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I – Ibara no Ou (King of Thorns)

  • Posted on April 11, 2017 at 1:00 pm

The japanese word for thorns is Ibara, and in this case, thorns are a deadly enemy. A story about how humanity deals with a mysterious disease turns into a horrific survival horror, and I was rivetted the entire time. A movie, instead of a series, I personally think this narrative is one of the twisty-turniest I’ve ever seen or read.

Why I recommend it to writers: if you want to write any kind of suspense or horror, Ibara no Ou is a great resource for both. It shows a mastery of psychology that I greatly enjoy.

Warnings: Death, Dismemberment, tons of imagery that might be displeasing.

For the rest of the articles in this series, please visit this page.

Have you seen this anime? What about it made you want to be a better writer? Do you intend to go shotgun this anime now that I’ve shown it to you? Comment below and tell me what you think!

Dream ideas into reality.

  • Posted on March 15, 2016 at 2:35 pm

A question I don’t get asked very often is how I get my ideas for my various books and short stories. In this case, I’m going to walk you through the process, as I just had a strike of inspiration. You see, I get my ideas from Dreams. My dreams, often, are more creative than the ideas I come up with in reality. Then, I take a bit of real life intuition, awake logic, and turn it into something worth putting to page.

The dream I just had was a bit of a mess. It started out with me interviewing for a job, failing to get that job, demanding that I actually SEE the supervisor who wasn’t going to hire me, despite it being very late at night and the children needing sleep. Then, I wandered around the mall in which the job was located, and found a huge gym that wasn’t there before, and stairs leading up. The mall in my area is only one floor, so I was confused, and followed the stairs up, and they led to a room in which a famous band was playing.

Beyond the band, I could see a massive stadium filled with people. It was like reality had decided to fold in on itself, creating pockets of reality inside this mall. I wanted to find out why, but I was so very lost. Then, a bald man with dark skin found me, security, and I apologized so much, and he lead me in the direction that I had came. I saw a boy walk by, reading a book that I had read before, and I told him he was going to love it.

The dream then segwayed into what I assume was a scene from that book. A man was standing in a circle of people, facing off against a God, the god of his world. The God sneered, and gave him a chance to win. He would grant one single wish. The man used this wish to bind the God away “Until I have been loved enough.” The god sneered again, and did something that turned the people of the world odd shades of green and brown and yellow (I assume this indicated various shades of disgust, hate and disillusionment.), and it was like resetting the emotional counter on characters in a massive game.

In fact, with the god gone, the whole world was like a game. He separated an entire continent (in my dream there was this lovely sort of effect where a blue fire fox swirled around a peninsula/island chain that connected the two continents, and it was absolutely amazing.), and started putting the world the way he wanted. But the only people who cared for his works were his parents and the woman he loved.

Now the whole thing ended when the new god started getting credit cards in the mail. He realized it was a trap, that the God had been planning this all along. Had enjoyed his freedom for a while, messing up the world, and then passed off the mess and debt to another. It had ALL been a TRAP!

And that was my dream. Fragmented and disjointed, isn’t it? A little bit odd too. BUT! With the proper logic, it can be turned into a pretty good short story. Let’s break it down into parts.

  1. The job – Clearly this is anxiety about my status as jobless. So for now, we’re going to cast it aside. We might use it as some kind of motivation for the main character later.
  2. The mall being weird – This we can use, but from the perspective, rather than mine, of the main character, I.E. The one who takes over for God. Let’s call him Bruce for now (in tribute to Bruce Almighty, a really good movie.)
  3. The God handing over his powers – This scene is important. It’s going to be the actual meat of our story, and the conflict the main character will face.
  4. The scenes where Bruce parts the sea-I MEAN- gets rid of the continent – These are clearly filler, the perks of the job, so to speak. It’s just basically the fun things
  5. The Trap – Now here’s where it gets exsistential. Because I woke up before the dream could really finish, I have to kind of mentally elaborate. The credit cards mean that there is in fact a higher power than the god that he’d bound away. These powers, in fact, are the worst sort. CREDITORS. So now he has to find a way out of this situation.

