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Cynus

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  1. Cynus
    There was a time I didn’t live in fear of creating. A time when, after I had finally managed to regain my childhood wonder for the art of art itself, I no longer felt the need to hide the ideas in my head. I wrote novels, I wrote short stories, I wrote… darkness and light.
    And I shared those stories with the world, or at least my own little corner of it. I loved being able to put those stories out there and have people read them, respond, tell me what they thought, whether they liked it or not. I loved interacting with the world.
    For probably the first time in my life, I felt like I mattered.
    And then he showed up.
    I didn’t really understand what was happening at first. In a way, that makes sense. Some of my life experiences were geared towards me freezing up when an older man turned his attention towards me and offered me affection. I was conditioned to give in to that attention, to crave it. I hated myself for it, but it didn’t seem to matter. An older man told me I was special, and those were words that had been used forever to steal away parts of my soul.
    I haven’t written in three years now. Oh, I’ve plugged away here and there. I’ve started a few times. I’ve written a couple of very bad short stories, much too short and far too little story… but whenever I try to commit to something bigger, I now freeze up. I imagine getting to the point that I put that story out there and someone, some other, old man looking to tell me I’m special, will show up and once again refuse to stop showing me attention.
    No means no.
    I shouldn’t have to tell an adult this, yet they seem to be the ones who can’t remember.
    No means no, and some people don’t listen.
    I think he started stalking me in 2014. Thankfully he never knew my physical location, but in every corner of the internet that I traveled to, he’d somehow find me. It just seemed like he was a dedicated fan of my work at first. He liked what I wrote, he related to the characters and to the themes… all normal things. I appreciated my fans and I tried to be friends with them, and so when he seemed friendly and non-threatening, I invited him into my life too.
    But then things started getting weird. He started telling me that he loved me. Not my work, but me. This guy in his 70s just couldn’t leave that thought alone. He had to tell me, to pine over me and make sure I knew. He told me he knew me from a previous life, and, since I believed in reincarnation at the time, he was able to make that convincing. I bought into some of his story, because I… once, long ago, as a child, had a different older man tell me similar lies.
    And I’ve always been conditioned to believe those stories. I’ve always wanted to believe that I was special, and meant for more than the pain of my every day life. Someone had robbed me of the ability to believe that I was worth anything on my own. Someone had robbed me of the ability to see myself as worth anything to anyone, unless they implicitly told me.
    Those who sense that vulnerability are very good at exploiting it. Those who abuse can see those who have already been abused, and open those cracks wide enough to get inside. The man who stalked me was one of those. He saw the hidden, scared child who had suffered intense abuse by the hands of others and saw a way to use me for himself.
    So he widened the cracks in me, and he made himself at home. He piled praise on me, so that he could try to get inside my heart, to steal what was left of my childhood soul.
    I finally figured it out, about four years ago. I had finished writing just one more story about pain and darkness. I had figured out what life meant to me, and what I wanted to live for, and he was there… he was there telling me those same sickening honeyed lies. Still professing his love to me, a love I’d rejected countless times before. He was still there telling me that he wanted me, that I was meant to be with him. I had warned him that if he crossed the line again, I would never speak to him again, and I would cut him off from everything.
    He didn’t listen. I cut him out immediately.
    But the fear remained. The power he had over me remained in some insidious way.
    I tried to write another novel. It’s the worst one I ever wrote, and that’s counting that atrocity against the English language and all known rules for plotting that is my first novel… It was a story about two men falling in love in a warped and nightmarish reality. It’s literally horrific, and full of abuse. I couldn’t stomach it.
    But I wrote it, and then left it in disgust.
    Because I know that it’s about him. It’s about all of them. It’s about every single older male who ever tried to groom, seduce, molest, and rape me. The fact that I can’t even count them on my fingers says something to the life I’ve lived. Those nightmares plague me still.
    How am I supposed to tell stories to the world, when people like that exist? When a stalker could be hiding behind every keyboard? How can I keep sharing my soul, when some will latch onto it like a parasite because they no longer have their own?
    I hope that I’ve healed enough that it no longer matters. I hope that the work I’ve done through therapy and a great deal of introspection has repaired those cracks enough that no one like that will ever find a way in again. I hope… but I still fear.
    I’m going to try to write again, but know this to anyone who reads this.
    If you ever attempt to manipulate me into trusting you so that I give you a piece of me I’ve told you that you cannot have, I will cut you out immediately. I will curse you with every curse I know. I will condemn you to every hell in the ears of all who know me. I will ensure that the world knows you for the monster you are.
    Wherever you are, Don, Peter, Ehrhart, and all the others who dared to try to break me to your will, where once you may have succeeded, you have ultimately failed. I have escaped your delusions, your crawlspaces, and your basements. And I will never back down from tearing the likes of you from the fabric of this reality.
    Going forward, there will be new rules with regards to patronhood. Those of you who are already here and already friends with me, you are the last ones I will allow in in that capacity. Anyone new will just have to accept that I am polite to my readers, but not friendly. Anyone new will just have to accept that the relationship between writer and reader ends at the last words on the page, or the last comment left on the chapter.
    I will not be taking any readers into my life again. I’ll carry them generally in my heart, but there must be a line drawn and it is being drawn now.
    Again, if we’re already friends, this doesn’t apply to you. Consider yourself already vetted. You’ve made the cut.
    But this boundary is necessary for me to go forward, to write again, to share again. I need that to be clear. Stalkers and manipulators are not welcome here. If any of you see any behavior of that sort, please let me know so it can be dealt with. Again, if you’re here, I trust you already. Let’s make this world better together.
    Much love to those who’ve stayed without demanding my love in return, despite my long hiatus. Your support means the world to me.
    ~H. S. Icarus (The writer formerly known as Cynus)
  2. Cynus

