Writing and Reading

Nothing, nobody, not one thing on this planet (or other planets) could ever convince me that Star Wars sucks. I even like Star Trek. Yeah. I’m a nerd. This brings me to the actual topic for this post–

SPACE OPERA!!!

[insert epic John Williams soundtrack here]

 Naturally, I wanted to learn more about this remarkable sub-genre of science fiction. I knew certain works represented it on film and TV–”Babylon 5″, “Star Trek”, “Star Wars”, “The Last Starfighter”, “Stargate”, “Battlestar Galactica” (I ESPECIALLY loved this one as a kid. Those fighter ships were so damn cool!). The basic idea, I understood, was that the sub-genre usually consisted of grand scales, epic battles, pretty much primarily in space, a flood of different characters, super-charged with fantastic elements, elements that we couldn’t even possibly imagine ourselves (although I still am, to this day, freaked out whenever I see Captain Kirk flip open his communicator–literally 30 years ago when filmed!–and then watch me do that with my own cell phone, which never existed in William Shatner’s time. Can anyone say divine prophecy?)

But I never knew how it all began. Not to mention I really didn’t have much knowledge on a literary level either. For the most part, I figured space opera was simply a term standing for some of those cheesy TV shows and films. Take this remarkably limburgery, cheesy, Gorgonzola-ey space opera film, for example:

Mickey Mouse, Minnie Mouse, Danger Mouse, Mighty Mouse, Speedy Gonzales and even the Littles would have one mean, nasty orgy of astronomical proportions with that amount of cheese. That’s a lot of cheese.

But ’space opera’ isn’t necessarily those cute colby films of chunky cheddar.

(By the way, if you didn’t notice, yes, David Hasselhoff, good ol’ ‘Michael Knight’, Mr. Baywatch, was in that trailer for the movie “Star Crash”. Dear God.)

The term space opera was actually coined by the writer Wilson Tucker in 1941. Describing what he called the “hacky, grinding, stinking, outworn space-ship yarn, or world-saving [story] for that matter.” Gee, was he being negative, maybe? Possibly. Hence the example…

STAAAAR CRRAAAAAASH!!!!

[insert cheesy musical score…NOT John Williams, though]

I found it interesting that ’space opera’ actually originated in those flashy pulp magazines of the ’30s and ’40s. Remember the magazines “Weird Tales” and “Amazing Stories”? Those were cool magazines! Those pages poured ’space opera’ in gallons of space juice. Very cool.

Over time, the sub-genre became so popular, what with the flood of authors writing very substantial, imaginative, colorful and remarkably dynamic pieces of work–E.E. Smith, Edmond Hamilton, John W. Campbell and Jack Williamson in the ’30s and ’40s, just to name a few. Essentially, the sub-genre became malleable enough to be injected into any template from any other genre out there–romance, thriller, horror, comedy, western. (Yes, western, I’m serious. Ever watch the film “Space Truckers” with Dennis Hopper? Yeah. I did. Yes, I did! And I’m not afraid to admit that.) Pretty much anything works.

A writer could very well compose a plot with all the depth, characterization, seamlessness and page-turning power and easily make it into, very simply…a space opera! Substitute New York with the planet Andromeda, Cadillac CTS’s with star cruisers, gang-bangers with ugly alien smugglers. There you go. The concept of space, the scope of space, the ideas out of classic science fiction themes–they’re rich with possibilities if you simply write a story that has a resonance to it, people! It can be done. Amazingly enough.

The challenge of course, very much like epic fantasy, is not stretching that verisimilitude rubber band too far. Or it’ll snap. A writer has to be accurate and confident in the plot and action. It’s a true work of genius when someone like George Lucas could have Han Solo fly his massive round, thick hunk of steel (the Millennium Falcon) through a freakin’ asteroid field without even breaking a window–and we still think it’s believable. Seriously, people. That’s talent.

