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Darkly Dreaming Demographic.

Where weird shit hits bizarre fans.

Gage Chapter 10 ‘Something must break’

Hey there,

What’s up? rhetorical question of course everyone knows it is the sky. That is the ultimate answer to that question, actually now that I think about it, what is up? Is it up or are we up? Hmm? Hmmmmm?

Ok enough of that nonsense. Been a pretty tame week, just prepping for my trip, been pretty much checked out really. A combination of the insane heat and the lack of a working shower. It’s like a dribble, keep getting it fixed and it breaks again. The shower is an oddly mystical thing and without a steady beat of running water I become very dull and very dumb.

It’s something to do with the water hitting you, like sitting under a waterfall aligns all your chakras probably I dunno, rinses your third eye (technically it does). It’s where I do most of my best thinking, where I lay things out straight, hash things out. If I have a problem with a plot point or a scene I take a shower and I think it through and I’ll innevitably have solved it by the time I get out which is usually an hour. I take ridiculously long showers for pretty much this reason alone.

It helps that I’m a germaphobe, but I’m always wary of people that take like 5 minute showers. How is that possible, I don’t have one part of my body I could wash in under 5 minutes (nudge wink).

If I could I’d probably live in the shower and just get a waterproof laptop if that exists. Maybe if I become a millionaire I’ll buy a hot tub with a waterfall going down my back and just stew in there as I write… this is a terrible idea.

Yeah so long story short; I didn’t get much writing done and I’m probably not going to do any proofreading today or the next day because I’ll be too excited, I have to wake up at 4 in the morning to get a half 5 train to the airport and I’m thinking about just not sleeping or just napping throughout the day and then sleep on the plane.

So I figure today I’m just gonna go over my pitch for Diana, read through the whole excerpt and just make sure it’s nice, maybe do a bit of spamming, oh yeah banned off facebook again haha. Just for a tasteless joke as usual, I think there are people that actively report me because there’s no way it was just some random triggered person this time because it was a post on my own wall. So there’s a pc spy on my friends list haha.

Anyway, I dunno Gage is probably one of the worst things I’ve written just because it’s kind of experimental and done for nano. Essentially weird ideas plus 30 day time limit equals; not so good haha, but it was fun so whatever. I was trying some new things but I think this is the part where it sort of comes into it’s own a little I think. The opposite perspective captures what I was trying to do a lot better and it’s far less self serving, less self indulgent less focus on the action more on the world and character building in a fun way, I think.

I started reading the next Witcher book, time of contempt and honestly it’s not really grabbing me. It’s basically like an x rated Harry potter no one asked for haha. It’s a shame really because the first ever witcher story I read was the best and what I thought the series would be. It was basically a noir pulp fantasy story, this stuff is more generic fantasy game of thrones shit but more boring. It could have been this really tight slick gritty action adventure but instead it’s this ponsey political drama with dragons and shit, such a let down honestly. Well nevermind the Parker book is all those things and more but not fantasy haha. Just had to slip in some witcher hate haha. I’m just really disappointed more than anything, I thought this series would be amazing and hook me into fantasy and it just hasn’t.

Been talking too much already, I need to do some work at least, just been too excited to think really, going to see the most important people in the world to me and my time with them is so fleeting.

Must dash.

See you…

 

As it happened Lugtroopers were forbidden from drinking alcohol. It had some sort of neural effect that could be passed on to the Kafta they were linked with. I didn’t really want to get bogged down in the technical aspect of it. Nor would I want someone with a highschool education like Gable trying to explain technology he most certainly did not understand.

In fact Ryan was so concerned about it he chose to use those god awful electronic cigars as opposed to the real thing. Although what in heavens name the effect of tobacco on one of those things could be is anyone’s guess but he wasn’t taking any chances.

I didn’t much care for drinking alone so we decided to skip the formalities and get straight to asking questions. First stopping off to get the latest paper. The headline was regarding some sort of unity rally in the capital and new york. It was in response to the death of the Cyclon boy and a number of terrorist activities down south from what were described as ‘Speciesist groups’. The rally was celebrating the harmony between the different species in the cities living together. It was a celebration of the strength in their diversity. The rally was the freed Kaftas and humans and all breeds in between lead by Cyclon organizers. They marched through the streets and conducted a ritual burning of pre-alien literature. Anything that denoted aliens as wicked or capricious in some way as a device to divide the races. They chanted in unision ‘Kill the speciesist’ as some of the group got a little rambunctious. They began pulling out and beating those that wouldn’t leave their places of work and march with them. But the paper made sure to highlight that this was a tiny minority of the events that occurred and those that commited violence were motivated by a devotion to love and unity.

Unfortunately this time Ryan insisted on accompanying me on company business. Which I opposed as he was just a contractor and not actually in the full employ of the company. But he told me he’d feed me to his lugger (which thankfully were kennelled for the time being until they so needed them) if I ever spoke to him again. That pretty much ended every interaction we ever had from that point on.