    About the Authors

    By Cynus,


    Mental Health
    It's not you, it's me, or more accurately, it's us.
    At thirty-three, swiftly approaching thirty-four, I didn't think I'd be coming out about another thing ever again. There are some parts of my identity which have been kept very carefully from public view for the bulk of my life, and I had honestly grown so used to the idea of not addressing them that the thought of doing so had stopped crossing my mind years ago.
    Nevertheless, it seems my soul has other things in mind.
    We have DID.
    As this is a public post, We will assume that there will be many who are unfamiliar with the acronym, and many still don't know what it means beyond knowing what it stands for. If you are familiar with it, you may skip the next few paragraphs if you wish.
    DID stands for 'Dissociative Identity Disorder', formerly known by the misnomer 'Multiple Personality Disorder'. It is a disorder brought on by extreme trauma experienced by people (nearly always children) who are capable of entering highly dissociative states. While all people are capable of dissociating to some degree, several conditions such as ADHD, ASD, BPD, and others, create a heightened disposition towards dissociation, making them more susceptible to developing DID during intensely traumatic experiences.
    During those traumatic experiences, the dissociation triggers as a form of emotional survival. In order to endure what is happening, the mind retreats from the experience of the body. Sometimes, when a person experiences this, the mind creatively invents an identity that it believes is capable of responding to that trauma, or storing it as a locked memory. This is how different identities (known as "alters") form within DID, and is also the reason why many who develop the disorder often have severe issues with memory and depersonalization. The symptoms can range in severity, and no two cases are the same, merely similar in function.
    In the case of the authors of this post, We were born with ADHD and ASD, and began experiencing extreme trauma around the age of seven. That severe trauma persisted well into our teenage years, with several significant events triggering along the way. If you have read our autobiographical piece, you know some of what occurred, but not all. In truth, We are not even certain if We have uncovered it all yet.
    That uncertainty is what led us to be open about this in the first place.
    The past year has been an interesting journey. Increased isolation brought on by the coronavirus pandemic put many of us into deep periods of self-reflection. In our case, there were personal issues which had created problems for us, and had forced us to acknowledge that We had much to work on. We were lost on our path in life, having felt disconnected from our passions such as writing and cooking—among many others—and the many disparate voices within us had caused issues for people We cared about.
    Becoming medicated for ADHD was a great place to start our recovery, but it wasn't until We began far more intensive therapies that We started sorting ourself out. We went faster than We should have, and often came out the other side of therapy wondering if the intense pain of working through traumatic memories and the destructive behaviors which had arisen from them was truly worth it. In the end, it absolutely was, for through the other side of that process We now feel cohesive, cooperative, have regained our understanding of empathy, and have overcome the depression that plagued us for twenty-five years. We do not know if such things will stay, but We are optimistic, for We now work as a system to address the problems We face in life.
    Throughout the course of this post, We have used first person plural pronouns, and We are making a conscious effort to make that our default. When We speak, We tend to speak as a blend of several of our alters at once. While only one speaks with the voice, others are immediately present, and We often shift fluidly. As such, We think of ourself in the singular as a system, but in the plural as those living within it. We understand this can be jarring for many people, and, if in personal interactions, you would prefer that We do not refer to ourself in this manner, We are willing to make that concession for the time being. In a similar yet different vein, our preferred pronouns are they/them (plural), although We accept any other pronouns as well. In our headspace, there are men, there are women, there are non-binary folks, there are some whose description would probably be worthy of a separate post entirely. Do not stress yourself to remember this part of us.
    Part of how We arrived at this new cohesiveness of functioning multiplicity, was through the help and guidance of other DID systems, who make it their mission to help others. It is because of their example that We feel compelled to do the same. We wish to bring awareness and understanding, and to help anyone who may be struggling in similar ways, whether with DID or otherwise.
    This year of working through things is also the primary reason why We have been unable to produce much in the way of artistic expression. It is difficult to do such a thing when one's emotions are erratic, and most of the time that's the only way to describe what We were feeling.
    Thank you for reading, and being part of our experience. We will be in touch, and We have much more to create and share with you all. Thank you for your patience with us.
     
    Survive and thrive,
     
    The Icarus System
  3. Cynus
    It's here, it's finally here!

    "Rivers of the Dead" looks amazing with its brand new cover and renovation to this new-fangled age of digital media. That's right, it's available as both a paperback and as an ebook, and here's four reasons why you should consider buying it:
     
     
    1)    It's a story about love, about sacrifice and overcoming grief—it'll pull on your heart over and over again as you journey with Caleb as he journeys to The Underworld to reclaim his friend's soul.
    2)    The mythological perspective is fresh, even if it returns us to the classic Greek myth of Orpheus. He may be ancient, but he's traded his lute for a guitar and a wickedly sarcastic attitude. You'll love him.
    3)    If you like my stories, you'll like this one, too. If you trust me to tell a good story, you'll definitely like this one.
    4)    If for no other reason, I'm taking the plunge in October and quitting my day job to become a full-time writer. Your support simply by purchasing this book will do more for me than you can possibly imagine.
     
     
    Whether you decide to pick up a copy or not, know that I appreciate you getting this far. I love being part of this community, and I appreciate all the support you've given me over the years.
     
     
    That being said, there's a link here I hope you'll check out:
     
     
    Ebook: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0742J15QF/ref=s9u_simh_gw_i1?ie=UTF8&fpl=fresh&pd_rd_i=B0742J15QF&pd_rd_r=7TC92AN6F77Y97R4E8G1&pd_rd_w=DRFPb&pd_rd_wg=BkBqf&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=&pf_rd_r=XBV8WT4VN04MG2K0HAEK&pf_rd_t=36701&pf_rd_p=781f4767-b4d4-466b-8c26-2639359664eb&pf_rd_i=desktop
     
    Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/Rivers-Dead-Samuel-D-Roe/dp/1521885354/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
  4. Cynus
    This was a message to my Patrons, which means there will be some information in here which will likely make no sense to you, but I wanted this to be known.