I don’t mean to simplify the concept, though. Honestly, it’s an undertaking to write a non-cheesy ’space opera’ and have it fly (like the Millennium Falcon through an asteroid field). And, in my opinion, even the cheesy space operas happen to be just plain fun! That’s escape fiction at its best. So I will have to say this….

You super-cool adventure science fiction writers out there, I salute you–live long and prosper–

cucha hota khhhhaaaaaka pfffffft (that’s the language Flopuvien of the naked anteater people). May the force be with you.

The T.W.W.S.I.D.S.W, for short.

 This is only the beginning of this grand undertaking. It’s a new movement, I think. My good friend and colleague Elana Johnson sort of spurred me on it with the post about her new curse word when she needs to revise and adjust her work retroactively (which is sort of like suddenly growing younger, hence *retroactive*, as you can feel your brain cells suddenly shrinking and your insanity suddenly growing in proportion).

I am offering everyone and anyone to make as many comments with as many fun, cool, hip, weird, off-the-wall, outrageous, absolutely nonsensical words possible to add to this really messed-up dictionary, the…Tswwwwwidswu Collection. T-W-W-S-I-D-S-W. I really got to work on short names for things. Oh, well.

So here are the first entries. As the list grows longer, I shall post more updates to the list. This may go on for years. This list may go longer than what Santa Claus has to deal with. But I don’t care. I love words. Even the totally farked-up ones.

1. Dominoes -

A term coined by the unfathomable E.J. herself (Elana Johnson) describing not those fun little pieces you can play with or snap your fingers on after setting them up like a train–but an exclamation of sheer disgust at the fact that she has to go through her whole manuscript and tweak the smallest details. As in… “Dominoes!” Can be interchangeable with any of the more…colorful exclamations (see my Robin Williams post).

2. Farge (pronounced ‘farj’) -

My own term coined describing the exact same thing for which Elana uses the term “Dominoes”. Can be ‘conjugated’ to other terms, such as fark, farging, farking, farked-up, farker, farked up, farged-up, farger, farged up. A younger relative of the burlier, belching, hairier word f*ck.

3. Glabberfasted

For those veteran Wretched Writer readers out there–those who have stuck with me on my insane journey of writing and reading–this one, you might already recognize. I coined this term on one of my earlier posts…. This one. Of course, though, I cannot claim ownership on this fun word. It’s been used before many times (I googled it). My understanding is that it’s very much like ‘flabbergasted’, instead the shock and bewilderment is very much influenced by caffeine, sugar and very mild anxiety attacks.

————————————————–

So there you have it: three entries so far. All you readers out there, brainstorm. Come up with the craziest combinations of colossal letters and stun me. Knock me out. Give me your best shot. I’m looking to get pummeled here. That’s the only way the list will grow!

Have a nice day.

I always thought golf was a funny sport. And I always wondered how it was invented. Robin Williams pretty much hit the hole in one on the description (no pun intended). I ran into this on YouTube, and I remember watching his full stand-up on DVD a few years ago, and it cracked me up. Because it’s so true! Now remember, this is Robin Williams we’re talkin’ about here. And let’s just say he…. Well, he uses a lot of fun words. Great words. They’re BEAUTIFUL words, actually. I couldn’t say too many great things about the words he chooses to use, but, hey, we’re all writers and we love words now, don’t we? YES! All kinds of words.

 Anyway, yes, here is one of the best sequences in stand-up I had ever seen. Behold! The origination of the beloved sport of…

GOLF.

Watch this great segment from the YouTube Ninja. A question about commas….

Okay, let’s discuss. I did a little research on this topic. (why? I don’t know. I don’t think I have much of a life outside of writing. Sometimes I even read the dictionary for fun.) The very seriously taken-for-granted but easily-depended-on and relieving, all-important, super-easy-to-use (and then watch my next post be about a study on hyphens) COMMA has had quite the colorful history. Here’s the scoop–

The word, ‘comma’, appearing first in 1554, comes from Latin, which means ‘part of a sentence’. To venture further, it has Greek roots as well, derived from the word komma which stands for ’segment’ or ‘clause’. The word ‘comma’ was also derived from a larger word, koptein, which stands for ‘to cut’. Our modern version of the term, ‘to cut’, would be the Middle English word, capon, also derived from the Old English capun, which also has a French origin–also capon, or capun. The Lithuanian kapoti also means…’to mince’. These etymologies were also dated before the 12th century.