The bar was your standard border town saloon as might be described in some trashy novella you buy in railway stations. It of course smelled no different from the jail cells, being the source of the drunkiness and general filthiness. The bartender was a thin man who looked rather young. But on closer inspection his forehead was very lined and there were deep lines around his eyes signifying all the late nights. He had very light hair over tanned freckled skin which made it seem like his light hair almost glowed or wasn’t there. It was odd and apparently everyone called him ‘Whitey’ because of how pale his hair was and of course because his first name was in fact ‘White’. I cant say the folks here had much of a creative imagination. Which is surprising as most of the greats like Shakespeare found themselves almost continually soused.

I felt bad for the chap as Ryan went about torturing the poor sod almost immediately, he’d broken two of his fingers before he even asked him his name. It appeared he’d let me talk to the sheriff purely because he was incapable of having a conversation with someone without first making them swallow their own teeth. I almost shuddered but for the efficiency of the brutality. And when he finally did ask a question McGruber tripped over himself to implicate his own mother in misgivings.

It seemed to be a policy of the Lugtroopers to display such needless barbarism for barbarism’s sake. Brutuality was it’s own end to them as they were soldiers after all and must have seen this land as a hostile territory which in some respects it was.

But what could I have done? Argue with him and lose some of my own teeth and anger the people charged with defending me. All for some local yokel that would have drunk his teeth away eventually anyway and who’s face I would hopefully never see again. So I said nothing and pretended not to care.

Read the full chapter here on inkitt.

Something must break

 

 

Diana After Dark Chapter 17

Ok so I’m kinda cheating today because I didn’t have time to proofread the next chapter for Cur despite promising one a week. But I’m going away for a bit and I’ve been busy packing and getting a haircut and waiting on hold with the bank all day so I haven’t had time. But I should have one out next week possibly and then I’ll be gone for a week and after that it’s back to normal for a hell of a long time haha.

Not much to comment on today, didn’t really bitch about the witcher because I’ve said all I have to say really. It’s uninspired and sort of boring with it’s good sections but there’s not really enough there to hold my interest.

On the other hand I started the next Parker book and was a little disappointed when this one again started with the heist. I like the planning and the build up. But it has this really cool element where he’s trying to hide the money and himself in an abandoned amusement park closed up for the winter from a bunch of dirty cops who want his heist money.

So it’s setting up to be like a lethal version of home alone and I really like it. So instead of having the heist set up you have like a siege set up which is just as fun.

It should be a good romp, didn’t have any time to read it today but I’ll find some time.

In the mean time you can read this chapter, ok well it’s not a chapter of Diana in the Dark, more of an epilogue. And yes I realise I use those titles interchangeably.

But yeah gotta do other things.

See you…

Epilogue Waltz me to the grave

“Oh Paul, oh Paul” I said pretending to weep as they lowered the coffin into the ground.

As fate would have it this was the first funeral I’d ever been to, although I sincerely doubted it would be my last. I actually kind of like it, there was a comfort in the routine of it, the ceremony was soothing. Everyone gathered together to think the nicest possible thoughts of the dearly departed wearing their nicest clothes. There was solemn dignity and lots of tears real or otherwise.

But it was a lovely service, flowers, tearful speeches from people I barely knew and the promise of cake in the near future.

“Oh Paul” I wept again into a balsam tissue.

“Shhh” he said as he patted my head, resting it on his shoulder.

Thankfully he remembered very little of our little midnight drive into the middle of nowhere. A combination of all the blows to the head and a cocktail of drugs concocted by my dear brother. My dear brother who was not yet dearly departed but still on the run. From what I couldn’t say because as far as the Orange County PD were concerned Antoine Ruez was and forever will be the Huntington Beach Headsman. A title far above his station. And as far as my brother had any say in it, Ruez would never be found and the myth, the meme, could live on forever. The evil slasher come to life to terrorize a group of innocent teens on prom night.

There was something about that the normies liked, a divine ritual fulfilled. Like Hollywood had been setting them up for this very occurrence and been vindicated in the best possible way. Slipped right in place into their cultural consciousness like it was another Friday night.

I continued to pretend to cry, just making the noise of crying and covering my face, constantly batting away fake tears, no one was watching.

“You need another tissue?” My Au-Sister Mary Anne said pulling a fresh pack out of her purse and giving me a tight restrained smile. I think we settled on my just calling her my Aunt, Aunt-sister was a bit of a mouthful and calling her by her name just felt weird. Plus I really didn’t want to get bogged down in explaining to people that she wasn’t actually my aunt. But in fact my estranged half-sister pretending to be my aunt because we watched our real aunt butchered before our eyes. And then put on display like a hunting trophy by our brother. That all seemed best tucked away for a rainy day.

“Thanks” I said as I took the tissues smiling a nice fake smile, far better than my Brother’s. My estimation of how deep the knife penetrated my aunt’s side was off by a wide margin. I would have assumed he didn’t want to kill her but necessity for his own life had forced him to act. Similarly the shot being off centre, it would have been nice to think she extended him the same courtesy but that might have been a stretch since she mostly carried really strong pepper spray giving out tickets in cycle shorts. Never the less her arm was in a fashionable sling or some reason. I never understood why they did that in movies, he didn’t stab her in the arm.

A sudden prodding feeling roused me from my daydream and I looked over at the grave and the nice picture they had over it. It was the one of the several taken at her sweet sixteen. Wendy did look nice in that one, so full of life. Who would suspect her of anything worse than forgetting to floss? That feeling again, like someone walking over my grave, someone drilling little hot holes in the back of my head.