With those points, we now have an actual outline. After that, it’s a pretty simple thing to write the first draft, edit and edit and edit some more, and then have a workable short story. Now I’m going to do the SMART thing, post this up and then wait a few days to see if the idea still seems viable. A lot of people tell you to wait weeks, or even months, but honestly, I never know what my life is going to be like a few months down the road, so I rarely wait that long.

And that, ladies and gentlemen is how I take one of my dreams, and turn it into a work of fiction. I did the same with the dream that spawned the Kurylian Saga. Now go out and make your dreams come true! On paper, that is.

Bruises and Broken Bones

  • Posted on May 29, 2015 at 9:19 pm

Five minutes late, but at least Kaimi had managed to stop by starbucks. That was worth it at least. The mocha frappe with an extra shot of caramel was perfect on her tongue, the walk from her car to the front door of the office completely taken up by fumbling through her purse for the keys to the door. It was only when she dropped said pure and nearly spilled said frappe that she noticed the man camped out in front of her door.

Well, not literally camped out, he’d clearly been there for maybe ten minutes, at most. His dark hair pulled up into spikes only possible with copious amounts of gel proved he’d visited a bathroom at least an hour or two ago. The half-carefree smile he gave her when he knelt to pick up her purse, and the few odd pens and tictacs that had spilled out lit up his brown eyes. Her mental image of this man was a large puppy, something brown, with floppy ears.

“Thanks.” She answered, giving her business-woman smile, “Clumsy, you know? Thanks, if you could just hold that, that’d be-” She turned, opening the door with a deft turn of the key in the industrial lock and pushing at it with her hip. “C’mon in.” He was there for a reason, after all. He couldn’t have mistaken her office for anything else, what with “Rowe Detective Agency – We find SoulMates, or your money back!” emblazoned across the glass in the same dark blue as a policeman’s uniform.

“No problem.” The man answered, following her into the waiting room, six chairs, all of different fabrics and shapes, set semi-circle around the desk where no real receptionist had ever sat. Someday, Kaimi promised herself. Someday. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thanks! We like it, anyway. Here, I’ll take that.” She took her purse back, and the man shuffled his foot, shifting nervously from one leg to the next. The tanktop he was wearing showed off the absolutely massive amount of orange bruises he wore across his skin. Ah, one of those. She would have sighed, if this had been a year ago, when she first opened this agency. Now, she just hoped she could find this guy’s soul mate before the worst happened.

“So…I don’t suppose you know why I’m here?” The man asked, hopeful, obviously, to get the conversation started. Kaimi strode towards her desk, the one with the cute little money-plant on it, a gift from her hawaiian mother. “You’ve got really good reviews online, so I hoped…”

“You hoped we could find whoever is putting bruises on your soulmate, and maybe let you play hero to get the poor thing out of there?” She asked, pulling out some forms from her desk drawer, and settling into her seat. The first visit was almost always mainly paperwork and interviewing the client anyway, but she hoped to get this done with before her ten o’clock showed up. Two hours would be pushing it on this.

“No!” The man cried, earnest. Kaimi could see a flicker of upset behind his eyes, so he DID want to get his mate out of there, but- “I just… I want to meet them. I want to get them out of wherever they are…No matter how it has to happen. I just want them safe.”

It was something she heard a lot from people like this. The ones with the scars and bruising from their soulmates. It wasn’t an easy Sign to bear, she was sure, seeing how the other was hurt. Her own Signs were so much easier to deal with. She smiled, nodding, her eye tracing what looked like fingerprints in orange around the tan throat in front of her. Whoever this Mate was, they were in some serious trouble.

“Don’t worry. We’ll do everything in our power to find them. That’s what we’re here for, after all.” She offered, her voice comforting from experience. The man relaxed in front of her, although his fingers still played with the hem of his shirt. “Now, have you done any searching on your own? Any possible leads you have for us? Any other Signs, maybe?”