    This last weekend was hell. The only worse weekends I've ever had involved loved ones dying, just to give you a measure of perspective. Over the course of 48 hours, my already bad mood for the week (because the week was fairly shitty, too) went full depression.

    There's a lot going on, but I'm only going to tell you about the two things which are affecting me the most, because they also affect you, and make me question a lot of things.

    First, we'll set the stage a bit...

    On Friday night, I had to do inventory at work. This kept me there fairly late, though I was home before Midnight. I had volunteered to work the opening shift the next day, despite knowing I'd be there late on Friday, so having only a six hour window for sleep was on me. I normally can function well enough on 5 hours of sleep, so I wasn't too worried about it, but I hadn't accounted for insomnia and anxiety to keep me up well past 3:00 am... 
    So, I started Saturday on two hours of sleep, which has probably compounded this whole thing, but it is what it is...
    When I walked out to my car on Saturday morning, I found out it had been burglarized. This is hardly a new experience for me. I live in a bad area and my back doors don't lock. There's really not much I can do about it other than try to avoid leaving anything valuable in my car.

    Well, I had three copies of "From the Cup of the Worthless" in my car, and these were stolen from my trunk. Why they stole these and not the other books in my car I can only guess, since selling an unknown self-published book can't be easy for a thief, especially since it's difficult for me, the author, to do.
    And so I can only speculate, and that speculation doesn't take me anywhere good. What will they do to my books once they find out they can't sell them? Throw them away? Deface them in rage? Burn them out of spite?

    My art is in the possession of unsavory characters, and I think this is the closest I'll ever come to knowing what it feels like to have a child get kidnapped. I realize it's probably not even close, but my books are my children... and I feel devastated.
    That set the tone for Saturday, and I did not have a good day in any sense of the word. I finally slept again on Saturday night, but it was restless, and full of dreams I'd rather not dwell on.
    I tried to have a good day on Sunday. I tried to do a lot of things to take my mind off of everything, and then I finally laid down for a nap, but before I did, I decided to check my email.
    Which is when I found out that someone had stolen one of my stories and put it up on Wattpad, claiming to be the original author. Thankfully a reader noticed several of this individual's posted stories did not belong to him and he decided to investigate all of them. He wasn't familiar with my work, but he managed to track it down anyway.
    After investigating the matter and contacting WattPad, I was drained. I'd planned to work on chapter 6 of "The Pious Road to Perdition", but I couldn't find the energy.
    I couldn't find the energy this morning, either. In fact, I seem to have even less enthusiasm than I did yesterday. I am emotionally drained, which is cancer to art. I have never felt so violated in my life. I am more depressed than I have ever been, a feat I would have thought impossible before it happened.
    And I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know when or even IF I'll be able to write again, especially something as emotional as "The Pious Road to Perdition".

    And this sucks, and I realize it sucks for you, too, but I don't have any other answer for you. This is breaking me.
    That's all there is to say.
  5. Cynus
    Writing has been difficult for the past year and a half. It's not from a shortage of ideas. I'm drowning in ideas right now, and I think if I could sell ideas I'd never have to work again.

    But I haven't been able to write most of these ideas myself. It's been a struggle ever since I finished "From the Cup of the Worthless". At first I thought it was because I was depressed, or that I'd started to overextend my use of similar themes. I managed to pump out "Fearless" really quickly, and I hoped I was back on track, but then a dozen more false starts brought me back to nothing. I eventually started "Weightless", which turned out the be the most difficult story I'd ever written. I dedicated it to my long-used muse as a sort of going away present, vowing to stay away from gay teen high school romances from that point forward.

    I thought I had a clean slate, and with that I'd have the ability to make a fresh start with all the ideas floating around in my head.
     
    And then I didn't write another novel until March, despite another dozen false starts which seemed to indicate I had something to write. I was in a relationship at the time, a great, amazing, uplifting relationship, which is when I started to get it through my head that maybe I could only write from a place of negativity, that I could only write if I was unhappy.

    I cloistered myself, dropping everything but work and writing, and I wrote a 70,000 word novel (which I'm currently submitting to literary agents, which is why no one has seen it) in 9 days, the fastest I've ever written anything. I thought I'd figured out the cure, that if all I did was focus on something I could get it done.
     
    But here I am, three months later, and, you may have guessed, another dozen false starts in my data banks. And it's really starting to suck.

    Today I had a bit of a realization, brought on by a conversation with another artist friend. What if it's not the muse, like I assumed during "Weightless", but the message that I'm struggling with? I've always tried to communicate a certain theme. What if I feel I've already explored that theme in all the ways I can conceive of through writing so far?

    I think I'm on the right track. I think I know what I need to do. I need to figure out what it is I want to communicate through my art, and I think everything else will fall back into place.
     
    It's time for a little self-diplomacy.
  6. Cynus
    As an LGBT ex-Mormon, I couldn't help but feel immediately drawn to this documentary, Latter-Day Glory. You can learn more about it here: http://www.latterdayglorymovie.com/
     
    It's currently in post-production, and will hopefully be released sometime next year. Here's a brief synopsis:
     
    Jonathon Levi Powell, celebrity hair and makeup stylist, and Terry Blas, comic book artist and illustrator, both grew up in the Church of Latter Day Saints. While on a roadtrip journey of discovery, they’ll meet with former and current members of the LDS community including celebrities .

    Along the journey we’ll explore Terry’s life at home in Portland, OR with his partner Scott, and Jonathon’s life on the road living between New York City and Miami, with his partner Kai. We’ll interview Jonathon’s family, who have been extremely welcoming of his sexuality, and see his life growing up in Seattle. Jonathon will revisit, for the first time, the site of his mission trip in West Virginia and Terry will return to his site in The Bronx, NY. They’ll end the trip by catching a screening of “Book of Mormon” with a group of gay ex-Mormons discussing their futures and how it gets better. We’ll also go to the home of the LDS church in Salt Lake City, interviewing clergy and ex-gay Mormons while catching scenes from the gay nightlife in SLC. Both will look into the technicalities of having your name and records permanently removed from the church.