I looked around at the crowd of her fake friends, the rest of the cheerleading squad, her many exes the last not withstanding and me, her best friend and then I saw her. She was hard to miss now that I noticed her. Dressed as she was in correctional facility orange chained to two cops looking up from the grave to send me icy daggers. Her hair long and greasy looking made curtains of a plain white flat unmade face. Prison make-unders are a real thing. What did they have against makeup in prison? It’s not like eyeliner was against the law. Conditioner even.

Wendy’s mother, the one currently on trial for the murder of her husband. Looking right at me. Not around, not past me but through me. Singled out.

She knew.

I could see it in her face.

I don’t know how she knew but I’d find out, when that happy vicious moon was smiling high in the sky again, D and I would ask nicely.

Waltz me to the grave

To die for

When I close my eyes

I can’t even dream of you

pictures make me smile.

 

I lie in my bed

and I just feel so empty

and there’s anger too.

 

What is my purpose?

The sun stolen from my heart,

The world bleached and dead.

 

GS2 Chapter 19 ‘You can be the boss’

Hey there,

Not much to talk about, mostly been dayjobbing it and sinking deeper and deeper into general misery and misfortune, which is standard recently. I just can’t seem to catch a fucking break recently.

Although I watched like two thirds of deep blue sea 2 before me and my brother turned it off and decided an hour was enough time we were never getting back from what is essentially a really bad low budget copy of the first film. Part me almost wants there to be a documentary about this movie just to learn how it came about.
Did they win the rights to the name in a poker game, how did this pile of shit get made and why? I really just want to know how this went down and what drugs they were on when they thought this was a good idea.

I’m not saying the first movie was a masterpiece but it was competent with a good cast and decent writing and visuals and budget, this was like a daytime tv remake. So much so it doesn’t need a review because I wasn’t really paying it any attention after the first ten minutes. The acting was ridiculous porno tier, the story was basically the same as the first movie but dumber, the characters were cookie cutter, the sets looked like they were re purposed from a sci-fi movie. It looked like it was made for the scy-fy channel.

The plot is basically they’re experimenting on the sharks and then the sharks overhear them saying they’re gonna kill them all when the research is done and the go berserk, I know it’s fucking stupid. But what’s even stupider is how this is put across is by the shark like looking through a window like “hmm that’s what they think mwahaha”. So dumb. 
It just amazed me how bad it was and reminded me a lot of those movies like sharknado and sharktopus versus gatoroid or whatever and it was actually worse. Because those movies are fully self aware of how awful they are and they just have as much fun as they can with it.
They’re trash but they’re enjoyable trash, deep blue sea 2 is not self aware or funny at all, it’s just trash and I don’t know why it exists or why I even attempted just reviewing it. I’m just so curious as to how it exists. Mind boggling.

Anywhoo back on schedule with regular chapter posts and I’m amazed how long GS2 is, like why? Why is a zombie book so long? That’s just sad. I put so much effort into a book about zombie furfags haha. What is my life?

Ok well enough of that, gotta do some actual work, kinda shitty here because my boiler dyed so I’m just wallowing in my filth and trading in warframe which is more addictive than the actual game. Love life in the crapper as usual even worse than usual actually and I broke my toe because I was so angry that I couldn’t have a shower that I kicked the banister, genius.

But it’s not the first time I’ve had a broken toe, after years of martial arts my toes look like fucking twiglets they’ve been broken so many times haha.

Eh whatever just gonna spam and maybe do some proof reading, now that I think of it I should probably go over the pitch excerpt for Diana after Dark. I went over the other parts last week and really cleaned it up, I found so many mistakes I thought I might legitimately have undiagnosed down syndrome haha. 

It’s really a good thing nobody follows this blog otherwise I would get a tonne of hate mail haha.

See you…

“Turn around, slow”

“Who th-“ Murray was cut off by a shotgun barrel poked hard into the side of his head. “Ow!”

“We ask the questions, you do what you’re fucking told.” Roch said through her teeth. She was feeling it, her adrenaline pumping, blood boiling, she wanted to hurt someone.

“That’s right, girls rule, straight white men, die!” Juanita came around the side of the truck. Trying to not look out of breathe as she lugged the giant anti-tank rifle around. Trying to look comfortable resting it on her shoulder.

“Freeze cracker!” Kat screamed trying to sound like a cop pointing her mach ten at him with both hands clasped tightly around it.

Jaclyn had her laptop in her arm, pointing her gun forward but not really aiming at anything. Concentrating on making her face look as mean and serious as possible.

Roch pulled Murray down the steps of the Van and span him around hard against the side of the truck. “Ow” He said “What’s all this about?”

She hit in him in the back of the knee and got close to his face and whispered “We’re asking the questions asshole”.

He straightened up grimacing and said “So ask away”.

“Jacy do we need this piece of shit?” She shouted. Clammily fingering the short shotgun pressed tightly to the back of Murray’s sweaty neck.

“I just need to access his network so we can broadcast our signal piggybacking off theirs so..”

Roch smiled, her blood rushing in her ears. Murray closed his eyes and swallowed hard and said “Fuck me”.

