Feed me

Just a reminder that I do have a Patreon if you can afford to help. I do have a few pets that like to eat, so any small bit of funding helps in a big way.

Just $1 gets you early releases on ansP releases. It usually comes at you one month ahead of time!

I already have the next story written. It is very short, but I think that it’s one of my best. I laugh every time I read it over.

The last story didn’t perform well, but give it a read anyway! Share with your friends!

Also, don’t forget that I have issued the first 100 pages of You’re Not Dead for free. I know its not much, but it’s all I can afford to offer in this time of isolation. If you enjoy what is there, the full version is available on my “Books” page.

You’re Terrible {ANEWSIN VOL.12 — Jason Garden}

\\A conversation between two writers named Jerome and Kelsey. They are sitting in a mall food court with only soft drinks in front of them. \\

Jerome
Hey. Kelsey. Did you read over the rough copy of that story I sent over a few weeks ago?

Kelsey
Yeah. I did.

Jerome
Verdict?

Kelsey
It’s fuckin’ terrible.

Jerome
What’s wrong with it?

Kelsey
You try to write dialog and maybe shouldn’t. People don’t talk that way.

Jerome
What do you mean?

Kelsey
It’s stilted. Awkward. Like, consider these line:

A man steps forward. “You know that this is how we make our living. We need any sort of identification to prove we killed the right group. Now, hurry your smoke, Skylar. We gotta go.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” Skylar proclaims under her breath.

Does something feel, off, about that exchange?

Jerome
Yep.

Kelsey
What do you mean “Yep”? Do you do it on purpose?

Jerome
Depends on the situation I’m writing. Most people—

Kelsey
It should always be fluid. Otherwise it’s not natural.

Jerome
When do you ever—

Kelsey
What I find helpful is actually have a person read out loud with you to bounce the conversation back and forth.

Jerome
Okay, but that—

Kelsey
Otherwise, you run the risk of things sounding manufactured, or worse: meandering.

Jerome
So, do you think that I should always do that?

Kelsey
Why not?

Jerome
I sometimes don’t have someone to “run lines” with me. I try to read things out loud, but I don’t—

Kelsey
…don’t what? Know where to put inflection?

Jerome
—I was going to say that I don’t know how to cut myself off. I can’t seem to create the awkward that is actual conversation.

Kelsey
Then don’t cut yourself off.

Jerome
Do you realize how hard it is to create a natural conversation without cutoff’s and awkward pausing?

Kelsey
What?

Jerome
It’s very rare to have a conversation flow in real life where no one stammers or cuts someone off.

Kelsey
We’re doing just fine.

Jerome
You cut me off at least twice so far in this friendly banter that we’re having now.

Kelsey
You call this friendly banter?

Jerome
What?

Kelsey
I fucking hate your writing. It’s depressing. It’s morose. The ending is always left in space. Your language is too complicated for some.

Jerome
So, you’re saying that I should just stop?

Kelsey
NO! I’m saying that you should just get better. You seem to have written yourself into a corner where you don’t seem to grow or change. 

Your best work was a few stories ago, and you are just stagnating. Your last piece was, in your own words, similar to what you would have written in high school. And your best work is not even that good.

Jerome
So, what you’re saying is: you do like my early work?

Kelsey
No. I’m saying that you seem to think you’re okay at this. Why keep beating your head against the wall?

Jerome
… because I have to?

Kelsey
Have to? Or want to?

Jerome
Both.

Kelsey
How can it be both?

Jerome
Simple. I write for me, and the ten or so people that think my writing is worth their time.

Kelsey
Okay, but how—

Jerome
I write because I can’t draw, I can’t play drums how I used to, I can’t sing… so what other artistic thing am I doing to do?

Kelsey
So, you’re admitting that you just do this as a kind of masturbation?

Jerome
No, you pretentious prick!

Kelsey
Then why do you do this?

Jerome
Because, unlike what you say, I don’t think I suck. I have points on society that I want, or need, to make. I have opinions that I want to share. I want to challenge the ideas of spirituality, religion, and life. 