    With the current rise of suicides in the gay LDS community, we’ll address the issue through stories from survivors and families that have lost children, family members and friends to this devastating epidemic and try to find solutions and outreach to end the suffering through interviews with politicians, activists and experts in this subject matter.
    I was able to contact the Executive Producer, Brandon Deyette, and asked him how I could help with the project, since it's a matter close to my heart. He asked me to share the project and to also tell people about my own process of coming to learn that I was worthy of love despite what the church had told me.
     
    And so, I've come here to do just that.
     
    The truth is that I didn't love myself for a long time, and part of me still doesn't. Part of me still struggles with the feelings of complete unworthiness I embraced throughout my time as a Mormon. I have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world, the sweetest man I've ever known who treats me like I'm someone special. I don't know how much any of you are aware of our situation, so I'll act as if I'm telling the story for the first time. He's my favorite writer on the internet, the person who inspired me to get back into writing after nearly six years of avoiding it. He's a writer over at AwesomeDude and Codey's World, and some of you may be familiar with his work. He writes under the name "EleCivil", and if you haven't read his work, you should. I personally recommend Laika, We're going to come back to him in a little bit, but I want you to know where we're headed.
     
    Plus, I can't stop talking about him, so there's that, too.
     
    As a kid, the church pretty much consumed my life. Not by choice, mind you. In fact, I was rather resistant to the programming my family and community wanted to thrust upon me. I was always the kid who didn't do what he was supposed to do, who used his tithing money to buy ice cream on Sunday when I stayed home sick from church. But, that didn't stop my parents from trying their damndest to get me to conform. They were always preaching, always trying to convince me that I should behave as 'Heavenly Father would want me to behave'. It didn't stick, but the one thing that did stick was that if I didn't do as I was supposed to, I was sinning, and if I was sinning, I was bad.
     
    I was ten(a couple months shy of eleven) when I first really noticed I saw things a bit differently than my peers. I'd already found myself in a number of exploratory situations with some of my male friends by that point, but at that age I had a best friend who made me acknowledge a few things. I won't go into details for obvious reasons, what with this being a public place and all, but after some physical exploration we ended up in a ridiculous fight over him wanting to go further and me stopping him. Part of me stopped him because I knew I wasn't ready, but there was also that nagging thought at the back of my mind that what I was doing was wrong. I heard my parents saying something about how only men and women who were married were supposed to do the things he wanted to do with me, and so I resisted those advances.
     
    The argument was extremely brief, and he walked away from me in anger. I decided to go home and think about it, then planned to come back and talk it over with him later, but as soon as I made it home I was grounded. My parents wouldn't let me go anywhere or do anything for three weeks (I'd ditched scouts to hang out with my best friend and also didn't tell my sister where I was for over four hours). By the time I had a chance to talk to him, he either wouldn't or couldn't talk to me. My memory is a bit fuzzy about how it ended, but he moved back in with his dad (He'd been living with his grandfather), and left the neighborhood, without me ever having a chance to have that conversation with him.
     
    Memories are a funny thing. That memory twisted on me over the years. Little details changed and morphed to fit my evolving worldview. What I knew for certain was that this experience, this painful, unavoidable separation from my best friend (and someone who easily could have ended up as my first boyfriend), changed the way I saw things. The pain and unhappiness from the separation took on the form of a demon as I tried to rationalize why it had happened. During the next few years, as I went through puberty, I was preached to constantly about the evils of homosexuality, masturbation, pornography, and premarital sex, all of which I'd come to associate with my best friend and a number of boys since then. I knew what I'd felt back then, I tried to deny it but there was no use. I'd loved him as much as a ten-year-old could love another ten-year-old, and if those feelings were evil, then clearly I was evil.
     
    The church hung over me like a shadow, and my earlier resistance to it shifted as I came to see myself as evil. Instead, I slowly came to latch onto the church as a lifeline, the only thing which could possibly rescue me from the darkness because, according to them, it was the only thing that could. I was depressed, suicidal, and wanted desperately to change who I was. I developed weight issues, something which I still struggle with. I developed an unhealthy addiction to pornography (Which, strangely, the Mormons are actually right that it can be addicting . . . I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day), and was looking for any way out I could find.
     
    For a brief time, Buddhism offered a bit of stability to me, giving me a chance to get outside of my head by separating myself from desire, but whatever complex emotions I'd developed proved too strong, and as I approached the end of high school and missionary age (19 for the Mormons, for those who don't know), I nearly lost broke down completely. I was already evil, I knew that without a doubt. Nothing I'd done had changed anything, but now I was expected to serve a mission; I, the most evil person i knew, was expected to go out and preach a gospel I didn't fully believe because my family expected it of me. The only hope I had was that the mission would change me, that by doing this good thing I'd be able to free myself from my sexuality and finally be able to live a normal life.
     
    I hoped God would heal me, so I would stop feeling that horrendous pain.
     
    I served for two years in South Korea. I worked hard, but I slipped up time and time again. I couldn't get those thoughts out of my mind (Thankfully I never had a crush on any of my companions. that would've been a nightmare which probably would've killed me). By the end of my time as a missionary, I was every bit as attracted to men as I'd been before I left, only now I'd had two years of forced sexual repression to add onto the list of things affecting my mental state. When i came back I knew my days in the church were numbered; God had failed me, and I no longer believed.
     
    Somehow I still made it almost a year until I learned that the Mormon church had spent tithing money, including money I'd contributed, during Proposition 8 in California. This was the final straw, the last nail in the 'Samuel's evil' coffin (There were other reasons I left the church, too, this was just the last). I was driving down the road with a friend of mine, and I remember narrowly avoiding an accident because the news had stunned me so terribly. I'd been raised on the claim(lie) that the church did not involve itself in politics(which I feel like an idiot for ever believing that). That Sunday I attended church for one of the last times, and I came home and told my parents I wasn't going to be attending anymore.
     