Sometimes Signs came in groups. Often, the Bruises would come with the String too, but it didn’t look like that was the case with this one, or he would have found the Mate already. First Words would be difficult, a Timer would be useful, but only if they were tied to this Mate. If they were tied to some other Mate, they’d do no good. Kaimi’s fingers found the line of words on her inner wrist, and rubbed at them, absently.

The man shook his head, “No, no other Signs, just this one. I…I went to a doctor once, and he said that the bruising is similar to something he’s seen on professional athletes in martial arts, or… or in thugs.”

“I see. Do you mind if we take pictures of the bruising? Just to compare, of course.” She asked, sliding a consent form right across the table to him. “We take pictures of all Signs, for our records, and also to help us find your Mate without having to drag you along to every interview.”

“Oh… Oh, uh, yeah, that’s fine.” He answered, blinking those puppy-brown-eyes at her slowly, like he doesn’t understand. Kaimi nods, and points out the line he needs to sign. He takes the hint, and scribbles out a name that starts with a G. “Oh. Uh, I hit eighteen in two weeks… so if I Dream, I’ll let you know…”

“Perfect. A Dream will give us a lot of information, just… make sure to take note of the address, or landmarks around you, and we’ll be able to find them from there. Or, if nothing else, leave them a note, and they may find you.” She coached, a speech she’s given a hundred times, and one that sits on pretty much every ‘how to find your soulmate’ diy website ever. “Here’s a survey, please answer it completely truthfully, that way we can try to narrow down as much information as possible.”

She’d taken the survey herself a long time ago, so she knew the questions he was most likely to pause over. The “is the world black and white” question, the “Any birthmarks” question, the “Exact date and time of birth” question, especially tended to throw people off. While he fiddled on his phone, most likely texting his mom to find out, she picked up her coffee, sipped it, and headed for the coffee machine. Setting a new cup of coffee in front of him, along with a pack of those sandwich cracker snacks that Marshall insisted they keep around for their clients, Kaimi returned to the other side of her desk, opening up her laptop there, and listening to the satisfying Dell sound as it powered up.


 

This is a snippet written because I saw a post on Tumblr about scars and bruises appearing on a soulmate. It’s part of what will eventually be my Kaimi Rowe Series, which I’ve decided will be about various ways of finding your soulmate! Look forward to it!

Electric Jellyfish – A Dream

  • Posted on January 5, 2015 at 11:51 am

The dream started as me in a new town. A mountain town, where everyone was rich-ish. I apparently was too, because I was hanging around this restaurant where honestly, they served really good food and wine and stuff. I ended up in conflict with the matron, however. I don’t remember what over, but she bullied me, and in return, I bullied her children. A little girl far too smart for her own good, a genius, really, and I treated her like dirt. She turned cynical very fast.

Something happened, and all the tourists disappeared. The mountain became a death trap. I don’t know how, but there were soldiers everywhere, and the girl’s mother was no where to be found. There were others with me, trying to figure out how to escape. Two sisters, a black man, a black woman, another black woman, and we were all trying to figure out how to escape.

Apparently, I had become immortal at some point, because they wanted to test whether I could survive. They told me, someone was going to take the test, and it was either going to be me first, or the little girl. I didn’t want to reveal myself, much less actually die, because I wasn’t completely sure of my immortality. But I didn’t want that little girl going through it either.

The test was made out of the reservoir. A giant pool of water, with a sharp, dangerous fan moving it through tunnels. In the pool, they’d put electric eel-like jellyfish, and my test was to swim around, gathering these things that looked like the floating seeds in Avatar, And if I gathered them all without dying, I didn’t have to go through the blades to the next area.

I didn’t make it. I woke up before I had to go through the blades, but I didn’t make it, and the little girl didn’t cry for me. I don’t blame her. It would have been nice, though.  I’m thinking of turning this into a short story, maybe. But then, I say that about all my dreams, don’t I?