Here’s the really interesting thing about the history of the word…comma.

Our established definition in today’s English of the word, capon, which we know now was a literal ancestor of ‘comma’,  is actually this:

a castrated male chicken

So let’s take a look at the ‘comma’ again. Only larger….

,

And there we have it. I actually feel dirty just looking at it.

Also, on a separate note, so far, as I’m writing this post, I’ve used the ‘comma’ 24 times. Now I really feel dirty.

Have a nice day. Taco supreme.

Not to be 1-dimensional here, but I don’t think I ever did delve into some other bits of literature I had come to love over the years (since high school, actually). Mostly you’ve heard me talk about horror, sci-fi, fantasy, erotic, thriller, stuff like that. Escape fiction. Basic escape fiction. It’s all good. When I want to walk away from the world and into a land of super-cool, interesting characters and fantastical ideas, the kinds of worlds we could only dream of living in (because it would be super-cool)–I long for a bit of Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, some of Terry Goodkind’s stuff. I’ve read Terry Brooks, too. I mean, come on, who wouldn’t want to go to Hogwarts? How cool is that school? Of course, I wouldn’t want to face a giant troll in the girl’s bathroom with only a wooden stick that just happens to have magical powers. When I was that age, I got scared one time from getting pulled into the girl’s bathroom and then seeing that really freaky tampon machine. It looked like you got candy bars out of it.

But, again, I digress. The real topic here is literary fiction: the stuff that resonates with you on a human level, touches your soul, helps you remember what it means to be a human, how important life is, how every moment and every breath and every thought can remind you of the last few moments of something pivotal in your life, something remarkable. Something like God. Like the feeling of seeing your little boy’s heartbeat inside your wife’s womb. The rush of feelings. The miracle. All the miracles in life remembered, never forgotten, all because of one little book, they relate to you. And like how your eyelashes embrace your vision for just a nanosecond, suddenly those words in that book become a part of you. The pages of the book envelope you in truth.

I’ll only name a few that have fascinated me on a literary level as well as an emotional level; but I won’t go into too much detail on them. Some you may have heard of. Others you might not have. Leave comments if you like on those you’ve never heard of or have heard of. Some books, I don’t even have anymore–and I wish I did. Others, I still have–and will never let go. So here’s a few titles to tantalize your teeming brains–

HEART OF DARKNESS by Josef Conrad. The style itself inspired me in ways I can’t even explain. But there was always something mystifying and alluring about the basic case study of a man named Kurtz who falls into a state of madness, utter madness, a kind of greed and hopeless savagery. As Conrad would say, “utter savagery”. I could go into more detail, but I won’t. Kind of hideous. Serious topics, too, such as racialism (and I don’t mean racism either, but that topic always heats up in this book, too, which is why it’s such a powerful piece of literature). The book is simply infectious in its depth of darkness. It’ll change the way you look at humanity.

THE THINGS THEY CARRIED by Tim O’Brien. What I can say about this incredible book is the amount of true glory, struggle and intensity bouncing from page to page. Moreover, the simple fact that it’s a work of fiction stuns me in the sense that the author himself experienced the fiction. Let me explain: it’s a book about the Vietnam War. O’Brien’s the narrator. The funny part is that every bit of the book is pure fiction. None of it happened. The reason why it’s so funny is that O’Brien himself served in Vietnam! So, in essence, every word he wrote in this book was true. In my mind, in my soul, without a doubt, Tim O’Brien achieved something I had honestly never seen before in literature (only later did I read more works from other authors that achieved this same thing): he essentially redefined truth.