    This story is already getting long, but I have to say that my parents' reactions were somewhat damaging to me, but not as damaging as I expected them to be. I expected to be thrown out of the house, to be disowned and told I was evil. They didn't do that, although my mother cried for a few months whenever she saw me and to this day still makes a point of mentioning how my disbelief hurts her. They both deny it, but I still feel disappointment and a bit of contempt whenever they look at me. One of the things I still struggle with is my relationship with them, and it's hard to see it any other way, especially since they now know about my sexuality, and, although they accept that I identify that way, I've never had the impression they fully accept me.
     
    And that hurts, but it's not worth lying to myself over.
     
    This is the part where things get better, but not before a little bit more of struggle.
     
    After I left the church, things were hazy for awhile. There was a little bit of a high for awhile as I realized I'd finally stepped away from the chains which had bound me for so long. I started a new job, where I opened up to my coworkers about things I'd kept silent for years everywhere else, like my sexuality and a number of my political leanings. I finally told my three best friends about my sexual orientation (two of them pretty much already knew. Those three are the three reasons I survived high school and didn't kill myself, so thanks, guys!). They accepted me openly, and I had the beginnings of a support group. New job, great friends, and my heaviest secret now off my chest, I was able to start enjoying life.
     
    That lasted until my new job ended, and I got sucked into nine months of unemployment, where I started to question if I was being cursed for my sins. I didn't want to believe that, but everything went wrong so quickly, and less than a year after I left the church, it was hard not to think that way. During this time, I went a little crazy to say the least. I was struggling to understand, to find meaning in my existence. I remembered my best friend from when I was ten, and I went to his grandfather's house since he still lived in my neighborhood. I learned my former best friend drove for a trucking company and in my warped way of thinking I latched onto that concept like the pseudo-lifeline of the church I'd latched onto before. I decided to become a commercial truck driver and join the same company.
     
    First of all, I should never drive a semi . . . I get anxiety behind the wheel of anything larger than a minivan. But, I borrowed some money and somehow managed to get my CDL anyway. Then I went down to Phoenix for my orientation and new career as a truck driver for the company I'd had my sights set on for months.
     
    Of course, once I was down there, I had a complete nervous breakdown because it was the wrong move for the wrong reasons. Once again, I was running from myself, from the darkness which had shrouded me since I'd first admitted my sexuality. By leaving my support network behind at home, I came face to face with my complete loneliness and had nowhere left to go to hide from it. A complete stranger, who I only know as Jim, helped me in that moment. We were sharing a hotel room while we both waited to be assigned to trucks. He's the first person who set me back on the right track when he taught me the most important lesson he knew.
     
    If you spend your whole life doing something wrong for you, you'll spend your whole life unhappy, and that's the worst way to spend it.
     
    I came back home with Jim's words fresh on my mind. I saw a counselor at my father's expense a few months later, and he gave me the next piece of the puzzle. I related everything I saw wrong with my life, how I 'should be in college', or how I 'should be doing something with my life', and he stopped me and said, "I want you to stop and notice how many times you've said the word 'should', and I want you to try something. For the next week, until we meet again, I want you to replace the word 'should' with 'could', and see what happens."
     
    It was like a switch was turned on which hadn't been flipped for years. I began to see everything as a possibility, not an absolute. I came to see that there wasn't just one way to make it through life, that my truth didn't have to be, and in fact would never be, the exact same as any other person's truth. I'd crashed as I left the church and confronted the reality of what I'd seen as a wasted life, but I started to see it as what it was: a clean slate with a nearly infinite range of possibility.
     
    A couple of years into my healing, I rediscovered some of the LGBT fiction I'd come to love as a teenager, one of the few things which had helped me realize I wasn't alone in my way of thinking during my darkest moments. And, after some time reading through a number of different stories, I discovered a story titled "Lives In Periphery", an unfinished(still . . . get to writing, my love! ) story which spoke to me in ways I can't completely describe, at least not in the time I have left to write this story. I emailed the author, telling him it made me want to write again, and he emailed me back encouraging me.
     
    And I rediscovered writing.
     
    Fast forward three years to the time of writing this, I've taken journey after journey as I've dealt with unresolved emotions through the written word. I've come to accept my sexuality, to accept my uniqueness, and to love those aspects of myself for what they are. I came to love the LGBT community, and truly feel like I was a part of it. I've made friends who've become family, and made connections which have changed my life completely.
     
    And seven, almost eight, weeks ago, the author who encouraged me to write emailed me to tell me he'd loved my most recently completed novel so much he read it in one night. We started talking, and haven't stopped yet. It's the same conversation, it just pauses for sleeping and work . . . those pauses are the most unfortunate thing in the world.
     
    Sometimes, the darkness still gets me. Sometimes I still feel like I'm unworthy of acceptance or love. I used to have to pick myself up out of that, and I'm grateful I have someone else, my dearest love, who is now always beside me when i need him most.
     
    So, one last word for anyone reading this.
     
    It does get better. It gets better when you learn that your truth is your own, and no one else's. It gets better when you realize that life is full of possibility. It gets better when you realize that you are fine just the way you are, and nothing is wrong with you for feeling the way you do.
     
    The world needs you, and you are loved.
     