The Insecure Writer’s Support Group – 09/03/14

  • Posted on September 4, 2014 at 1:00 am

IWSG badgeI only recently found out about the Insecure Writer’s Support Group, so forgive this post being a few minutes late.  Basically, from what I can understand of the website, it’s a group meant to bolster and support those going into writing as a career, by helping them see that others have similar insecurities, and by talking them through them.

To be completely honest, I have more insecurities than triumphs, right now, and that’s not something to shake a stick at. I’ve triumphed a lot in my life, to get where I am now, and so when I say the insecurities way me down, I mean it, truthfully.

The thing about it is, however, that you can’t let that sort of thing hold you back. Several of my fears are completely valid. Being the type of person I am, I compartmentalize, and then end up completely disorganized through out the entire process, which just leads to chaos. So, in an effort to help you through some of the things that I’m suffering through, I’m going to organize a little.

Worry one: I’m not going to make it. 

My mother is an author. My best friend is an author. My Mentor is an author. All of these people, I hold dear. But each in their own way, they struggle beyond what is possible for me to feel comfortable with. My mother has one book published, and is working on her second, and honestly, I’d give anything to be nothing like her. That’s a whole seperate story. My best friend has written five books, and none of them are published because he is waiting for one specific publishing house to recognise his works. And my mentor, possibly the most successful of all of us, has two books published, and still is not earning enough to support himself yet.

None of these are my idea of ‘making it’. Of Succeeding. My idea of succeeding is the type of fandom and fame that people like Neil Gaiman, Andrew Hussie, and J.K. Rowling have. And my fear is that I will never reach that level of success.

But that’s wrong. To worry about that so early in the game. The only way I will ever make it, is if I put my all into it now, if I give everything I have to succeeding. I can’t allow this worry to cripple me, the way I’ve allowed worries like this to do so in the past. I have done so much in my short life, and this will not be something that I don’t cross off my bucket list. So please, don’t let the high pole of your own idea of ‘making it’ hold you down.

Worry number two: The things I’m writing will perpetuate horrible things.

If there is one thing I want more than to be the next J.K., it’s to make sure that my writing MEANS something. That it gives someone who didn’t have representation before, that representation. That it allows people to feel more comfortable being themselves.

So I worry and fuss and drive myself nuts over my books and blogposts and writing, to make sure that they don’t hurt those I’m trying to help. It’s a lot harder than one might think to avoid internalised misogyny, or misandry. To fight off homophobia that I didn’t realise slipped into the way I write. To tear away anything that might make someone feel worse about themselves than they already do. And I’m scared that I might never be able to do what needs to be done to make the world a better place.

To combat this worry, I’m trying to learn as much about the world as possible, so that I might end up helping, instead of hurting. I’m attempting to make sure that nothing is left out. That I leave no stone unturned. Honestly, there are some who would tell me not to worry about this, but it seems to me that not enough people worry. So I try my hardest.

Worry number three: I’m afraid I’ll decide this is a waste of time someday, and quit.

I have picked up a habit over my years on earth, and it’s a bad one. I start something, put a lot of work into it. Hard, fun work, that leaves me breathless and wanting more. And then suddenly, as if nothing ever happened, I just… can’t do it anymore. I can’t pick up the pen. I can’t make myself write that next reply. I can’t tell myself that I need to continue it.

Knitting, Final Fantasy Eight, Gardening, Drawing, Painting, Manga-writing, BDSM, Domme-ing, Relationships, and numerous, numerous story ideas. All thrown to the wind, on a whim. I have come to accept that I am a fickle creature. And what worries me, is that after all this effort I’ve put into working so hard on this, I’ll just… give up.

I don’t know how to combat this worry. I don’t know how to get rid of it, or change it, or make it work for me. The best I can do, the best anyone can do, is take it one day at a time, and try their hardest. That’s why I write as many blogposts as I can, that’s why I read so many blogs on my Feedly. That’s why I twitter more now than I ever have before. That’s why I search for blogs and talk to other writers, and try desperately to tie what I’m doing here into my other areas of interest.