I don’t want to lay my opinions bare, because I have nothing more grandiose than ideas. Those ideas, however, do make some decent short stories.

Kelsey
So, why make them public?

Jerome
What do you mean?

Kelsey
If you are doing it for you, why infest the world with your drivel?

Jerome
Why not?

Kelsey
Because you’re fucking terrible.

//long, awkward pause

Kelsey
You read my latest book, right?

Jerome
I understand it’s merit, but it’s not my cup-o-tea.

Kelsey
What do you mean? It’s got love, death, suspense, death…

Jerome
Yeah. But not my kind of thing.

Kelsey
What do you mean?

Jerome
I’m not going to dunk on it. Just leave it at “it’s not my cup-o-tea”.

Kelsey
There’s ‘dunking’ angles?

Jerome
Drop it—

Kelsey
I didn’t think there were dunking angles…?

Jerome
KELSEY (awkward pause)

Jerome
Thank you. Can we get off the topic now? What are you working on next?

Kelsey
I’m working on a young-adult novel about a boy and a girl in high school

Jerome (under breath)
original.

Kelsey
What was that?

Jerome
Nothing. Don’t worry about—

Kelsey
—it? You just want me to drop this line of inquiry and pretend you didn’t say something?

Jerome
Why are you pushing this? I want to just drop the conversation and move on.

Kelsey
TELL ME

Jerome
No.

Kelsey
C’mon!

Jerome
Fine. You asked for this.

Kelsey
Fuckin’ finally! Thank you!

Jerome
You’re terrible. I hate your writing. You’re stories have nothing original to offer. You’re dialect is pedestrian at best. In fact, you probably don’t understand that line. You probably don’t see anything wrong with that way of doing things. You probably think it’s all fine as long as people buy into your shit, but you do NOTHING to hold yourself up to a test of time. Fuck: in five years, your books will be in a discount bin.

\\Kelsey abruptly leaves, knocking her chair into seats behind her. Jerome continues to sit, starring at his half-full cup\\

Kelsey
Fuck you. You’re a waste.

This was an attempt at something different. I have ideas to continue it, maybe write a full scene…

I have to thank Bekki, Jacob and Casey for direction.

No, I will probably never make this anything more than text. I’m not a director. Hell, I am barely a writer, but I thought I would try my hand at script writing for fun.

SUPPORT ME ON PATREON TO GET THESE EARLY!

I would like to take this moment to highlight that I released another book! Well, it’s a re-edit of You’re Not Dead, but it includes a large collection of other stuff! It’s now over 200 pages!

Any Patreon who donates any amount of money gets their name in the ‘thank you’ section!

The Book

My plan is to make this my last post until the release, just because information for the next week will be slow and minimal.

Yes, I am reissuing the book I released a few years ago. With that said, I am going to be more than doubling the length. I fixed so many stupid and dumb mistakes that were in the initial release. I filled out at least two chapters, and added the first year of anewsin releases (plus a couple more). The digital copy will be the same cover as the original, but the hard/soft covers will be black with white writing.

This book marks the initial release of the anewsin volumes that I plan to release every couple of years. The format that I used is a lot of fun to write, and it lends itself to releasing short stories with keeping some sort of cognizant flow.

I AM STILL RELEASING STORIES ON HERE EVERY TWO MONTHS.

The released versions will be perfected and cleaned up further than what I have on here. As for editing, I plan on using Luka’s talents for as long as I can. At the very least, she makes everything so much easier to read because I tend to ramble and get lost in my own thoughts. (Not to mention that I make stupid mistakes…)

Anyway, the next post I make will be updating everyone with links and further information.

KEEP IN MIND:
all Patreons who donate for more than two months, regardless of amount, get their names in the thanks at the end of the text!

So, please: tell everyone who might be interested! I will do my best to keep you up-to-date with information when I get it! I love you!

Hey: Some news!