    ~Cynus
  7. Cynus

    Update On Where I've Been

    By Cynus,

    All right, I think it's about time I sat down and gave everyone the full rundown of what happened.
    Over the past two and a half weeks I have lived a romance novel as deep and epic as anything I've ever written. I wouldn't have believed it if it hadn't happened to me, yet here I am, and oh what a story it is.
    It begins three years ago, before I found myself back in writing again. I was twenty-five, almost twenty-six, and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I'd occasionally spend my time reading stories on several sites which host LGBT romances, because it at least ignited some form of passion in me.
    And then I started reading a story which had only posted a few chapters, but it sounded intriguing. The story was titled "Lives In Periphery", and was hosted at AwesomeDude. I was enthralled by the time I'd made it a page into the story. The characters spoke to me, the dialogue felt real, and I remember reading it and thinking 'This is the kind of thing I want to do. I want to tell stories like this. I want to write'.
    I emailed the author, and as a joke I included the subject line 'I think I've fallen in love', then in the body of the email I wrote 'with your writing'. The irony of that statement now is not lost on me, but we'll move ahead on this lovely story. I told the author, C. (Protecting his name because of his profession), that his story had inspired me to get back into writing. He responded with a rather trained and automatic response at the time, thanking me for my email and wishing me well. I didn't think much of it, I was just psyched to get into the game again.
    So I wrote a couple of short stories and both ended up on AwesomeDude, and I set to work on my first novel, "Rumors of War" during NaNoWriMo. I received an email from C. halfway through November 2013, congratulating me on my short stories. Despite the formulaic nature of his first reply to me, he'd been watching for my stories and read them when he'd noticed they were posting. We talked briefly, during November and then time moved on.
    In December I was struggling to finish my novel, and I again reached out to other stories for inspiration. I discovered C.'s other stories, most notably "Laika"(Although I like everything he's written) and read them all in December 2013. When I finished Laika, however, I emailed C. and told him how much I loved it, and how it had impacted me. It is still my favorite story on the internet to this day, and the one which has probably shaped me the most as a writer. I was inspired enough by reading it that I became bound and determined to finish "Rumors of War" no matter what.
    In my emails to C. regarding "Laika", I started to notice a bit of chemistry. I'd already developed a small crush on him just from reading his work, but the emails were quickly solidifying that crush. I told him I thought we'd make great friends, he accepted, and then . . .
    He disappeared off the face of the Earth for three years.
    There was a point, probably four to six months after he disappeared, where I decided I was probably never going to talk to him again, since he was gone and didn't appear to be coming back. I didn't know what had happened or why he disappeared (I do now), but I had to let him go, and so I did.
    And I moved on with my writing. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, and occasionally my mind would drift just briefly to thoughts of "Laika" and a friendship that would never be (An incredibly poetic thing if you're familiar with the story). It helped me keep going through some rough patches, because I was determined to write something that would be as meaningful to someone else as "Laika" was to me. I don't know if I've ever succeeded in that, but it's still the goal.
    2016 was a shitty year for me. I don't know if I was burned out or emotionally drained, but this year I've found writing difficult. It was a struggle to write 100,000 words over the course of this year, which, if you know how much I've written in years previous, this is an incredibly small amount. I say it 'was' a shitty year because it isn't anymore.
    In October (2016 in case anyone reads this significantly later than when I wrote it), I made a commitment to myself that I would be writing full-time when I was thirty, even if I had to struggle financially to do it. I made plans to expand my Patreon and redouble my efforts at getting published traditionally. I was determined that this would be the last year I'd let my dreams wallow unrealized. I made this commitment around the middle of the month, and I was going to mark the beginning of my new year at Samhain, October 31st-November 1st.
    Samhain is a New Year's celebration in many ways, but specifically I like to focus on the aspects of giving up the old to make way for the new. I was so filled with dedication to my goals as I approached Samhain, I was going to give up something particularly big in order to show my dedication to my writing. I'd already lived several years with short-term oaths of celibacy, but I was ready to commit to a lifetime of it if it meant I could focus exclusively on writing.
    And so, as night approached on October 31st, I started to prepare myself mentally for what I was going to give up. I planned on making it a matter of ritual, and so I intended to go and get a candle to meditate on the flame. Before I left for the store, I checked my email.
    There, in my inbox, was an email I never expected to see. C. had emailed me after nearly three years of silence. I was so stunned I stared at it for ten minutes before I finally opened it. This was the first paragraph:
     
    "So, I've kind of ghosted from the internet fiction scene for the last
    two or three years or so, but the other day I was in the mood for a
    story (maybe because NaNoWriMo is approaching?), and I ended up
    reading through all of Fearless in one sitting. It kept me up waaaay
    too late for a Sunday night and I ended up spending the day at work
    looking like a zombie...but it was Halloween, so I guess it was
    appropriate."
     
    The author of my favorite story on the internet, as well as the unfinished story which inspired me to get into writing, had just emailed me. Not only had he done so, but he'd told me he'd enjoyed my work enough to read it all in one sitting. After a year of absolute hell with my writing, it was exactly the validation I needed. I was so excited my entire demeanor changed for the night, and I forgot all about Samhain and giving up anything. I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the incredible experience of my favorite author liking, no, loving my work.
    I emailed him back and said, "Please tell me you're going to keep talking to me?" I said more, but that was the way I started everything. I wanted to put it out there that I desperately wanted to have this conversation. My crush wasn't back yet, but my desire for friendship with the guy who'd started me down my writing path, THAT was back in full force.
    And so we talked. Oh, have we talked! We emailed back and forth over the next few days, sometimes multiple times a day. We exchanged phone numbers on Thursday-Friday, and we started talking even more. Friday going into Saturday there was a question of mutual romantic interest hanging in the air, and by Saturday afternoon it was confirmed.
    We texted back and forth after I left work on Saturday, and I knew how I felt. I'd known since our text conversation on Friday, but on Saturday I had a bit more courage. I told him I 'really really liked him' (you know, that phrase you say when you're testing the waters and don't want to risk the other 'L' word?) and he responded immediately by saying it back to me.
    And so I went for it. I knew what it was, what I felt for this beautiful soul who made me happy with every single word he sent me. I told him I thought I'd fallen in love with him, and, to my wonderment he responded in kind.
    I know it sounds crazy that five days after we started talking that I would feel that way, but I do. It's also crazy that he'd feel the same way. But he does.
    Since then, we've emailed, texted, called, written and sent letters by hand, had dates watching Netflix while talking on the phone and planning what happens next. It's been beautiful and crazy and maddening and everything love should be; it's been scary at times and a bit daunting as we try and figure out and understand what we're feeling, wondering if we're crazy for going so fast, especially when we haven't met in person.
    But not a bit of those doubts has made me feel any different about him, and in fact we've only grown closer as we've worked our way through them. He's everything I've ever needed, except for being 1600 miles away, but that's an obstacle we'll overcome sooner rather than later.
    It's made me crazy, it's taken up all my time, but I wouldn't change a moment of it. It's, unfortunately, dropped my productivity to nil, but that's the Honeymoon stage of love for you. I know in the long run my writing will improve by this, I just need to get back to the point where I can control myself a bit more. Hopefully I'll at least be able to focus enough to finish the next and final chapter of Weightless soon.
    So that's the story. Feel free to ask me questions. I love talking about him, so how could I possibly feel bad about answering questions?
  8. Cynus