This is a short story–but a beautiful one at that–

“The Tell-tale Heart” by the great master Edgar Allan Poe. I got to tell you, you end up wondering yourself if you’re going mad. Paranoia, fear, guilt–they become your companions. And they never leave. It’s scary because Poe invited them into your house by actually talking to you in this short story! He constantly writes in a 2nd person as if you’re not only reading the story, you’re living it. And the way he writes–dear God, the way he writes!–so erratic, broken, wild, maddening! You feel the horror of madness inside the narrator. You hear his own crazy heartbeat!–that demon zephyr inside his soul ripping apart every gossamer wing, holding him down and turning him into a broken prisoner….

These are some books I’ve read in the distant past (at least it feels distant. I’m not THAT old, people!). There are more. I’m actually lucky to have a complete collection of Poe’s works, but I currently need to acquire some of the best, most legendary works I had ever read by other authors. Long ago (again, it feels like it’s long ago!).

I’ll ask the same question I just posed myself and then answered:

Any classics you like? Classic literature, the deepest bits of literary fiction? Just plain literal works? Comment, e-mail, we’ll tawk (that’s right, I said tawk. We’ll tawk over cawfee and discuss. Come on, people, Mike Meyers, Saturday Night Live! Got to love it!)

I’m feeling a little patriotic here. Big surprise. I do love my country as some of you might know.

I’m coming close to the 1-month mark on my blog here, and I still haven’t lost any steam. I still have plenty to say. I still have a lot about writing to celebrate. In fact, this post will kick-start a brand-new category, and it revolves around something I’ve always been fond of, something I always had an extremely frightening talent at assimilating into my mind ever since I was a kid.

Any of you readers out there have favorite quotes from films or even books that you could remember? Speeches? Bits of dialogue that just stuck with you for the longest time? It’s what makes writing last forever, I tell you. For whatever reason. The genius in the writing shows. And the actors who speak it make it shine as well as show.

I stress film mostly because, at least for me, it’s pretty difficult to remember certain bits of dialogue in books simply because of the preponderance of countless words, words, words we end up reading. But there’s something about film that makes it easy to remember some of those memorable scenes. I mentioned ‘patriotic’ at the beginning of my post here because what I’m going to show you will have a bit of patriotism in it.

These are only some of my favorite speeches, scenes, from some of my favorite films. These scenes alone have touched me greatly on a literary level as well as an emotional level. Some made me laugh. Others made me cry. There are even some that made me seethe with anger. But that’s what makes them memorable, too.

But that’s not all. I have a little surprise for you as well at the very end. It might shock you! And that’s a good thing. But again, I stress–I’m coming up to the 1-month mark, and I feel the need to surprise you readers out there. So sit back, relax, scroll down, watch each of these, or some of them, or one of them at different times of the day. Absorb them. Collect them into your consciousness. Remember them. It’s beautiful writing. And believe me–there’s more out there, too, so this won’t be the only post about the topic. Believe me. Here we go, clip number one is….

“Good Will Hunting”

“Armageddon”

“Spaceballs”

“The Devil’s Advocate”

Like I said, there will be more. Plenty more. But here’s one last surprise for you!

Happy reading….

Thanks, Molly. I really appreciate it–you know, about the explosm.net site. The comics on there are like drugs. Really, really bad drugs. And that’s what makes them so good! I firmly believe that good BAD drugs are just a trip; (figuratively speaking, not talking substance here, in no way am I endorsing drugs, people, I firmly believe all kinds of drugs are bad–except Tylenol, Aleve, Motrin, Nyquil, Dayquil and just about any cold & sinus drug, as those are true gifts from God right there) however, bad GOOD drugs are pretty dangerous.

Again, I digress. As I feasted on the sick display of stick-like figures and their stories of strangeness, I came across one that struck a major artery within my system as far as a true topic to discuss, one I haven’t discussed as of yet–

WRITER’S BLOCK!!!

Hurry, people. Run for your lives. Oh, yes. Writer’s block. The horror.