  1. I finally got around to editing some footage from The Twin playing Warped Tour. I have had the footage for a number of years, and I finally got around to editing and fixing all of it. YouTube compresses the footage in a way that makes the audio very blown out, but I am happy with the way it turned out!
  2. As I am sure you have noticed if you follow me on either Twitter or Facebook, I have been shopping my book around for an updated, and better, release. Friessen Press has agreed to re-release the book with all the revisions and additions. You’re Not Dead has tripled in size, and I will keep you up to date with actual releases and whatnot. The latest release, if all goes well, is early 2020.
  3. The last anewin release has performed very poorly. I think just due to it not being advertised well on my part. A large part of that is because I have been so distracted with the re-write of You’re Not Dead and contacting agents. EXCUSES EXCUSES. My end point is that I am very proud of it and feel that it is being ignored. At the risk of alienating people, the point of this story was to illustrate the issue with not being afflicted by what you are rallying for: the almost dismissal of situational differences because of the systematic coat of paint left by society.
  4. Why am I posting while on “hiatus”? Simple. The break was more to announce a dramatic decrease in updates, not to up and vanish. I do not see myself doing many more releases before the new year, but you never know what will happen.
Enjoy the noise!

What to write about…

OH! I KNOW!
WRITING!

I noticed the other day how my most popular updates about regarding writing. I don’t know how I feel about that: I feel like my other pieces are just, if not more, important.

I cannot be too frustrated. People know me as a writer, even if it’s just ironically. Plus, it is what I do four hours a day (give or take).

I actually have my next work written and I have done my part of editing, mostly. It is sitting just over 200 pages and just under 40,000 words. I am incredibly proud of it!

What about anewsinPublishing? That’s still a thing!

My last work was one of my strongest, writing wise. Unfortunately, few read it. I have around 24 reads in total. I know that it’s only been a week or two, but I am mildly discouraged. It was a genre change, and I have only had two people give any sort of insight. I really cannot bitch about the few reads to much: it actually had more reads than my last few releases.

Want to raise my ego a bit? Share the anewsinPublications page with your friends! Everything is listed there.

Oh, I’m not to hold stories ransom, but I have the next part of Epic mostly written. I am trying to figure out if I should just get it out. Lack of interest and my Patreon sitting just under $100 for the last year is making it hard to keep momentum up. So, I beg you: please help me hit that mark. I am just off $11 a month. I have over 130 followers on here, and at least 70 visitors a week…

Anyway, enough me begging for food. I would like someone to scan my next work. Leave a comment, or get a hold of me on social media, and I will consider giving you a copy to read.

Meet The Editor

A little while ago, you may remember that I hired Luka to do editing on some of the ansP stuff (starting here). What you may not know is that I have known Luka for over 15 years and consider her to be my best friend.

She is one of the only people that I trust implicitly and one of the few that actually challenges me on pretty well everything. Before I met her, I thought my grammar was okay, my HTML skills were adequate, and my music knowledge was rarely tasked. Luka fucked it all up by being far better than I in every regard.

She also owns Hellhound Fashion, works under Therianthropic & Co. and has always made fantastic costumes, jewelry, and trinkets.

Her dog, Maila, is beautiful and loving. I miss hanging out with that beast very much.

Anyway, that’s all I’m going to write about Luka. Cannot do too much before I start diving down a rabbit hole of stories. Trust me: NONE OF US WANT THAT. We have over 15 years of bullshit I can dig up.

OH! I should mention that I pay Luka on a gradient based on Patreon donations. 10% on what I receive every month goes towards paying her rent and making sure her dog is fed. I would love to do more, but I have similar pressures that I need to maintain. Plus, she said she would yell at me if I dared to do more.

i’m changing

Fuck the every Sunday bull that I have been adhering to for just shy of five years. I have many things that I want to say. I write them down, then put them through an editing hell before I decide to not release them because they have become a shell of what they were. They no longer have the teeth or impact of what they did.

On that note: I am boring. I really don’t think I would have enough for two or three updates a week. Some weeks, I go days without anything of note to write down. That, coupled with my Patreon slowly dwindling (which makes it hard to argue when people question why I write) and I find myself either writing entirely too much, or nothing at all.