Worry number four: I’m worried that this will take over my life, and kill my other dreams.

I want to open a Manga Cafe. The first Manga Cafe in Colorado. I want to have children. I want to travel the world. I want to be financially stable and own my own home. All of these things… None of them are mutually exclusive. But I’m afraid that all the work, all the effort, all the energy I have to put into this whole author-business, will take away from the energy I’ll have for these other dreams.

How can I run a cafe, a business, when I have to spend so much time writing, just to be a mediocre author? What will my children think when I have to tell them I can’t take them to the park because Mommy has to write? Travelling the world costs money, and since it looks like I’m going to be an indie-author, I can’t afford that kind of expense. My money, my life, my energy has to go towards my career as an author.

This is a simple fix, though. This is all just a matter of perspective. If I can wire my writing into the rest of my life, as well, then maybe, just maybe, I can have it all. Why not write while travelling? It’ll make my books more realistic! My cafe can give rise to whole new book ideas, as well as a place to sell my books, and others! My children will see me working hard towards my dreams, and gain a work ethic themselves. I can do it. I can do this, and I WILL make my dreams come true!

Worry number five: I’m worried that I’ll succeed. 

Now, bear with me here, because I know one of my worries up there was that I WOULDN’T make it. But, making it, succeeding in becoming the type of author I want to be… Well, that’s just as terrifying. The kind of fanbases that J.K. and Hussie and Gaiman have are amazing, but also, dangerous. People have Andrew Hussies’ BABY pictures online. I would have no privacy. Not only that, but these people would be hanging on my every word. I would be responsible for a part of their world view. That’s a horrid responsibility.

And there would be my close friends. What of my best friend, who is still waiting for that publisher to call him back? The jealousy there might ruin our friendship. I would rather die than lose him as a friend. And what of my mother? I love her, but what if she thinks this is some kind of contest? We barely have a tenuous relationship as it is. I’d rather not turn into Rose Lalonde, thank you.

The only balm I can soothe this worry with is that I won’t let success change me. Not really. I will still be friends with those I love. I will still be me. And I know I’ve never intentionally hurt a person. And I’ve never withheld an apology when I knew it was really needed. So I can only hope that responsibility will sit with me easily.

Does anyone else have these worries? How do you soothe yours? Please tell me, because I’d love to hear.

Breaking Down Nemesis: Part Three

  • Posted on August 20, 2014 at 12:46 pm

Hello again, all! Time for Part Three of the Breaking Down Nemesis Series, in which we break down “Miss Marple Takes Action”. For those of you just joining us, the previous two posts can be found by clicking the above posts, or these links right here: Part One and Part Two.

At the last we left off, Miss Marple had just finished reading a letter from the deceased Mr. Rafiel, who provided her with a code-word– “Nemesis”- and instructions to solve a crime. But what crime? Now, Miss Marple must take action, as the chapter title so endearingly states, and we begin to see how the lovable elderly lady whom Murder She Wrote was based upon works!

This gif says everything.

Like us, Miss Marple is startled over the amount of information she received. Or rather, the sheer lack of information. Dismissing the idea of Mr. Broadribb providing her any more information, Jane quickly decides that it was intriguing. And that, perhaps, Mr. Rafiel had meant it to be.

She then goes on to describe it as a crossword puzzle with no clues given. Considering for a moment, that he might have meant her to take a plane or boat to the West Indies or to South America, she decides that if that’s what he meant, he’s insane. Which, I agree. After all, he couldn’t expect her to find something to solve there that had anything to do with him? No, instead, Miss Marple would have to find something from her own stores of knowledge.

Three days later, Miss Marple writes a letter to Mr. Broadribb, letting him know she’s accepted the proposal (and wants that 25000. See Part Two for a visual representation of the money.) and that she really was expecting more information. She asks him questions about Mr. Rafiel’s relationships and connections, and whether or not he’d had a relative that might have fallen on an unjust situation.