“But we might need him for verification.” She perked up. “We have no idea how many security protocols they have, they could even have iris or voice recognition.”

Roch poked her head out of her bloodlust stupor, Murray squinted.

“I’m just saying. It’d be better if had him and didn’t need him than blew his brains out. Only to discover he’s the only one that can access the network.”

“Err yeah, that’s exactly right” Murray said.

“Shut up” Roch said giving him another little love tap with the shotgun.

“Just bring him inside and sit him down.” Jac said.

“Who died and made you the boss”.

“Just do it Roch” Jac sighed as she climbed the small set of stairs into the mobile hq. She took a deep inhale of breath as she entered. It was everything she hoped it would be although it smelled more like ass and doritos than she imagined. She sat down at Murray’s console moving his mountain dew bottles to make way for her laptop. She opened it up connecting it to the terminal and started to type in command prompts.

Roch lead Murray. A nasty look on her face as she pushed him up the steps. She sat him at another one of the screens in the van on a chair connected to the floor. The van evidently was intended for an entire team of people watching the cameras, budget cuts.

Juanita felt like a million dollars. She was starting to see herself as some kind comic book hero. Fighting some righteous daydream as she dragged her oversized gun into the truck. Parking herself in a seat next to Murray with the gun by her side. Panting and sweating profusely she said “Who’s this guy?”

“He’s their tech guy, monitors all the cameras” Jac said with her back turned typing at her laptop.

“How didn’t he see us coming?” She wheezed.

“He’s just one guy.” She shrugged looking over at the sad sack that was Murray. “There’s no way he could have known we had the kind of tech to ping his signal or the man power to take down his guard team.” She scrunched her face like she almost felt sorry for him. “Plus I’ve been patching into their drone traffic. There’s activity happening all over town, there’s not enough eyes on the ground to keep track of it all.”

“So what now?” Juanita huffed.

“Roch would you mind tying him up and then just guarding the door with Kat? We need someone to keep an eye out.” Jac said with an air of aloof superiority.

“Sure thing” Roch sneered and flounced out slamming the door behind her.

“What the hell your cracker as-“ Kat was cut off by a neat balled up fist tapping her on the nose and knocking her onto her ass. The french man picking and palming the mach ten out of her hand as she fell.

“I’m very sorry.” He said as he looked at her on the floor dazed.

As soon as Roch came out of the truck she was too pissed off to notice the smell of the crazy homeless guy. Which waiting for her at the side of the steps with his back flat against the truck wall.

“Hi” He said cherrily as he snaked a hand onto the barrel of the shotgun. Wrestling control of it away from her and tapping her on the nose with the top of the barrel. She folded like a cheap pic nick table at a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

The Frenchman gripped the mac ten in his hand looking over at Carpenter. Gauging distance and spread.

Carpenter clocked him looking and gave him a cheeky little wink as he cocked the shotgun. Liking his chances.

The Frenchman seethed and slackened his grip on the gun.

“After you, my friend” The Frenchman said.

“I don’t mind if I do.” He smirked.

Read the rest of the chapter here.

Cur Chapter 4 ‘Devil Knows’

Hi there, just drinking some green tea struggling to give a fuck.

Gonna keep this short for an intro because I have a headache and I generally feel like shit and I have lots of day job to contend with. Also there isn’t gonna be a huge chunk of witcher bitching because I’ve been finishing up that Parker novel. I think I’m gonna read the next witcher book and if it’s not significantly better I’ll abandon the whole series. None of the characters really grab me, the story is sort of a generic nothing burger, the action is phenomenal but there just isn’t enough of it.

The Parker novel is definitely the worst, it was just kind of small scale in comparison to the others and for me the fun and anticipation comes from them planning and planning around the job. Like my favourite part of I think it was the second book is where they all plan the robbery and then in the next scene Parker is planning how to stop the play of the other two in the job. Because almost every job involves an outsider who is trying to steal the lot and Parker has to plan the job and around them so it’s this really exciting chase between Parker and the money and the other players.
And while this is happening you’re getting to know all the characters and it’s really fun. This one was a bit of a let down because the actual heist part is sort of boring and goes too well and is just shoved off to the start and then on top of that the people who become the antagonists just seem like random guys and they’re not really that interesting, they were just kind of punks. Although I did like how Parker dispatched them both, that was great, grade A Parker.
I still enjoyed the book, it’s just not the top of the series but I’ve already read the first I think this was the thirteenth and I have ten to go so I’m loving that, thirteenth books in and this is the first one to fall a little flat. That is a damn good track record. I’m three books into the witcher and I wanted to quit it a book ago haha.

It goes without saying if you’re into pulp, Raymond Chandler or Dashell Hammett you’ll love these books. It’s like a classic detective novel from the perspective of the bad guy haha.

That’s about all, wanna start going over my agent pitch stuff for Diana again today and maybe do some more Cur proofreading if I feel up to it. Noticed I stop talking about my love life? That’s because it’s far worse haha.

Anyway.

See you…

 

Devil Knows

“She marked you.” A voice said above him, the voice was unlike any human voice and resonated as if a combination of bird tweets and bear growls mimicking human tongue. “I guess you think you’re special” The voice mocked.

