Gaia’s Dream, a novel about science fiction gladiators and shadow monsters, is now available!

Gaia’s Dream is now available! Links below:

A description of the book:

Science fiction gladiators. Land pirates. A giant city made up of huge buildings called megastructures.

This dystopian adventure has all that and more.

The story follows Mary Gold as she and her team of corporate gladiators hunt down Gat Jones, a serial killer who wants to use shadow monsters to destroy the city in which they all live.

The hunt takes them out of the city and into the unknown forests, rivers, and alien towns that none of them knew existed.

Thank you for reading!

I’m kind of proud of this one…

Jim the Farmer Boy and Bob the Dark Lord had been best friends for ages. When they were boys, oh did they have their fights. As the grew, it became apparent that one would never go anywhere without the other. While the women waited for their woos, Jim and Bob tramped off on adventure after adventure.


“Hey, Jim, look at this!” Bob said to his best friend, Jim the Farmer Boy. Bob held a rock in his hand that shone with the light of a thousand smaller lights. “It’s a trigger stone!”

“Whoa, those are like super rare!” Jim said to his best friend, Bob the Dark Lord. Jim approached Bob and tried to take the trigger stone from his hand. “”Just let me see it.”

“What, you can’t see it from there?” Bob challenged as he backed away, cupping the precious stone close his fist. “It’s mine, okay?”

Jim shook his head with a tainted scowl on his face and drew his mighty sword. No words were spoken as Jim chased Bob down, only the occasional guttural sound of a beast hunting down its prey. Jim almost struck at Bob’s leg, but missed as Bob dodged the blow.

“What you gonna do, farm boy?” Bob taunted, running away through the wooded, rocky terrain.

“I’ll kill you!” Jim shouted, chasing Bob down. Bob turned and laughed, turned and laughed, until the untapped rage within Jim (for had Destiny had its way, Jim would have been trained by the great wizard Merlin instead of befriending the one evil that he was born to hunt down, thereby overcoming that rage which always seeded itself deep inside his mind) finally turned him into a beast.

“Ah shit,” Bob said. “I dropped the trigger stone in this crevice.”

“What?” Jim stood there, searching his friend for the stone, but saw nothing in Bob’s hands. He then looked down the crevice, and saw shining perhaps a hundred feet below, the trigger stone. “Man, that sucks. Oh well.”

Jim and Bob continued their hike through the mountains together.


“Bob, help me!” Jim shouted as he lay, trapped under the dragon’s mighty paws. “It’s so fucking hot!”

“I knew helping this village was a bad idea!” Bob shouted back. He hid behind a large boulder as the dragon roared. “Why you always gotta help people, Jim? Why?!”

“Your friend will die!” the dragon shouted, its deep rumbling bass voice causing the large cave to shake as small bits of rock crashed down onto the ground. “Reveal yourself to me!” The dragon breathed an explosion of fire to emphasize its point.

“That’s kind of beside the point here, Bob,” Jim shouted to his friend. “I just need you to distract him! Just come on out!”

“Your friend wishes to betray you!” the dragon said.

Bob thought about just hiding there behind the rock and letting his friend die. They were hundreds of miles away from Hubriston, their home town, and no one would really ever know. He could just slip away. Drop his sword. And just leave. Just go. Do it, Bob, do it!

“Fuck you, Jim!” Bob shouted as he jumped from behind the boulder, swinging his large sword like a madman with too much wine in his insane systems. “Get back, ye dragon beast!”

Jim hadn’t expected something quite like the rush that Bob performed, but the dragon did. It breathed its fire at Bob, but only for a moment. For when it opened its mouth, Jim had managed to retrieve his sword from under the dragon’s paws and throw it directly into the beast’s weak spot — the thermal gland underneath its tongue.

The dragon roared, reared its neck, straightened its tail, and then collapsed. All was quiet for a moment.

“You…you okay, Bob?” Jim asked. He was still trapped under the dragon, but able to breathe.

“Uh…yeah,” Bob answered. His wide eyes beheld the dragon’s head that had landed merely an inch in front of him, and his hands were still raised above his head, holding his sword. “You?”

“I…I think so.”

“Good.”

“Yep.”

“Those fucking villagers better pay well.”

“It’s not about payment,” Jim said as Bob helped him up.

“Of course, that’s what you always say!”

“Look, maybe we just get a meal out of it.”

“A meal! A meal! I was almost a meal!”

“Bob, all I’m saying is…”

“…want money and…”

“!”


And so Jim and Bob continued on their adventures, threatening each other with death every step of the way.

Only real data

I only use real words in my writing because I think it sounds better when things are real. Like, you can’t have a meal out of plastic food. There has to be actual food there for you to eat. Frankly, if it’s not real, like rally real, then how can you tell if something even exists?

It’s like…come on, it’s just so frustrating having to describe these simple concepts that are like, so totally ingrained in our nature. I mean, if poverty really exists, then why am I not impoverished, you know? So that’s not real data that I can use for my writing.