I’m not demanding money, but I was SO FUCKING CLOSE to $100 a month. I think I topped out at $97? $98?

I am well aware that I was almost at $200 for three months, but that was due to a temporary donation spike that I knew was going away. It feels cheap to use that as a benchmark when I knew that someone was going to give way too much until they couldn’t afford it because they knew their job couldn’t support it.

Anyway, would everyone be okay if i just went to random and abundant updates? It means that I am less likely to take a break, more likely to have actually good content, and I can take care of what presses me when I need to.

Example of that last one: I am an idiot and have two new books on the way. I have NO CLUE when they will even mildly be presentable, I just thought I’d share that factoid.

SEE? I am just going to launch this post up when I am done writing it, and the next one will be on Sunday, as usual. ansP will still come out on the first of every-other month, but blog posts will be sporadic and, hopefully, better. There is a goo d chance there will be more because I like to have traffic!

i’m okay.

Regardless of what that title states, things are far from fantastic. I’m broke, I cannot afford my medication, and my latest book is taking a very long time. So, I’m asking for patience. I need to take a few weeks off so I can focus on other stuff around the homestead. There is an ansP coming on the first of October (Patreon backers already have it), and there is another one lined up for November. In the meantime, I beg that you consider donating to my Patreon. I am so damn close to being at 100 a month. I am eternally grateful to those who have donated so far, especially to Johnny, who has been donating since near the beginning. I write for me first, and for everyone else as a close second. I love doing this, but I need to take care of my mental health right now. I do not have a confirmed return date, but I will make sure to let everyone know when I do. Follow this site, if you are a WordPress user. Find me on FaceBook, if you are into that. Stalk me on Twitter, where I do updates at least once a day.

The Above {ANEWSIN VOL. 8 — Jason Garden}

//Edited by Luka Riot

“Why must we do this?”

A skinny girl stands smoking a cigarette in the midst of a collection of carnage. Machines pick through the gore, collecting as many valuables as they could.

A man steps forward. “You know that this is how we make our living. We need any sort of identification to prove we killed the right group. Now, hurry your smoke, Skylar. We gotta go.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” Skylar proclaims under her breath.

Several corpses litter the street around her. The smell of decay fills the air. Skylar takes one more deep drag of her cigarette and lets the smoke slowly leave her mouth. The cloud just hovered around her lips as there was no wind to replace the air.

The smell was putrid: flesh and steel flood the ground where the two stand, and it is not shielded by the elements. The area is bathed in the sun, and the temperature is sitting at a balmy 40 Celsius. Carnage as far as the eye could see.

Their job was simple. They just had to collect any valuables they could find. May that be rare metals, jewelry, or small electronics. Cellphones are the best find, as they contain a trace of gold. It wasn’t much, but it could be just enough to make the week affordable.

“I need a fuckin’ shower.” Skylar proclaims as she flicks the smouldering end of her cigarette off to the side, narrowly avoiding a machine picking over remnants of a cadaver. “Hopefully, the smell of the soap will clean the stench from my mind.”

Steve laughs. “How poetic of you! Soap. D’ya think we can afford soap? I dunno ‘bout you, but I can barely afford the water for a shower.”

Just then, an explosion behind a wall shakes the ground.

“Do you think they know we’re here? That sounded a bit too chaotic to just be construction.” Skylar asks, her expression showing mild fear.

This was the life they half chose to lead. The masses were forced underground decades ago, and a handful of people were chosen to be scavengers, looking through rubble. The corporations still feud over bits of what remains on the mainland, trying to get their hands on materials to manufacture things to sell to people so they can remain dependent on the corporations, so the corporations can exploit the masses and rape the lands they once inhabited. 

“The bombs sound close. Too close. We need to bail.” Steve is now right behind Skylar as he calmly exclaims this.

Skylar lets out a slight chuckle as her face softens. “You read my mind.” She pulls out a pad from her bra and pushes a button on the face of the device.

