Cue Love Songs

Well, from here on forth, I’m yours...



It's taken years (over a decade since we met), but finally, six months after she broke up with her boyfriend and I started seeing her far more often, Judith (my real-life "Emily Ellison") has given in to my magical, wondrous charm...

Today is a good day. I see her this Saturday. It shall be lovely.

(My apologies for this becoming a bit of a personal blog as of late. I'll throw up some more creative writing projects tomorrow and after Sat)

And even if your whisper eats my ear
Your voice shall be the only song I long to hear...

InfoDump: DiD: The Novel

I've had time to settle down a bit since yesterday. Done telling every damn person I've ever met, going to get celebratory food with the roommate, calling my parents, letting my creative writing teacher know, etc., and really thought about what is going down. I figure I'd go ahead and answer a couple of the questions that had been brought up before, here. Just so they're public for everyone to see and I can dodge them.

Q. So, this is actually happening? You've really got a book deal?

Not yet. The publisher basically said they're interested in an adaptation. Dreams In Darkness, as it is, isn't something that can just be straight dropped into paper and sold. They want a summary, they want changes to make it viable in the new medium, and they want a few chapters to see if I can write in a more typical style. If they like what they see, I get a deal, a contract, an advance, and a lot of work tossed onto my plate.

Q. What publishing company, and how did you get in touch with them?

I'd rather not give out the company right now, just because I'm not officially signed on yet and all that. They're a smaller one, focusing on the horror niche and willing to take some risks.

I contacted them. I'd been trying to find someone interested in a "traditional" novel I'd been working on (Werewolf steampunk. No, I'm not kidding), and was using DiD as something to point at to show my writing style, my ability to weave a plot, that I can establish an audience, etc. They decided they liked DiD more.

Q. What are you doing about Slender Man, and the references to all the other blogs?

The other blogs have to be cut out. I'm planning on making sly references to people who'd gone through the same thing before, but I obviously can't drop Seeking Truth and The Tutorial into the middle of the story.

Slender Man is more complicated. The publishers are looking into what would happen with copyright and such. For now, they want a name change and nothing more. Excilis Everto, anyone? There's a chance I'll have to totally reimagine the character, though, if the copyright issue is too thick. Hopefully that doesn't happen.

Q. So what about that ending?

Yes, DiD: The Novel will have an alternate ending compared to the blog. In fact, technically, it'll be one of the original endings from when I very first conceived of the blog and had "multiple" choices because I was going to go more ARG and have commenters steer Damien's fate. Eventually, the original DiD evolved into something else. This novel gives me the chance to do some things the blog didn't/couldn't.

Q. When does it come out?

Probably about a year or two after I officially get the book deal. This is my first time writing a full novel, so it'll be rough. However, I have the story already charted, so I don't have to do that. It comes down to how long it takes me to physically write it all down, and how long the editing process takes.

Q. Can I get a copy?

Yes and no. The publisher actually wants to release it as an e-book first, just to test the waters. The market for DiD is online, so they want to see how it does online before sending it to print. However, if it hits bookshelves, I'm more than willing to sign some copies and get them to friends.

Q. What does this mean for DiD: The Blog? Will it stay up, or get pulled down to force readers to buy the book?

This is something that the publisher and I haven't discussed yet. I'm definitely planning on pushing to keep the blog available for free. I see it as advertising. DiD: The Novel will be a more "classical" story, it'll be taking alternate paths from the blog, and it'll have a different ending. There are a number of reasons for people to read both, so I want the original to remain up.


That's pretty much all I can think of for now. Pretty much all my other writing projects are on hold for the time being. Don't expect much in my corner of the blogosphere for awhile.

Oh my god... WIN. SO MUCH WIN

I just heard back from one of the publishers I'm looking into! They're interested in looking at publishing an adapted version of Dreams in Darkness as a novel. The potential advance is... it's absolutely stellar. They want me to write up a summary of how I'd expand the story to fill a full novel, and then they also want a chapter or two before they officially pull the trigger.

I've never been this freaking excited before in my life! I'm not only doing what I love, but I'm potentially bringing Slender Man to a wider audience. And I'm making money doing it. Holy shit. It's just... too much for me to take in right now. Just way too much.

An Empty Grave

Life is easy when everyone else is a ghost. You make your way through crowds as if you’re slipping through a graveyard. You don’t particularly care about what someone else thinks about your appearance or how you act, because, in the end, their opinion doesn’t matter. You just make your way through life, taking care of what needs to be done while the rest of humanity goes about their “work”.

You’re all ghosts. I don’t remember the last time I really saw another person living. Everyone seems trapped in their clockwork lives, moving to the beat of someone else’s drum. We’ve turned our society into one of nameless faces, where we’re all the same homogenous sludge to be ignored and trod over in an attempt to turn ourselves into something more. All these people, wrapped up inside this culture, incapable of seeing the potential for uniqueness, for art, for advancement in themselves and others.