    Disconnecting

    By Cynus,

    On October 30th, 2016, I will take the first true vacation from work I’ve had in five years. I specify it as a ‘true’ vacation because I became terribly sick during each of the times I’ve taken off prior to this one. I’m crossing my fingers that this doesn’t happen again.
     
    I need a break, from work, from writing, from the internet; I need a break from everything, really. I need some time to reflect, for introspection and spiritual healing. Last year I heavily researched Samhain and discovered the spiritual core of the three day holiday, and thankfully I was able to schedule my vacation surrounding this holiday. I intend to celebrate it as well as I can, and with that in mind, I’ll be doing a few things.
     
    I’ll be unplugging, for one. I won’t be spending any time on the internet over that time, and I’ll be avoiding most phone calls as well. No Netflix, no Facebook, no email, no corresponding on my writing sites. I may decide to write some, but only as the spirit moves me, and definitely not before that happens.
     
    I’ll also spend some time going through some of the stuff I’ve been holding onto for years. I have a gigantic suitcase full of old papers, notes, cards . . . things I wanted to remember, but that I’ve never gone back to review. It’s time to get rid of some of my baggage. Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
     
    With any luck I’ll also spend a good portion of this time around a fire, contemplating the renewing energy of flame and hopefully gaining some insight into my life. I’m ready for a change, and I’m eager to figure out how to do it.
     
    Please be patient if you try to contact me during the next week. I’ll be rather difficult to find. But in the end, hopefully, I’ll be somewhere closer to where I want to be.
     
    Peace and love,
     
    Samuel(Cynus)
  9. Cynus
    Hello everyone,
     
    Sorry the reviews have been a bit slow in coming, and sorry to anyone who is still waiting on a response from me. There have been a few developments in my life recently which have impacted these things, and I'm going to lay them out as quickly as possible (because writing hurts).
    Health Issues:
     
    My years of typing and playing video games have caught up to me at last. I have developed carpal tunnel in both wrists, though it is worse in my right hand. Although I acquired Dragon Speech Recognition software this week, I haven't yet managed to train myself on how to use it in a web browser, although this is simply because I haven't made it a priority to learn that facet of the program, not because it can't be done.
     
    Life Issues:
     
    I'm currently recovering from a bout of depression which threatened me for the better part of this year. I've recently identified the source (after several quite nasty sessions of introspection) and I'm now feeling incredibly good mentally. Probably the best I've felt in years. Hopefully that continues.
     
    Work has been in upheaval all year, with a number of key people leaving our staff and a lot of responsibilities shifting around. Although acquiring some of those responsibilities gave me a pay raise and benefits, it also required a lifestyle change and a great deal of anxiety. Even though we're about to enter our busy season, things are starting to settle down for my position, and it looks like I'm going to have rather smooth sailing for a little while. Hopefully this continues, too.
     
     
     
    Thank you, everyone, for understanding, and I hope you'll continue to bear with me as I get caught up.
     
    Peace and love,
     
    Samuel
  10. Cynus

    I Feel . . .

    By Cynus,

    The ellipses fits my frame of mind right now. It's as if my mind can't complete any of its thoughts properly. I'm constantly locked in this never-ending battle with my wayward brain. It's complicated, and it's starting to screw with me in ways I never thought would happen to me.
     
    I can't write like this. At least, I can't write novels. I can probably still do a short story, possibly even a novella, but novels? It just isn't happening. I sit down, maybe get through a chapter, and then the thoughts just trail off into nothingness.
     
    Like an ellipses.
     
    I'm going to take some time to regroup. I don't know exactly what that means, yet. I think it means I'm going to shift my focus away from writing novels and onto short stories, and I don't know when or how many of those I'll be able to do. I don't know if this problem will spread and hit my ability to write short stories as well as novels, or if the short stories will free my brain from this wandering captivity. I just don't know anymore.
     
    Until such a time as I am able to regroup, I am open to do some editing. If you'd like my eye as proofreader, beta-reader, or as editor, please feel free to consult me. I will read any genre, though there are some genres I'm less keen on. Please direct any inquiries through the PM service, or through my email at Samuel.D.Roe@gmail.com
     
    Peace and Love,
     
    Rikki Tikki Tavi
  11. Cynus

    The Hello Project

    By Cynus,

    I personally believe that the sickness in our society, the one which leads to the upwelling of depression, anxiety, violence, and bigotry, is rooted in the same cause for all symptoms. Terry Pratchett put it bluntly when he said, “Evil begins when you begin to treat people as things.”
     
    Others have expressed the same sentiment in different ways. A famous saying, usually attributed to the current Dalai Lama, is “People were created to be loved, and things were created to be used. The reason the world is in chaos is because everything is the opposite.” I’ve pondered this recently, seeking answers for the chaos in my own life, and I’ve come to understand a few things.
     