 

The sound of real birds were happily chirping. He could feel moist and verdant foliage underneath him, a slight breeze and the shadow of a large tree. A break of bright beautiful daylight through a crack in the sky that was just his eyes opening anew.

 

Above him looking down the figure of a man’s head wearing a large ornate headdress with deer antlers protruding out covered in leaves and moss. And although his face could not be seen through the bright sunlight he blocked, he knew the man was smiling.

 

Cur awoke from his trance flailing wildly with a sharp inhale of breath. He grasped greedily and vociferously at the face leaning over him and he squeezed it.

 

“Would you stop that now?” An unfamiliar voice barked. “She saved your life and you’d treat her like?” The dog laughed.

 

“I’m already dead” Cur growled as he continued to squeeze the neck of the pretty young woman standing over him.

 

“You’re gonna break yer stitches and your head is just gonna roll off!” The old man said still with the needle in his hand.

 

“Who are you?” Cur asked the woman turning blue in his hand.

 

“She needs air to talk Firbolg” The dog said.

 

Cur took a moment and sneered into the face of the Tuatha woman and tossed her aside like a used rag.

 

Birog coughed and spluttered hungrily trying to force air into her lungs.

 

Cur felt at his neck and tugged at a loose piece of twine hanging from the stitching and ripped it off. His neck slowly healed over. He stood and went over to the young woman as she doubled over gasping for air.

 

He picked her up like a cruel toddler with a ragdoll, by the hair so he could get a good look at her face. Barely conscious the look in her eye was far away and glassy.

 

“Answer me” He growled.

 

“Birog, I’m just a druid.”

 

“Just a druid” Cur laughed low and menacing. “Then you can die”

 

“Now what cause do you have to do that?” The dog asked. “She dug you out herself.”

 

“She did your job for you mutt” Cur bellowed.

 

In an instant the dog took the form of a man of average height with light red hair and a dull pale complexion.

 

“Sure she has other assets you could get more than just the pleasure of killing her from” The man smirked.

 

Cur laughed. “I think she liked you more as a stinking dog, Tuan.”

 

Cur looked her up and down and found no fault. “So be it, she will be mine tonight and tomorrow, she may live.” He laughed and let her head loll back down on the ground.

 

“Wait” The girl strained to talk the dirt shifting under her. “I’ll give myself willingly if you’ll listen to my plea”

 

Cur took her by the nape of the neck, his hand large enough to wrap all the way around it. He picked her off the ground and looked into her eyes. “Talk if it amuses you.”

 

Her own feet under her now she shrugged off Cur’s hand defiantly and dusted herself off. “I helped you bec-“

 

“-You didn’t help me”

 

“Then you planned on being decapitated and buried upside down?” She sneered.

 

“No one looks for a dead man.” He croaked, a wicked smile crossing his cracked lips.

 

Tuan smiled as he span the chieftain’s gold torque on his finger. “You throw in a flashy execution and no one notices a little mouse or a cat scurrying into their houses and robbing them blind.” He laughed.

 

“You only saved this lazy dog a time digging and carrying.” Cur jabbed, a large wicked grin on his face.

 

She looked over at former dog Tuan who smiled shyly tipping his head. “I see, so you’re a shape shifter and a thief” She said scornfully.

 

“Something like that.” Tuan shrugged. “Tuan mac Cairill.” He said as he nodded “You’ve already met ‘Fintan the wise’” He said with a smirk bobbing his head towards the old man who sat silently. The old man was back to silently prodding the fire with the blackened branch and paying no mind to goings on.

 

“And you?” She said looking at Cur.

 

“I have no name” He growled as if that was somehow directly her fault.

 

 

 

 

 

Tales of Midbar: Secret Priest – Review (Le supreme gentleman savagery)

It’s probably a bad sign if the blurb gets an eyeroll.
Wow that is like half an hour of my life I’ll never get back, jesus where do I start? This has to win the award for the most spergy thing I’ve ever read on inkitt. I have no idea what you’re going for with this but if you intended it to sound like a severely autistic alien wrote it, you nailed it haha.
The first thing that hit me when I finished the first chapter was ‘why is it even sci-fi or fantasy?’ you’re going for this mix of sci-fi fantasy which never works, it’s just a mess when you blur science and magic, I mean what’s the point?
But fantasy/sci-fi settings are supposed to serve the story in someway, you could literally rewrite this and just set it on earth and make it a regular teen drama. Why would you make a teen drama sci-fi? Do one or the other. Because what really holds this story back and hits your straight out of the gates is all the exposition, there is way way too much exposition for a first chapter.
I mean I might care about the world building if he was some mech pilot fighting god knows what on pluto but it’s just about a kid who wants to get laid… in space. It really doesn’t need to be sci-fi and it certainly doesn’t need to be a blend of sci-fi or fantasy, just pick one or pick none.
Show don’t tell, if you have to reel off literal text book definitions of your world for world building it doesn’t work. You can’t drop a text book on your readers in the first chapter and expect them to be engaged because you renamed the moon “Blarglemunch7” it doesn’t work.
The world building in the story basically amounts to using weird or made up words in exchange for normal ones and the only reason for the use of the sci-fi setting is to squeeze in the weird sexual morality politics.
In terms of technical writing, it’s kind of hard to read, big blocks of text and some really weak similes.
I can’t make heads or tails of this story, I can’t tell whether or not it’s trying to be funny. From the blurb and the subject matter I thought it would be kind of fun and light with lots of humour but it doesn’t seem like it’s trying to be funny. So all the sex stuff is delivered seriously which makes it really weird and cringey and seem like it was written by a school shooter.
How is rape even a thing in this society where kids are having sex in school and no one can stop them? It doesn’t make a lot of sense.
I dunno what to do with this, maybe add some jokes, I don’t see how anyone can take this seriously. It’s like Tommy Wiseau tried to write a sci-fi book, so it’s either comedy genius or it’s something else entirely.