A small flying ship comes to their location. It has only two seats, and the full span of the wings is only five meters. The two get on and it leaps into the air. It doesn’t generate much air, yet moves with great power and speed. Skylar gets behind the steering wheel and Steve, in the passenger seat, keeps his eyes out towards the horizon.

“Did you collect anything?” Steve asks his comrade. “Your pack looks rather empty.”

“Sight can be an illusion. Size means little in this game, you know that.” Skylar takes her right arm and tosses a small satchel towards Steve. Inside is two rings and a cell phone. “We’re set for a bit, anyway. What did you find?”

“Some small stuff, but nothing this classy!” Steve’s tone is quite jovial. “We’re set for almost a month, even if we get half market value for this stuff!”

Steve puts the salvage into a bucket under the seat he is in. It clangs against a few other things that the two got from a previous venture. By Steve’s observation, they have the bucket half full.

The two of them soar through the air for a bit, keeping their elevation roughly a kilometer above the ground. They only remain at that height for a couple of minutes before Skylar suddenly drops altitude.

“I fucking hate this part.”

They enter a small cave, barely enough for their vessel to get through. It is far from well maintained. They ride the small entrance tunnel for at least an hour.

“Are the walls closing in around me, or am I just loosing it?” Skylar asks.

“You know you’re fine. You’ve done this a million times” Steve replies, sounding exhausted.

Patreon helps me pay bills, feed Luka’s dog and keep everything running.

Alone. {ANEWSIN VOL. 7 — Jason Garden}

//Edited by Luka Riot

Another day, all alone.

He looks out the window as the sun slowly peeks over the horizon. No one is anywhere near him, and no one has been for a very long time. He is alone.

He has been alone for what feels like months.

There are two kinds of people. The decent people in the cities, and those who are in solitary and are forced to live that way because of how they have been in the past. They have been rude or violent. Even just inappropriate thoughts are enough to hide someone away from the rest of society. Those in cities are surrounded by others like them. It is all sorted by an algorithm, and the results are just accepted. Why wouldn’t they be?

He pours his coffee and prepares to eat his first meal of the day, like he always does. The windows are without blinds. The walls of civilization are kilometres away from his residence, so it is fair to think that no one would be looking in. So, imagine his shock when he looked outside to realize that there is a new house that he has never seen.

At least he was wearing pants today.

Not too far away sits a small, red brick, single floor, rather shabby looking house. He cannot make out if anyone is there right now, but it is close enough to hinder his view of the sun rising over the chicken wire of the city.

The house is situated perfectly as so trees do not block the view.

Whoever the owner is, they saw it fit to get window dressings. Probably to block the sun. Or the wind as most of the windows seem to have holes in the glass due to rocks being projected through them.

He puts on a thin top. He has a quick shower, then figures that it would be in his best interest to say hello.

Once he is ready, he makes the venture out to the new arrival. His stride did not hide the frustration and mild curiosity he felt. The distance is far from great, but it still takes him the better part of an hour.

The wall still stands a great pillar of truth and testament to everything he gave up for the solitude he was given. The cinder blocks remind him that he is guarded from all that it contains.

A batted young girl meets him part way to the house.

“Hello, there!” She yells. Her voice cuts sharply above the noise of silence that steeps the land. “Where the fuck am I?”

He laughs. “Nowhere and everywhere. I’ve been here forever, and you probably will be, as well.” Being lost is standard.

He now knows that there is no danger, he turns to head back towards his sanctuary. The dirt of the ground spins with his heel. That is to be the only mark left between the two houses, he thinks. He doesn’t want friends. He doesn’t want to be bothered. He just wants to open a beer and read things on the screen. All of his needs are taken care of in this place, and he has just enough entertainment to ignore just how incredibly crushing the isolation is.

“Where are you going?” The girl screams after him. “I have questions!”

“I don’t care. You’ll understand soon enough.” He replies, looking over his shoulder just long enough to make sure the girl heard him. He hoped that his body language would emphasize just how sure he was in his answer.

“Can I come over, then? I have things that I need answers!.” She continues to plead with him as he ventures further and farther away. “Please?”