Again, we are treated to Mr. Broadribb and Mr. Schuster talking. They seem to have no idea what to tell her either. Now, in this section, Mr. Schuster said something that I find rather offensive.

“-I don’t see the least chance that some old pussy from the country can interpret a dead man’s brain and know what fantasy was plaguing him.-”

-Mr. Schuster

Now, I realize that it was true to the times, as this is exactly how a man of that day and age might talk if he were uncultured swine, and I think it was used exactly to show that this man was boorish and rude. More and more I find myself disliking this man. I hope he ends up getting kicked by a horse or something. He also brings up the idea that Mr. Rafiel might be trying to take Miss Marple down a peg, ‘teach her a lesson’ so to speak, by sending her on a fool’s errand.

Mr. Broadribb, however, doesn’t. He seems to think that something was worrying Mr. Rafiel, and that he was dead serious about all this. Since neither can fathom what Mr. Rafiel might have been thinking, they decide to wait for some development. Meanwhile, Miss Marple waited for something to turn up as well. In fact, she ends up getting yelled at by Cherry for taking walks too much.

Apparently, her doctor has said that she wasn’t to exercise too much. Which honestly sounds odd to me, because exercise has good affects on the health. But well, it was back in old times, so. Cherry, done telling Miss Marple off, goes and has dinner with her husband, Chinese food, specifically, which set me off to craving Chinese too.

During after-dinner tea, she and Miss Marple talk about the house at the end of the village, which has been repainted, done up and someone called Miss Hastings moved in. If you remember from Part One, Miss Hastings is the employer of Miss Bartlett, whom Miss Marple talked about gardens with briefly. Miss Marple decides just then to write a letter. Specifically, to another friend from this previous adventure we still know nothing about, a Miss Prescott, who is sister to Canon Prescott, a clergyman.  She feels much better after sending the letter, because at least she’s done something.

Joan replies quickly, informing her of Mrs. Walter’s location. Apparently, Mrs. Walters DID remarry, and she’s now Mrs. Alderson or Anderson now. Miss Prescott provides her address, and Miss Marple sleeps on whether or not she should contact her by surprise, or write her first. And that night, she has a dream: MissMarpleDreamQuote

“I had a curious dream,…I was talking to someone, not anyone I knew very well. Just talking. Then when I looked, I saw it wasn’t that person at all I was talking to. It was somebody else. Very odd.”

This is the most brilliant bit of foreshadowing I’ve ever seen. Who does it refer to? Is Mrs. A not going to turn out to be who Miss Marple remembers? Perhaps Joan Prescott was not who she seemed? Or maybe something else entirely! I can’t wait to find out. What a lovely shiver from it, it seems so important!

Decided now, Miss Marple asks Cherry to help her set up a sting operation. Cherry is to call Mrs. A, and ask if she’s to be home today. If she answers or if she is going to come to the phone, she’s to say that Cherry is Mr. Broadribb’s secretary and ask if she can meet with him later that week. If she is to be home that day, then Cherry is to find out when she comes back.

Turns out Mrs. A is going to be in all day, and Miss Marple sets off in a cab towards her next clue!

I’ve noticed a trend, as I began breaking down these chapters. They’re quite short, for the most part. Easy to digest in a bus ride or over a lunch break. I find it easy enough to read a chapter, but not so easy to stop. With things picking up the pace, I can definitely begin to see why some have called Miss Agatha’s work addictive. I didn’t go into much detail about it, but even the cab-company gets some expanding on, information that Miss Marple remembers.

The descriptions in the beginning ARE very lengthy and quite detailed, which is definitely a point towards out Agatha Christie Code theory. But what drew me in the most in this chapter is how seamlessly Miss Marple went from having no idea what to do next, to thinking through, logically, onto what she should do next, her next point of contact. It was, again, very organic. It was what I had been thinking about in chapter two, just after I read the letter. Contacting Mrs. A is her best bet, and the logic of it gives the reader a sense of accomplishment, because they thought of it too.