I make light of this due to my learning experience of battling the so-called ‘writer’s block’. Some of my experiences came from literature that spoke of the concept and gave tips on how to fight it. Other parts of my experience came simply from gritting my teeth, sitting at the computer and literally TORTURING myself to pound the keyboard. Even if nothing I wrote made sense. I utterly forced myself to write. In that alone did I learn valuable lessons about writer’s block.

So, writers everywhere, bold poets, you eccentric screenwriters, lovable ambitious authors, LEND ME YOUR EARS! Let me pour out my knowledge to you if you may be so bold as to hear my words, hear my thoughts. Let my thoughts tantalize you, fondle you, inspire you, motivate you, magnify your power of the written word. Let me show you how to battle the demon of writer’s block….

It’s simple–

WRITER’S BLOCK DOES NOT EXIST!!!!

I see your jaws have dropped. In shock. You ask me, “how can that be??” You want to lynch me, I know you do. You’re in a rage. It can’t be that simple. It just can’t be. Can it be a simple farce? Who’s responsible? Who’s responsible for the hoax that is ‘writer’s block’?? How dare I make such an assumption!

I’m sorry, kids. It’s true. It’s a figment of our imagination.

A FIGMENT!! FIGMENT!! NOTHING!! NADA!! ZILCH!!

Listen to me in plain words again… D-O-E-S  N-O-T  E-X-I-S-T.

You keep trying to refute me, I’m just gonna close my ears, LALALALALALALALALALALALA. LAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Nope. I won’t have it. I’m telling you–writer’s block is about as real as a chocolate uncircumcised phallus wearing a tuxedo and pink slacks. Writer’s block has about as much effect on me as dog urine. Or cat urine. I don’t care about writer’s block.

You ask, “how can I be so confident like that??”

Tell me, how many times have you really felt ’stuck’? Meaning NOTHING at all coming into your head? No. Something’s coming into your head. Something always comes into your head. If nothing ever came into your head, you’d be dead. You’d be a flesh-eating zombie like those zombies in the movie “Dead Alive”, also known as “Braindead” (see this post). You’d be a melon. An empty melon. Someone would have stuck a straw into your ear and sucked out all the juices and flesh and left an empty melon if absolutely NOTHING came into your brain.

I’ll tell you what comes into your brain. Excuses.

“I don’t know where to go from Chapter 10, I’m tired, My head hurts, I’d rather watch ‘Survivor’ right now, I want ice cream, I’m worried that my novel sucks, I’ve got a cold, I’ve got allergies, I’m worried that my novel REALLY sucks”–

I can go on and on and on. Don’t be frightened. It’s okay. It’s the truth. Those are the things we come up with all the time. And those thoughts are so powerful that they manifest this ugly, wretched monster in a tutu, covered in lauan plates and tons of eye makeup and the head the size of Texas–it has a name, and it is called “Writer’s Block”.

We create the block. Us. The ‘block’ is not some outer entity infecting our heads. We are the sole creators of our own demise.

The way to kill that tutu-wearing monster is by (and this is only a suggestion–since writer’s block really doesn’t even exist, there are, in fact, many ways to battle it and win) drinking lots of coffee, SunnyD, Mountain Dew, eating lots of chips, listening to tons of different kinds of music, laughing at nothing, sitting your tired ass down on the chair in front of the keyboard and moving your damn fingers. Move ‘em. Let them go. Picture your hands just having minds of their own and letting them go nonstop. Let them go until your wrists start burning rubber, sort of like tires at the Indy 500. Feel the burn. Feel the stretch! Yeeeeesssssss.

Seriously, stop worrying about how flawed the writing is going to be. That’s the biggest dark seed of the sick tutu-wearing monster. That fear. We fear our writing will suck. It won’t suck. You have to remember that it’s all subjective. Everything is subjective. The world is subjective. *We* are subjective. In my opinion, bad writing is writing that isn’t honest, passionate, true, real. Bad writing is archaic, stilted, stunted, mechanical… PERFECT. In many ways, imperfection itself reveals a story in itself in the most intimate ways, and that’s how any reader actually identifies with any story. We can hear that storyteller. It makes the story real. So, again, don’t worry about the flaws. We all know the truth–no project, no literary work can ever be perfect. Again, because of subjectivity.