Read it here… I guess.
Elliot Rodger in space

boomer

Cur Chapter 3 ‘A kind of magic’

Hello there dudes and dudettes,

Ok sliding in another Cur chapter because I realised I wanted to release a chapter a week and I kind of fucked that up so I’m gonna release two chapters this week to get back on track haha.

Pretty decent week of writing, I’m cutting out filler left and right which is great, really getting into the meat of the story and riding that wave, some things I need to change but I’m really liking where it was taking me. I kind of felt for a little bit that I was going with the motions and not feeling too inspired or if I was tired or fucked, my new sleep routine puts a lot of strain on my eyes because I’m just literally using them more.
My general philosophy when I feel kind of uninspired is just to keep going and go over it later, which I find works for me because I always write detailed synopsises of my work so I never get stuck looking at a blank page, I always have the next thing to go to. I always have something I can refer to if I get stuck.
I know there are lots of writers who don’t use plans and just go at with a blank page and their balls in their hands haha. I have no idea how they do it, to me that’s like fighting a fucking dragon with a toothbrush haha.
I always like to have a plan and a detailed structure at my back so I’m not stuck looking at a blank page with just my dick in my hand. I can always keep my flow going and if I hit a bump I can just take a break and sip some tea and come back to it.

But I was looking back at it and I was pleasantly surprised, it needs work but there’s something there, I won’t be polishing a turd just clearing away the crap on an unfettered gem.

Now for some witcher hate haha. I just don’t care about any of the characters honestly, not one of them, I just can’t care about them, I dunno, I just don’t think I’d get on with any of them and I don’t know what this author’s life is like but he must have some really complicated relationships with women. Every female character he writes is more obnoxious than the last.
Not saying women can’t be obnoxious but it’s every one of them, there’s maybe one woman in any of his stories that isn’t Ciri that has any redeeming qualities at all and even then it’s kind of only in comparison to the others who are awful.
Don’t get me wrong I’m not some rabid feminist by any means haha, I get that women can be assholes but when it’s literally every one of them it just gets tedious and loses all it’s power.
I mean the queen of brokilon was just an endless stream of unfettered cuntiness that I could barely stand. You could replace her dialogue with just farting noises and it would have been less obnoxious and tedious haha. It just reaches a point of parody and I can’t take it seriously and I never thought I’d actually be clambering for a likeable/identifiable female character.
Even in my work I don’t want to put women on a pedestal but represent them as they are warts and all but I also want them to be likeable enough to care about even a little bit and honestly when you find yourself rooting for the people that might rape and murder a character in a book you’ve done something wrong haha.

The Parker novel is pretty good, definitely one of Stark’s weaker ones, but the whole series is the perfect example of unsubverted expectations still being excellent. The witcher is so preoccupied with subverting expectations it forgets to be entertaining. Whereas in the Parker novels you know exactly whats going to happen and you can’t wait to read it haha.
Someone fucks over Parker and you know he’s going to track them down and curb stomp them and you’re tearing through chapters to get to it haha. The mystery comes into play when the why and who and the how are revealed. You what’s going to happen because you know Parker and what happens to people that cross him but you don’t know how he’s going to do it and who he’s going to do it to and that’s why you keep reading for that glorious catharsis that is nowhere to be found in the witcher books, the stories generally go nowhere or full circle, just generally unsatisfying.

Anyway enough of that I need to get proofreading the next chapter of Cur or I won’t have anything to post on thursday haha.

See you…

Ooh almost forgot, The One That Came Back for whatever reason has become super popular on inkitt so I thought fuck it, I uploaded the full edited version to inkitt so if you don’t want to download it you can just read it there.

A kind of magic

That night a dense bluish fog came low over the village. The calls of hounds barking filled the silence as the moon rode high on the crest and half full overhead as the village slept all, all but one.

 

Some form of morbid curiosity and fascination drew her to the empty mucky bog that would be the stranger’s grave. As proclaimed, no markings but a heavy stone pressed down on the grave. The grave that lay far from the town.

 

What she was going to do not even she knew herself but the druiddess felt some unearthly pull to the spot. Maybe a morbid trophy would belay her curiosity maybe not.

 

She approached the grave with trepidation, as if it were the steps to a grand and foreboding house. With no torch whatsoever and the necessity arising. The young girl tutting pulled her sleeve back revealing a gold half torgue around her wrist, with which she gave three quick taps.

 

On the third tap the torque began to give off an errie glow almost like a will-o-the-whisp. A slightly greenish hue that gave her all the light she needed to see the grave clearly.