In the comments section, please tell me your opinion on this. Is it a good thing to allow the reader to guess what is going to happen before hand? Or does it ruin the mystery of the story? When was the last time you read something so compelling that it felt as if you were deducing it yourself before the character?

Researching Mystery

  • Posted on August 11, 2014 at 2:35 pm

Today, I have a guest blog published over on Cindy Grigg’s website. We’ve swapped guestblogs, and her post, 9 ways to fix your Stereotyped Character is informative and fun to read! Go take a look at it! Also, take a look at the article, Researching mystery which you can find here:

If you’re curious, here’s the first two paragraphs of the article, for your perusal.

To begin with, I’m not normally a mystery author. To be specific, when I was younger, I only ever wrote fantasy novels, or romance. Now, however, I’m trying my hand at mystery novels, which means quite a bit of strife. I have a natural instinct when it comes to fantasy, so I find it easy to fall into. With Romance, I have my years as a fanfiction writer and fandom roleplayer to fall back on, which can both enhance and detract from my writing. (No one likes reading author’s notes, I’ve since learned.)

I came to mystery as a genre because I love the tense atmosphere. Maybe it’s less mystery and more suspense that I enjoy. But recently, I’ve found that I want a challenge. And the best way to challenge yourself is to write something you’ve never in a million years written before. But how can you write something you’ve never written before? How can you make sure that you don’t slip back into writing what you know? And worst of all, how do you manage to make it a GOOD manuscript when you know nothing about your genre?

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Kraken in the Deep (or monsters just out of sight)

  • Posted on April 13, 2014 at 1:42 pm

There is a Kraken in the Deep. Monsters that dwell just out of sight, out of mind, and reaching out across nightmares with tendrils so pervasive that it seems almost as if they interlace the entirety of those dreaming worlds. They range the backdrop seeking, moving, while unnamed, unthanked actors fill your mind with dreary, drowning, dizzy thoughts, and you are paralyzed. These actors are the dead, recently disposed, none of which could move on before being trapped here between your thoughts and those horrid creatures, in the Deep. In the Dark.

Few set foot there, fewer still survive it when they do. Certain people thorughout the history of time have managed, but always they come back… twisted, not quite right. Not just in the head, either. Some come back with twisted bodies. One limb out of proportion, one limb rended too high or too low. The whole thing is beyond human comprehension, but perhaps that’s why the Kraken seek us out. Their minds need ours. Need that tantalizing transcendent thought process that allows us to ignore the lacing of their tentacles wrapped around our lives. Perhaps they crave what we have, life, love, adoration, notice, notariety. If this is the case, then why do they not speak in tongues other than whispered threats veiled beneath the sweet candy seduction of the world?

Or perhaps they are simply feeding. Like a frenzy of sharks, tearing us mind from mind, limb from limb, perhaps that is why they gather at the edges of our periphery, of our notice. Like Alice flailing down a dark hole, perhaps we too, are children lost in a garden far too dangerous for our comprehension. These creatures in the dark, these beings that dwell in the Deep places of the world. Perhaps they like us. Perhaps they wish us peace. In death, in dreaming, in desire. But that may not be the case. Long have their appendages scoured our minds, reaching in and finding new places to poke and prod.

These places, they fill up with seabrine and deep anguish. These places they deposit their stories next to Poe’s raven and Shakespeare’s Midsummer’s dream. Places impossible to reach with a normal hand. Places that one cannot possibly experience alone, ever, never. These places, they fill up with sorrow and world-ending-heartbreak, or perhaps hunger. These places, are where dreams are made, dreams that taunt, tantalize, torture. These are the Deep places, in our mind, and in the world, and in the bits just out of sight, we are broken across them like waves on rocks, algae clinging, seaweed choking us in these newer, deeper places. We drift, along these currents, and perhaps that is where creation comes from.

Perhaps, we are simply the Eve to a new Adam. Perhaps these creatures need us more than we know.

Or perhaps they just want a good show with their dinner.

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