I shall reiterate to you all, sons of similes and you men and women of metaphors, you valiant warriors of words–stand and fight the monster! Hold the line! Block the…’block’! Writer’s block. We all stand together. We all stand as one. And writer’s block shall never prevail. Amen.

And to bid you farewell–I shall reveal to you a…revealing…comic from the aforementioned site at the beginning of this post (thanks, Molly) that spurred my stream of thought and topic for tonight. Enjoy. It has enlightened me. I feel enlightened. I feel like taking on the world. I just need to finish my SunnyD, Mountain Dew and coffee.

My alter ego Chuck Stake would love this post. If he were here. He’s at work at his part-time job. In the floral department (don’t judge him–it’s just for a little extra cash). I figured I’d pay homage to him and his genitals, er…genre (I’m still shaking from the last time I caught him on my bed naked) by posting this article about the uncompromising concept of splatterpunk.

Honestly, I had to do some research on this one! I knew easily what the genre was all about, but I didn’t know how it began or exactly where the line stood between certain facets of, say, standard ‘classic’ suspense horror (ghost stories are a possible example for that) and, well, let’s say Clive Barker’s short story “The Midnight Meat Train” (which I’m now moderately interested in seeing the very recent film adaptation, even though it’ll probably ‘violate’ my insides just by watching it).

David J. Schow coined the term splatterpunk in the mid-80s while at the World Fantasy Convention held in Rhode Island. It refers to literature and film specifically characterized by its no-holds-barred graphicness and violence and infinite use of gore and the inexplicable. We’re talking very serious themes, things that can make our jaws drop, make us cringe, make us wonder if something like a woman being raped by an ice pick a few hundred times could actually happen on this Earth. It can. It probably has. That’s the chilling part of it all. Generally, splatterpunk was intended as an answer to all that ‘classic’ horror that saturated the genre (ghost stories, suspense stories, stuff like that). People, writers, everyone–I suppose they were looking for something to shock them.

Well known writers of splatterpunk include Clive Barker, Poppy Z. Brite, Jack Ketchum, Joe Lansdale, Richard Laymon, Richard Christian Matheson, Robert McCammon, John Skipp, Craig Spector (that name makes me smile a little) and David J. Schow himself.

I’m going to be honest when I say that the idea of splatterpunk actually made me sort of smile and giggle, specifically due to such films as “Dead Alive” (also known as “Braindead”). I suppose I was sort of ‘tainted’ by the concept and flavor of this film in the wrong way, maybe?

I watched the film about a decade ago, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was the most despicable, deplorable, desensitizing, disgusting, any-other-d-word-describing-something-disgusting film I had ever seen. And that was the whole point of it. Moreover, it made me laugh with its uncompromising nature. Just about every scene had some form of blood shower in it. A mutant rat bites an older mother, which turns the mother, essentially, into a zombie that begins eating other people, animals, stuff like that. There was a scene where two particular people who were ‘infected’ by the mother start having zombie sex (I’m not kidding), and then only minutes later, the ‘zombie’ woman gives birth(!) to a zombie baby. A very ugly zombie baby. So now we have a zombie baby running around, wanting to bite people and eat people and cats and dogs and just about anything else it can sink its sick, twisted, yellow teeth into (yes, it had teeth, even though it’s a NEWBORN!).