I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve decided to pick up the slack, to express myself and be sociable for all the others who allow themselves to become just another one in the crowd. It always amuses me to watch the way the face of the cashier, the waitress, the doctor glows when I show genuine interest in holding a conversation with them. We forget workers are people too. It amuses me even more when I get looked at strangely for the way I dress, the way I present myself - the way I stand out from the crowd as something more than a ghost: a human. I’m something real, something unique. I am a light shining in the evergrowing darkness.

All of this is enough to make even me a little depressed. But sometimes, some days, I'll find a ghost and I can see the burning desire inside to become human. All these ghosts need is a gentle push, and something to fan the flames.

"Well, aren't you just all lost in thought? Care to share?"

Walking Through Graveyards

Life is easy when you’re a ghost. You can slip through crowds, unseen, as they part before you like you’re one of God’s chosen. You don’t have to worry about things like appearance or being sociable, because no one ever notices you. You just make your way through life, taking care of what needs to be done while the rest of humanity goes about their work.

I’m a ghost. I don’t remember the last time someone really saw me. Of course, people acknowledge my existence - a curt nod, a small smile – but no one seems to truly see me. I’m just another nameless face, passing them by as they go off to do whatever it is they do. I understand. All these people, wrapped up inside themselves, just don’t have time for another person to remember, another name to commit to memory, another relationship to foster.

I’ve gotten used to it. All my interactions are only those that other deem necessary, almost always involving business: the cashier ringing up my food, the waitress taking my order, the doctor doing a checkup. Still, even these are slowly being taken away from me. I use a self-service lane at the store. I order at the drive thru by yelling at an intercom. I diagnose myself online, can’t afford a checkup. I can feel myself becoming more and more unreal and indiscernible; I’m turning into little more than a shadow hidden in a larger darkness.

“Well, aren’t you just all lost in thought? Care to share.”

The voice shatters my inner monologue, and forces me up to the surface. I glance up from my task of deciding what butter to buy, looking at her, my eyes meeting her own. I see genuine curiosity in them. I smile, really smile, for the first time in months. This woman has seen me. I think I can feel myself becoming real again…

The Ministry of Lost Souls

 A former "longest story I've ever written and finished" that is now outdone by a little project that has gained a fair amount of attention on the Internet. Could probably use revision, but whatever. Sappy sap sap. (Inspired by Dream Theater's "The Ministry of Lost Souls")

Stepping out from the woods and into the pale moonlight, she found herself looking out upon the rushing water that had caused so much change, pain, and agony in her life. Flowing across smooth stones and around fallen trees, it seemed so inviting to those it hadn't hurt, like an old friend reaching out a soft hand. She knew better. She knew that the river was a vile deceiver, that it was deep, the shallow banks quickly plunged into a deep darkness.

The current in that bend of the river was so strong that it had become legendary. Stories were passed down from generation to generation of how a jealous ruffian had plotted to kidnap a Lady from a royal convoy as it went by the calm water. His plan was to hide in the river and, when the convoy went by, sneak out and jump onboard from behind. Fortunately, the One looked down upon the criminal, making the river's waves reveal him to the guards as they rode by. The man was killed by a flurry of arrows from those knights. Falling into the water, he had sworn to snatch away anyone who entered his watery grave. Ever since, few dared to try and swim in that portion of the river and those who did often returned with stories of how they swore the current truly was attempting to force them to join it.

She didn't believe in the old stories. They were meant to scare children, to keep them out of the water while their parents weren't around so they'd remain safe. She knew that the river was simply a river, the current merely a current. There was nothing supernatural about this bend in the rushing waters, just a natural change in how strong it was.

Mary's Lamb

WHY CAN’T I SEE YOU MOTHER

Those words, quiet as a summer breeze yet loud as a hurricane. She crouched under her table, hands clutching her rosary. Muttering prayers under her breath, Mary shook like a leaf in a storm, holding tight to the branch in a vain attempt from being blown away.

MOTHER I CANNOT SEE YOU COME OUT TO ME SO WE CAN PLAY

That large shadow passed the dining room window, interrupting Mary’s prayers and forcing her prone on the floor for fear of being seen. The form paused. It slowly dropped what could only be described as its head down to the window.

Scrambling from beneath the table, the elderly woman crawled into her living room just as the beast’s eye pressed itself to the glass. That eye, glowing like a brilliant star, filled her dining room with light. She knew there were no shadows left inside, nowhere to hide. Another near miss.

WHERE ARE YOU MOTHER I FINALLY HAVE EYES TO SEE YOU WITH WHY WILL YOU NOT JOIN ME

Mary hurried up the nearby stairs, glancing back to see her living room glowing with unnatural light. She whimpered, listening to the noises of the beast moving outside her home. She’d never meant for this to happen. She’d never meant… the window! Mary moved as fast as her frail frame could take her, shaking hand reaching for the cord to the blinds.