 

“I have to know” She told herself “I just need to see the body for a moment, I can’t let this opportunity pass me by.”

 

Her curiosity had betrayed her as she was not alone. Too late she noticed the noise, a slight drawn out scratching noise and veiled breathing sniffing sounds and a low growl or whine or whistle.

 

“Who is that?” She called out but no one answered.

 

The scratching sounds got louder and the breathing deeper and faster as she approached the grave. Her footfalls sinking into the loose wet earth of the bog.

 

“I warn you, I have a weapon!” The druiddess swallowed her fear as she approached fumbling her small hands over the clasps. Moving her robes awkwardly to reach the handle of the strange sword she had found herself the owner of.

 

The druiddess drew closer to the noise. Her and on the hilt of the sword and her other on the oddly designed scabbard but she did not draw the blade as she feared to do so. The blade it seemed to her analysis had some magical properties but to the nature of which she had hitherto not discerned. Drawing it in anger could have unforseen consequences.

 

“I have use of magic” She croaked, her voice breaking as she said it, casting the light from her torque over the grave. A dark small dark figure hunched over the grave was digging in the loose earth around the stone.

 

The druiddess forgot to breath, she tensed her cheeks as she tried to swallow the lump of fear in her throat. Having no choice but to pass the light of her torque over the squat stygian figure scrabbling in the muck.

 

To her relief, the light revealed little more than a shaggy mutt. A dog of an indetterminent breed was digging and scratching at the freshly laid grave of the stranger from a by gone age.

 

“Shoo!” she cried. Feelings of anger and relief washing over her. Anger more at herself for being scared of something so pathetic looking.

 

She assumed the beast was just after the freshly planted dead flesh as a not so easy meal beneath the heavy stone.

 

“Away with you!” She swiped her hand in the air but the dog took no notice, continuing to paw and scratch at the soft earth.

 

Birog looked around her feet and found a small piece of sandstone and hucked it at the beast landing a few feet away from it. The creature lifted it’s head to growl and bear it’s teeth briefly before skulking away into the mist again.

 

 

 

Cur Chapter 2 ‘The executioner’s song’

Oh my god, I wasted so much time writing a really savage review of this story on inkitt. Another salty exchange, one of many on inkitt haha.
I just logged in to find a three star review on inkitt from someone who had a weird name and no avatar and the review basically consisted of “Hur durr, the characters are mean, too much violence”. Then I was like ‘seriously a three star review because you thought the characters weren’t nice’
Then he’s like “Hurr durr, I like to give constructive criticism and harsh reviews” And me not knowing I was dealing with the Rodger Ebert of inkitt deigned to read his abortion of a story which literally reads like it was written by the Isla vista shooter. This is literally what Elliot Rodger would write if he wanted to write a sci-fi fantasy mash up story instead of being a weird incel spree killer.
The story is basically all about sci-fi rape and it’s- I can’t find any other word to describe it but as Todd Howard would say; ‘Degenerate’ haha.
But the difference is I actually gave constructive criticism in my review instead of just saying ‘the characters are too mean’.
I mean honestly I don’t care about the reviews on inkitt, really I just put it up there for ease of reading and general feedback but you’re not gonna get a good critique from that page. But when someone just pops up out of nowhere to shit on you it pisses me off. And it pisses me off even more so that the critique isn’t even good. There’s nothing he said that was constructive criticism, I literally can’t make my characters nicer because they’re supposed to evil and cruel because of what happened to them. And then on top of that his story is a steaming pile of literal garbage that is literally like Tommy Wiseau wrote a sci-fi novel haha,

Anyway, I’ll post that next week or you can go on my inkitt page and read it and his review if you give a shit, which I suspect most people don’t haha.
No bitching about the witcher today because I haven’t read any this week because I don’t fucking want to haha. I’ll probably read more tomorrow. But I’m really into the Parker novel I’m reading and it’s getting to the good bit.
So that’s about it, woke up with butthurt in my heart and needed to vent and fuck a schedule for chapter releases I’m planning to release a Cur chapter a week for my one fan haha.
Other than that I’ve wasted too much time already and I need to do some spamming or proofreading or quit drinking coffee haha.

See you…

The executioner’s song

Cur awoke with a bucket of water in his face, locked in a pig pen for a day and a half, stinking as he was. They only let him out once to torture him but too little avail. The pigs snorted and snuffled him as he sat shirtless and dirty as one of them. His head down, suspended by his one arm tightly wrapped with a piece of fibrous twine to the thicket fence.

The dwarves cut him loose and he grinned at them as they shuddered, shrinking behind their pikes at the sight of him.

They lifted him to his feet but he could stand on his own well and they walked him at pike point to the large round house on the hill.

The chieftain of Killaloe sat cross legged on a beautifully decorated hide rug. An ash wood tray with clay pots on it and a large ornately decorated axe at his feet. The hut itself was not anymore grand than the one used as a tavern but it smelled less of piss and old mead.

“Leave us” He said waving his hand.