Another word that’s real that I like is “pizza.” It’s a real word that means food that’s in a circle with some cheese on top of bread on top of sauce, in that order. It’s very good, but I don’t like to eat too much because I have to watch my waistline. A waistline is something you get when you’re older and your legs have sprouted. Yeah, my legs didn’t sprout until I was seven, a little later than most, but oh well.

Another thing I like to do in my writing is to repeat things that mean stuff to me. If it doesn’t mean something, then I’ll like only say it once, but sometimes I’ll say it two times because of my bad memory. But anyone who knows me knows I have a bad memory, so if I say something three or four times, they know it’s really important.

Another thing I like to do in my writing is repeat things that are important to me. Cause then I’m able to remember it more and like where I left off, I can start again. Like a cycle of rebirth, drifting ever outward from the center of my creation, always molding and changing like the Atlantic Ocean during hurricane season.

Sometimes people tell me that my ideas aren’t good and stuff, but I tell them just look at Mark, and his ideas, and then they do that and come back to me and say what good ideas I have. Yeah, totally. Mark is like second rate, and I’m maybe like…not like first rate, but close to first rate. I think that’s why Mark gets jealous sometimes.

I also like to use opinions sometimes, like other people’s opinions from the newspaper. The newspaper doesn’t really use real facts all the time, so sometimes I have to get it from magazines. Tabloids are generally good cause I like the feel of them and the crust of the paper. It’s like a texture that my fingers like when they start thinking for me.

 

1st person, present

If people insist on writing in the first person, present tense, then how about they write steam-of-consciousness works? This crap where it’s the MC just observing what’s happening and reporting to the reader feels more impersonal and broken than writing in the third person.

“I walk down a hall. I see a dragon. Then I run away from the dragon.”

This is boring. I mean, I’m falling asleep here! Let’s jazz that up:

“The hallway is too dark, but there’s a little bright light that I see and I’m not sure if it’s just my eyes tricking me when I find a beast. Its jaws are going to destroy me, shit! Run, run, run, damnit, run!”

Anyone who wants to write in this style should be required to read James Joyce’s Ulysses.

Does your mind ever take a break? Are there times when you find that others have been talking, but you have not been listening? Of course! It happens all the time! So if you’re going to write in this style, don’t have the MC be a damned omnipotent god. In third person, it’s okay to reveal everything.

Just make it real. Put me in the person’s head. Their thoughts should be their actions.

The Martian does a pretty good job of it.

Procrasta-astanation…

The rolling waves of tomorrow’s crest destroy the passing thoughts of future obligations. The ocean drives its angry water further inward, deploying its salty weapons upon the empty shore. A man may think he has an inkling of his purpose, a goal in his mind, and the means to enact all this within his own power, but that envious wonderment is only the foam that the wind drives up the dunes.

The coast is worn from the storm’s thrashing. Erosion cycles its surface so that it shows preserved freshness, unnatural in its constant newness. The tree that was safe for decades from the water is now only a resting place for the birds. Had it been allowed to triumph against destruction, then what wonders may have flourished from its seed!

The gulls dare take flight from that stump just a minute fore the air’s weight crushes their wings. Collective calmness soothes their bellies, waiting for the storm to pass. Patience is a virtue, for it allows us to wait til the moment for action is ripe. It is also a curse, for it forces us to stake our aspirations in the ground.

The hazy dreams of yesterday float tween the water and the sun, afraid to evaporate in the cold air. The day brings heat, and soon, clear skies. Attempts are made to grasp onto one last cloud, but gusts blow the thought away. Another time, another place, another way. Just not today.

 

The Son Also Rises

I’m half convinced that Hemmingway just had a lot of random crap in his stories and hoped some kind of symbolism would come out of it…

_________________________________________________________

Bobby said that Sue wouldn’t love him after that. He was always saying things like that, and only half the time believed it. I knew that Sue would be fine.

We left the store and had some drinks behind the counter at the Select. The drinks were nice. I enjoyed a whiskey. Bobby got the same dark beer he always drank in moods like this.

“It’s just that, I don’t know that she’ll forgive me.”

“Don’t be a fool,” I said.

“Jack, it’s true. Settle down.”

“Settle down? I’ll settle when I fucking feel like it.”

“Oh, come on now Jack. Relax a little. I only wanted to talk about my Sue and see where it will take us.”

I sipped my whiskey and spied the dancing floor.

“That’s it, how about a dance? That lass right there is rather frisky. Or the blonde in the green dress, how’s that for you?”

The barkeep poured me another whiskey.

“Let’s talk about my Sue.”

“What obligation do you have? You’re not married and haven’t promised it.”

“Well, there are certain expectations involved.”

“Your last left before those could be fulfilled.”

“Sue isn’t like Kate, not in the least. Why, if Sue and Kate stood next to each other in my home, I’d have to take Sue.”

“In the same way you’d have to take your current car because you’ve already placed the deposit.”

“Oh, come now, Jake.”

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

Bobby looked at the dance floor, then the bar, and sipped his beer.

I drained my third glass.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I have to send off some e-mails, get back home,” I said, leaving Bobby in the bar. He’d follow me home and knock on my door. I’d probably open it and let him in for a drink or smoke.

Little changes.