It gets worse. Closer to the ‘climax’ of the film (well, for lack of a better term, because quite frankly there was no ‘climax’ of the film), the main character takes a lawnmower, which apparently weighs like a feather, holds it up so the blades face perpendicular to the ground, and starts running around a room filled with zombies, effectively mowing down each zombie in a massive, majestic display of gore unlike anything I had ever seen. This was about the time that I stared into the TV, shocked, in awe at what I was watching. The scene lasted for a good ten minutes or so. Ten minutes! Blood showers. I felt dirty just watching it. And I had never seen blood that thick. It looked like freakin’ Ragu or Prego! And the poor main character became drenched in it as he strafed the horde of zombies with his featherweight lawnmower, gritting his teeth like a madman. Utterly funny.

Here, watch this trailer. This is the actual trailer to the film:

Now keep in mind something, though: I watched this film not knowing what to expect. I never saw a trailer, if I remember. It just happened to be on Expanded Cable at the time (Showtime, I believe, or HBO). Here’s the bottom line when it comes to this film, which obviously falls under the genre of splatterpunk–

I did not know that it was a comedy. It was actually MEANT to make people laugh. Seriously. Watching the trailer sort of proves it.

Watching that film when I did forced me to associate it with the concept of splatterpunk, which is why I gave birth (not literally, people) to the fun-loving ”Chuck Stake”. But after doing my research, I got confused: how can I literally associate Clive Barker with splatterpunk? How’s THAT possible? Well, it was. Research proved it.

For the longest time, I figured splatterpunk to be a gratuitous gorefest without any substance (except for blood and guts, of course) or depth to the story. All that thanks to “Dead Alive” (also known as “Braindead”).

After doing this research, it was easy to see that all the classic ‘zombie’ movies, most notably by George Romero, fell under the same category: splatterpunk. The “Saw” movies did as well. Quentin Tarantino’s “Hostel” and “From Dusk till Dawn” satisfied the genre. “The Hills Have Eyes” couldn’t have been more ’splatterpunk’ than it already was.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the splatterpunk genre did indeed have plenty of depth to it. There were salient points that resonated with humanity in these films and stories.

I’ve refused to even watch any of the “Saw” movies specifically because I know what they’re about–human frailty, the concept of being so close to death and not having any way out. It’s a profound experience to really feel it on the screen. It becomes very personal. Almost intimate. And that’s what’s so frightening about it. George Romero’s work was obvious, too–any film nut could tell you that each ‘zombie’ flick had a very distinct commercial and political message to it. Think about it. The consumerism and lifestyle obsession, the constant need for ’stuff’ and money and 401K’s and savings bonds and the best cell phones money can buy and a house at the Hamptons–we’re all ‘zombies’, mindless zombies, hungry for ‘flesh’. It was brilliant, absolutely brilliant. It’s so brilliant that even today, zombie films hold a certain flair and popularity (”28 Days Later”, “28 Weeks Later”, the “Resident Evil” movies).

What shocked me even more–the more I thought about it, my novel THE CAIN LETTERS also has elements of splatterpunk in it! The idea! I marveled at it. Most notably, my sequel CHIMERA FALLS also has even more characteristics leaning toward the genre.

The concept of uncompromising horror, no holds barred on the blood, really resonates with a deep fascination for the unspeakable. We can’t help but say in our minds this very simple question: “could this really happen?” That sentence alone makes us shiver. That’s an element of horror that doesn’t always exist, particularly due to the unique facets of horror already out there. The idea that something as horrifying as ‘Leatherface’ could actually exist…that the worst of humanity, the sickest desires and thoughts and weaknesses of our wicked minds, actually thrives out there in the world….

It reminds us just how important it is to be the best we can be as humans, how important it is to focus the most on our morals and nobility, to never fall away into that kind of darkness where we circle for eternity in some ethereal damnation, a perpetual state of sheer hellish ecstasy. It makes the genre of splatterpunk that much more relevant, I think. Don’t you? *Pierre’s eyes start glowing red like a vampire’s*

I can only say….

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Okay, now that’s out of the way…. Absolutely remarkable storytelling for that 2-hour season premiere. Absolutely remarkable. Before I go way off on tangents unimaginable (after all, this so-called blog of mine is about reading and writing and the literary industry as a whole), I have to stress that, from the very beginning, the NBC show “Heroes” has, honestly, been a major inspiration for me as far as storytelling is concerned.