“Sir he-“

“I know, I said leave us”

The chieftain was a wide portly clean shaven dwarf, only a few tufts of hair on his face he’d missed. He was wearing a gold trimmed tunic that still smelt of smoke and pig shit like everything in this village did. A gold torque around his neck and a conical cap made of birch bark on his head symbolized his status. “Please sit” He said pointing at the rug on the floor.

Cur sat crossed legged with one knee raised.

“Do you know me?” The dwarf’s face was sallow and looked slick to the touch, bouncing up and down as he spoke and dropping when he stopped.

Cur looked through him with a set of icy blue eyes. “I know your name” He hissed.

“Good” He had a pot of some liquid in front of him that he poured out into round clay mugs. “Are you really of the Firbolg?” He said without looking up.

“The Firbolg are dead”.

“I see.” He handed one of the cups to Cur. His down turned face unchanged and grim.

Cur batted it out of his hand letting it roll around on the deer hide rug. The chieftain’s face didn’t move, it stayed perfectly still as if numbed by snake venom.

He cleared his throat.

“We hear many rumors here as you may imagine, a small village like this, all we have are rumors” He tried to smile shyly but his face seemed almost too heavy. “Two in particular interest me, one of a strange series of attacks by blood suckers or ‘Dearg due’ as they call it. Whole villages are slaughtered for not adhering to some elder god or some such triviality. And another about a wandering mercenary that kills for coin and cheaply at that who lacks the good grace to die.” The dwarf managed a pinching at the side of his mouth that might have been a smile.

“Perhaps those rumors are much the same” Cur grinned speaking from his throat.

“We face hard times, some love Bres for his beauty, the fools, women mostly, others.” He paused and breathed out letting his face sag even further “Loathe him for the unfair taxes he levies. A third of our corn and of our milk, its extortion, I and a few others outright refuse to pay it.”

“This doesn’t concern me”

“You’re right of course, but I’m a farmer, it concerns me and that’s why I didn’t deliver you directly to the gallows.”

“Your point?”

“Very well, you’re very skilled and are attached to no clan as no clan alive would have you because of- well look at you.” He scratched his sagging jowl and tipped his head as if to speak to his own round gut. “Kill Abartach of Slaverghty. Do this and you walk free.”

“I walk free now”

“Hard times make desperate men Firbolg.” He sighed deeply and lifted his eyes a little looking for mercy in the man before him and found none. “I see a deadly pattern emerging, the Offaly villages of Annally and Lusmagh were hit first. Formally parts of Connacht as I remember.” His sharp eyes darted to the Firbolg for confirmation and found none. “All their people scattered or dead never heard from again.”

“Then how do you know it?”

“Travellers pass through, say the villages are deserted, all their livestock taken or dead. Not a man woman or child alive, almost no signs of struggle at all, no weapons, no survivors, no witnesses.” He narrowed his eyes to scrutinize the stranger yet again and found only a scornful calm.

“This Abartach?”

“He is the one profiting from their deaths.”

“How?”

“Abartach moves illicit goods from ports in Munster up and down the Shannon river from Slaverghty. Forbidden items smuggled out of the cities of knowledge and other such places. all the villages along the river know of this as it’s safer to transport them by water. Bandits can’t swim. As those villages are aware of this practice they expect tribute for silence. I suspect Annally and Lusmagh got too greedy.”

“How does he do it?”

“That’s what I hope you will find out for me, your freedom and a weight silver.”

“Petty squabbles between dwarves don’t interest me.”

“Well surely your freedom and your life interest you.” He tone shifted became faster and more breathy. This is more than just petty squabbles this is conspiracy, this fratricide.” His face was red and his eyes began to bulge out of their socket, spitting as he spoke. He may well be working for Bres himself!” His face was hot, a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek and then he paused for a moment “How did you know he was a dwarf?” He said as his blood rain cold.

Cur smirked wickedly.

The chieftain’s face became drawn and white and he coughed. “You’re an assassin then?”

“Sometimes”

The chieftain’s face drained of color as he looked at the ghostly white visage of the man before him. “Then the scene in the tavern, just so you could be before me – How much is he paying you? I’ll double it, triple it!”

“He offers me more than mere silver.” He croaked ominously in his gravelly voice.

“What then? Land? His ugly daughter? Spit it out!”

Cur breathed in deeply, his eyes wide and manic as he smiled like a ghoul. “A future!” He said stonily.

“Ahhhhhhh!” The chieftain wailed his flabby face rippled as his ornate axe leapt into his hand. He swung at Cur’s neck getting one good but shallow whack in it at the base of his neck.

No blood just a gaping wound like a notch in a tree. Cur’s head tilted to one side with that manic insane smile on his face still, laughing low and menacing like a demon.

The chieftain crying out pulled his hand back for another strike to free the monster’s head from its shoulders.

Cur caught the little man’s stubby hand in his gargantuan fist with a hard sapping sound. He squeezed the dwarf’s hand letting the heavy axe drop on the hide rug.

“What now dead ma- ahhhhh!” The chieftain cried as Cur pulled him by the arm like a tavern strumpet and lunged forward to rip out his throat with his front teeth.

 

 

Day Father

I can’t find the words,

I’ll never have what they have,

They make it easy.

 

If I could just be-

I want to enjoy the sun

With you on my knee.

 

To see you grow up,

But that’ll never be me,

I’ll just be right here.

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