She was blinded.

I SEE YOU MOTHER

Chimes

The chimes ring outside my windows. They haven’t stopped in days. Not since He arrived. He’s been lurking for the past week. I’d seen Him in the park, and I hardly even noticed him. Then I saw Him at the book store. I thought that was nothing more than an eerie coincidence. When I went for my nightly jog and He stood beneath the street light on the corner, I ran home in terror. He’s been outside ever since. He’s always outside. He never stops staring. It’s been a week since I stepped outside. I’m running out of food. I’m running out of time. And the damned ringing of the chimes is only getting louder.

Yes, yes, I said know SLONDERNOMS stuff on this site but... I couldn't help it. And who says it's Slendy anyways? It's just a capitalized, stalking He. Turned this in for my creative writing class as a piece of flash fiction. Got the inspiration from this song (a version without shit quality, anyways...).

A Love Poem From The Arsonist...

A villanelle I tossed together for my creative writing class tomorrow while in my computer class. Realized after I wrote it that it fits TheArsonist perfectly... Excuse the awfulness. Poetry isn't my first language.

I am that which you always miss,

Pulling you down into the depths.

Nothing can save you from my kiss.

You try to run, you try to hide

You cry. You scream. You fail to see,

I am that which you always miss.

 When you're alone and in the dark,

I am the whisper in your heart.

Nothing can save you from my kiss.

I tell you things you hate to hear.

I sow temptation in your mind.

I am that which you always miss.

You squirm at thoughts that are your own.

You cannot stand that I'm your soul.

Nothing can save you from my kiss.

I am desire for all black things.

You can't escape your deepest self.

I am that which you always miss.

Nothing can save you from my kiss.

Black Sheep

Black sheep
Go to sleep
Make your peace
Before you cease
Nothing ventured
Nothing lost
Apathetic
As a sloth

Unexpected Dead

I'm actually pretty sure I wrote this before I ever discovered Marble Hornets, Slender Man, The Rake, SCP, or any other creepypasta. Funny, since it fits that sort of tone. Cameo in future Slenderverse work?

He comes and feasts upon the corpses of the unexpected dead. Those eerie fingers, tips lacking nails, always moving, probing the very air. That terrible face, malformed, but desperately grasping at some shred of humanity. He creeps, her smell choking the very air around her, stalking the not-yet-dead like a vulture circling future carrion. Night after night, day in and day out, he stalks her prey until, finally, Death takes them. And she pounces upon the fresh meat, his strong fingers ripping chunks of flesh free, shoveling it into that gaping hole where her stomach should be. Finally, the body completely consumed,leaving not a trace of the once living, he wanders off to stalk Death's next victim.

Error: Microphone Not Found

“Salem! Not now!” Harvey said, shoving his cat away from his laptop. Salem always had a way of picking the best times to jump into his owner’s lap, lie down, and start to purr. Scorned, he walked over to the corner of the room and settled into his bed.

Harvey frowned. He couldn’t understand why his computer chose today, of all days, to not recognize his headset. The semifinals of the Counterstrike clan wars he was taking part in were in just a few hours. Without his microphone, Harvey wouldn’t be able to communicate with his team and that was a liability they simply couldn’t afford.

“Work you fucking thing!” The boy shouted, slapping his computer in a vain attempt to make it connect with his failing hardware. Still refusing to connect the headset, Harvey’s laptop sat there, mocking him. He could only shake his head and sigh in frustration before finally closing out his open programs and restarting his computer, hoping this would be the solution he needed.

When the machine finally finished rebooting, Harvey let out a whoop of joy. His computer finally recognized his microphone. Just to make sure everything was in working order, he loaded up Audacity and hit record.

Harvey sat for a moment, trying to think of something simple to say… “We are so beating The Philosiraptors tonight and heading to the finals. GO MISKATONIC U!”  He hit stop, and played back the message.

A burst of ear-raping static slapped his ears, much louder than anything his computer had ever played before. Harvey tossed off his headset, grimacing in pain. Even from across his bedroom, he could hear the static as if it was still on his head. He jammed his finger into his laptop’s mute button, and breathed a sigh of relief when silence filled his room.

After stopping the playback and deleting it, Harvey picked back up his headset and put it back on. After making sure his volume was set properly. He recorded another short message and played it. This time, there was no static. Instead, his voice was skippy and distorted, alternating between very high and low.

Groaning in frustration, he reset his mic and recorded again. This time, the recording came back clean. Harvey cried out in victory. Finally! Tonight The Philosiraptors would fall.

***

Harvey couldn’t understand it. Everything had gone so well in the match until the very end. His teammates were blaming him for the mistakes. Over his mic, talking over every other member, was a voice saying only one thing, over and over again.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”