I’ve always been a big fan of epic plotting, complex and complicated characters, the meshing of the lines between protagonist and antagonist. In essence, pulp fiction. Numerous characters interacting with each other, relatively unclear motives, an unusually universal connection between characters leading toward an ultimate goal–I can’t help it!–there’s something just infectious, alluring, enticing about wanting to follow it all, to absorb it all.

And no matter what, the way I write, the way I tell a story mirrors that same feeling, that same flavor, that same greedy little formula.

I know I’m supposed to be writing, writing, writing–but I just had to take a break and watch the “Heroes” season premiere. I was going to die if I didn’t (no, probably not, but it felt like it). I was like a giddy little schoolboy. I won’t spoil anything for those who might’ve missed the premiere (although I can’t imagine anyone would miss it); but let’s just say I ran into some unexpected twists, made my jaw drop in ways I couldn’t even imagine.

That’s the kind of plotting I love–turns that I don’t expect. That’s the kind of writing I love, too. And that’s how I know I’m writing something worthy of reading, at least for me–when I even surprise myself.

It’s like a drug. It’s awesome. It inspires me. As Walt Whitman would say about the “barbaric yawp”….

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWPPP!!!!!

(first the ’squeeee’, then the ‘yawp’. That’s how I roll.)

I’m gonna be frank (for awhile anyway, and then I’ll return to Pierre): I am very much in love with words, can’t live without them. But there’s something deeper than words that I always force myself to remember–storytelling. The ability to tell a story is probably one of those gifts that you constantly forget is a gift. It’s a gift that’s so profound that even words aren’t necessary to exercise it. All means of expression can tell a story. It just so happens that I use ‘words’ to tell it.

I’m pretty sure none of you know much about me–I mean, all you know is that I’m just a tad bit crazy, I have these strange alter egos, one ego who seems to like to fling meat onto the wall and laugh naked on my bed, plus I have a strange kind of affection for suicidal and sadistic stick figures (they’re funny!). What many of you probably don’t know is that I have two siblings.

I have an older sister; she studied music. Right now, though, she trains and teaches Taekwondo; basically, what that means is she can kick my ass while playing the piano. That’s talent. My other sibling is my younger brother Paul. A rather famous artist. The man’s into everything that involves either a brush, a spray gun or even charcoal. Hell, in fact, give the man a freakin’ marker and he’ll draw a masterpiece. I’m not kidding. He has the same amount of endurance for drawing and painting that I have for writing. That’s my brother.

And, likewise, I have the same amount of endurance for drawing and painting that he has for writing: absolutely nothing. I can’t stand drawing and painting for the life of me. I simply don’t have the patience. And you generally won’t catch Paul even reading a book just for the fun of it. (I’ve been known to read philosophy just because it was ‘interesting’. Call me weird.)

The fact is, though, my brother is still a storyteller. Just like me. So is my sister. We all are. We just tell stories in different ways. Even when dealing with words, there are many creative ways to tell a story within the story; you simply have to let go of your mind, let go of conventional wisdom. Stretch yourself. Remember the old adage: show, don’t tell.

It’s amazing how a story can be told with just art–whether by line and color or by the sound of music. You don’t have to see words. You don’t have to read words. You know something is true, you experience it, you identify it. And then the story has been told. It’s a beautiful thing.

I bring up Paul specifically because of the power of silence, the power of imagery. You know me and imagery. Imagery and I are like ‘this’ (crosses fingers). Paul is as effective and passionate a storyteller as I’ll ever be. He just doesn’t use words to tell his story! Don’t believe me? Look down below my post here–it’s a comic strip my brother drew a number of years ago. It tells a story that is meaningful to him. It’s a link, so click on it for the larger view. Tell me what you think of it. Tell me what it means to you. And then tell me if you didn’t hear the story with your eyes. I did.