow these rules or guidelines so that no one is scratching their heads.
However, at the end of the movie, everything was redeemed. The last five minutes were more amazing than anything I think I’ve ever seen in a movie.
Darth Vader, mowing down an entire platoon of Rebel troops like it was nothing? Fuck yeah! Lightsaber in one hand and the Dark Side in his other (seriously, it showed him waving his hand and fist to fight these guys), he plowed down that corridor and tore through those men. I know he’s the bad guy and all, but shit…I wanted to see him win just out of general principle.
I will study that scene. I will write my own version of it. It will become my go-to for any and all action scenes I write, now and forever more.
Well, maybe not all of them. But most of them. And nothing will be as awesome as that.
Destroy All Monsters!
January 12, 2017
I’ve been lax on posting these flash fiction pieces, but hey, life happens. Anyway, enjoy!
Karen was no stranger to monsters. Real monsters, beings that defied the laws of reality and logic as humanity knew it. Real monsters, like from horror movies, not just horribly evil people that did horrible things. Her job, in fact, was that of a monster hunter, and she had just received the commendation from her boss of being the best one in the country.
Yet how did one manage to get into her apartment?
Sitting on her blue couch, reading a magazine and eating unsalted popcorn, Karen’s heart attempted to burst through her chest when the door flew out into the corridor. The wooden doorframe and plaster walls burst in, smoke and debris clouding her vision for a moment.
When the rubble cleared, she saw a monster.
It was once a human being. It had grown at least three feet, gained close to one-hundred pounds—all muscle—and the skin was greenish-bluish-yellowish. Much like the green guy from the comics, his pants were shredded but remained intact in one specific area.
Eyes, massive and bloodshot, landed on her. Its huge nostrils flared, while its gaping maw of a mouth opened wider than she ever could have foreseen, revealing fangs and goopy saliva trailing down to the floor. Its bare feet stomped in, boasting a skull-crushing size and toenails that could rip a man to shreds.
Karen’s hunter-like instincts took over. As the intruding monster reared its grotesque head back and emitted a window-shaking roar, Karen sprang from the couch. On the end table next to the television which she never watched, she kept her main sidearm, Victor. As she pulled the .44 from its holster, she aimed at the thing’s head.
And immediately put the gun down.
“David?” She took a tentative step toward him. “I’d recognize that scar anywhere. You’re my brother.”
The monster raised a massive hand to its cheek, running a bratwurst-sized finger along the deep scar, the last lingering memento of a cherry bomb in a coffee can from his thirteenth birthday party.
Suddenly the eyes became glassy pools in which Karen saw nothing but sympathy. David had been working as an errand boy for Thomas Wick, the local mad scientist. He was really a chiropractor that wrote articles about genetic engineering, but everyone called him a mad scientist. Chances were, David had been outsourced to a real geneticist, who turned him into this mutated version of himself.
“You kill us,” David said. His voice was harsh and clumpy, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t remember how. With his body growing big, his brain must have shrunk.
“I can’t kill you,” Karen said. “You’re my brother. I love you.”
“Kill me. Please kill.” David stepped closer to her. He reached forth and lifted Karen’s hand with the gun to point it at his chest. “Put me out of misery.”
Tears stung Karen’s eyes. She had made a vow to destroy all monsters, but her own brother? How could she?
Just then, a howl split the silence. Through the hole in the wall that once was the door, a man-sized jaguar leapt in. Fists balled and teeth bared, it looked ready to kill.
It snarled. “Grr, you killed my brothers! Now I kill you!” With its tail flailing wildly, it sprang forward, ready to pounce on Karen.
Eyes clenched and finger itching on the trigger, Karen needed to wait until the time was right. When nothing happened, she opened her eyes.
David had reached out just as the werejaguar leapt. His entire hand wrapped around its neck, the life had been squeezed out of it. David smiled.
“I help. I kill monster too.”
“You did,” Karen said. “I can’t kill you. But you can help me hunt other monsters.”
“I want to help.” David dropped the werejaguar. It fell to the ground like a sack of pudding.
“Then let’s go,” Karen said. “Let’s start by finding the monster who did this to you.”
Thoughts? Let me know in the comments!
Myke Edwards' Blog. 