He ignores her pleads. She’ll figure things out or disappear in a week. He thinks to himself. He has been in this area long enough to know how the process goes.

He gets back to his front door when he notices that he is not alone. The girl followed him. Her eyes are full of tears and her hair is full of blood. She is skinny and frail. This is the closest he has been to another being in a very long time.

“At least let me use your water. My place hasn’t been connected to the system as of yet, and I am a fucking wreck. This blood? Not sure where it came from. This place? I don’t remember how I got here.” Her voice strains in her frantic attempt to get everything said. She clearly was in shock.

She extended a hand. “Please.” She murmured between sobs. “I don’t know where I am or why I am here.”

“Fine. Come this way.” He felt he had no choice but to at least pretend to show compassion. “Do you like coffee? I was about to make another pot.”

“Yes. And thank you.” She replied, smiling for the first time since she had seen him. “We don’t need to talk anymore. Unless you want to. God knows I can talk a lot. Especially if I was asked not to talk or I feel the other person doesn’t want me to. But seriously, just let me know if you want me to be quiet, I can do that. I can I can…”

He puts his face into his hand and lets out a massive sigh.

“Don’t make me regret this.” He barks in her direction, then continues his stroll towards his residence. His direction lead right to the path me made lined with old broken brick that he found in his journeys around the land. He was proud of it.

“Bree.”

The girl exclaimed what he assumed was her name rather unceremoniously.

“It was awkward to me that we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Bree. No one cares what it’s short for. Least of all me.” Bree then started to follow. “What are you called?”

“Keven.” he says with a tone of confusion. He never thought that he would be in a position again where he needed to introduce himself. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped ruining everything.”

A miasma of awkward tension levitated above the two for a moment. Keven never stopped walking, but Bree stumbled for a moment.

“Why do you hate me?” Bree asked. Her voice was audibly choked up.

“I don’t. I just haven’t seen other people in a very long time” Kevin replied without looking to see Bree’s face. He had a feeling that her eyes would break his rugged disposition.

Bree started to raise her voice “But what about–“

“–I could have left you at the hovel you called home for-who-knows-how-long. I could have waited for you to give up then raided you for everything you have. Be happy I was in a good mood today.” Keven made sure his words were deliberate in their dictation. He wanted her to stop. He wanted her to realize that they were alone. They will always be alone. That things will go his way or she will be left behind.

If Keven had bothered to look over, he would have noticed that Bree had stopped in her tracks.

“Where is someone else to talk to?” Her voice quivers as she forces the words.

“There is no one else.” Keven screamed. “Why do I have to keep telling you this? We’re alone. We will be left alone for a long time.”

Bree fell to the ground and started shaking.

“Get up. There is no point in crying.” Keven’s demeanour started to soften. He felt bad for the girl. Yes, this place was his dream. That’s just it, though. It is his dream, and his alone. If he was left to his devices for the remainder of time, he would be okay with that. He was well aware that he was one of a few who would enjoy that.

Bree looked up. She wasn’t crying, but she was in the throws of diabolical laughter.

“So, why do you hate me?” Bree asked slowly between uncontrolled breathing. “Why do you have this urge to be nice yet still chastise me?” Her voice became louder as she regained control. “What made you think I needed to be saved?” Her voice was slowly increasing in volume.

“How is your day, now?” She almost shouted as she lunged. Keven did not see her pick up a shard of glass, but he did feel it enter his neck.

“You sad, pathetic, fool.” Bree chortled as Keven’s blood mixed with his sad attempts at breathing. She had pierced his wind pipe. He knew he was going to die.

Keven brought his hands to his neck trying to stop the bleeding. Sounds of Bree cackling in the distance as she continued up the path towards his sactuary.

She gave no reason. Keven’s dying thoughts was him trying to figure out if she had actually only been in the wastes a few days, or if she had done this before. Bree’s lack of confirmation of the kill was enough for him to consider this is far from her first time doing this.

Keven’s last thought was simply Why? He felt his body growing colder with every passing moment. Even his blood was getting colder.