    We are depressed, anxious, violent, and bigoted, because either we are being used, or we are doing the using. It is a problem within society as a whole, and we are all victims of it in one way or another, whether directly or indirectly. We go to our jobs, we go shopping and spending all in the pursuit of money or things; we worship both in our society, while neglecting the people around us. At the same time, our coworkers, friends, family, and everyone we pass on the street is doing the exact same thing, neglecting us in the process.
     
    In this age of increasing connectivity, we have never been more disconnected from each other. Humans are tribal people, forming likeminded groups as easily as any other primate, yet we’ve lost that somehow. Even in the groups we are a part of, we rarely connect fully. Instead, we pull out our phones and text those who aren’t there. We email and check facebook(our false tribe) instead of engaging fully in conversations with others.
     
    I’m not saying this in order to convince people to give up their phones, or to try and convince people to stop pursuing money or nice things. Those things are tools, and they are great to use for all manner of purposes. What I’m asking for is a perspective change; I’m asking you to look at the world in a different way, and to take a moment to appreciate those around you who may be going through the exact same things you are.
     
    A good friend of mine, Greg, shares a lot of my perspectives on this issue. A few weeks ago he posted about the subject, and asking a lot of good questions. One observation he made was that it’s now considered rude to make eye contact with people at the grocery store. Striking up a conversation with a complete stranger is almost a taboo.
     
    His remarks sparked an idea for me, and out of that idea The Hello Project was born. Greg and I decided we would pick a grocery store and go there together, meeting random people and complimenting them without any strings attached. We had our first ever event yesterday, and it was a blast. We set out with these adorable business cards which read: “Hello. You’re awesome. Keep it up!” We split up and approached different people, striking up conversations or complimenting them, and then handing them a card and walking away.
     
    In the space of an hour, I had meaningful conversations with ten people, learned most of their names and a little about them, and left them with a smile.
     
    Marcus is a gay writer who lived in both Anaheim and Boston. He’s really bisexual, but he prefers men over women. He loves cats, but owns a dog instead. His favorite genre is horror.
     
    Terry loves the San Francisco 49ers, and his favorite color is orange. He often matches his hats and his shoes, and has a wide collection of both. He was shopping with his wife because of a death in the family, but despite that he had a smile on his face and greets life with optimism.
     
    Rebecca believes that everyone is a beautiful mess; we all have problems, but we all have beauty. She has a tattoo of a thorny rose bush on her right bicep, intricate in black and white. Beneath the tattoo is written “A beautiful mess”. She had the tattoo done by a local artist, K. Olsen, whom she collected carefully to make sure the tattoo would be done properly.
     
    Liz loves butterflies. She has a shirt and earrings which both depict them and often wears them together. In college she took an etymology course but only caught one butterfly, instead catching mostly beetles and grasshoppers. She came to the store because the weather finally wasn’t too hot.
     
    Layton loves San Pellegrino. It’s his guilty pleasure. He’s tried every flavor, but the grapefruit one is his all-time favorite. He’ll give the Aranciata Rosa another try based upon my recommendation. He came to the store just to stock up for the summer.
     
    Clayton and his wife (she didn’t offer her name) were at the store preparing to host their grandchildren for a week. They were buying all sorts of candy, sweets, and soda to spoil them. Clayton is nearly blind and walks with a leading cane to help him make sure he doesn’t run into things. He refused my card on the grounds that he couldn’t read it, and he’d forget what it said soon after I gave it to him.
     
    Teri and Lillian are mother and daughter who love cutesy things. They fell in love with the summer ceramic platters on display, and we spoke briefly about ceramics in general. Then they asked me what I’d spent the day doing and I told them about the farmer’s market down the road where I’d spent my morning. We spoke at length about that, with them showing increasing interest as the conversation continued. They decided they wanted to check out the market and will do so soon. They loved the cards I handed them so much that they were excited to hand them out to someone else and help them have a good day.
     
    I then met a woman who was waiting in the deli for her husband to finish shopping. She was escaping the hot weather, and taking a much needed rest. We didn’t speak much about anything other than how the weather had been changing so dramatically, and though this may seem a cliché topic for strangers to discuss, in that moment it was simply the most important thing. I didn’t get her name, but we were smiling all the same.
     
    The last man I met was Sean. He had a long but well-groomed beard, blonde and gray. I complimented him on his beard and then gave him the card, not wanting to hold him up for long. He stopped then, laughed at the card then gave me one in exchange and told me to call him up if I ever needed beard care products and he’d give me a deal. I thanked him then let him go.
     
    It was one of the best hours of my life. I loved meeting all of these people. I had a handful of unique moments and unique conversations in such a short time, and I’d given those people a reason to smile. I haven’t had an experience like that in a long time, and it was beyond awesome.
     
    I’m positive each of those people is going to remember this moment, at least for a little while, and my hope is that each of them will feel a little less alone in this world. Hopefully, the pressures of society (depression, anxiety, violence, etc.) will fill a little less oppressive this week, and they’ll think of this as a bright spot.
     
    It may not be much, but don’t forget to smile at the people around you. Remember that people are to be loved, not used. Remember that in a brief moment, you make a person’s bad day become a little less awful, or make a person’s good day even better. We all have both, and we could all benefit from a little more community.
     
    Be well, and don’t forget to say ‘hello’. You are awesome.
     

    ~ A. Stranger(Cynus)


  12. Cynus
    This video technically has a political agenda at the end, though it is not mentioned throughout. As such, I felt it improper to place it in the standard forums. I also didn't want to put it in The Pit, because I believe it should be a bit more visible. It's very powerful, and I hope you'll give it a view.
     

  13. Cynus

    No One Is Alone

    By Cynus,

    No One Is Alone



    From the musical “Into The Woods” written by Stephen Sondheim



    Mother cannot guide you

    Now you're on your own
    Only me beside you
    Still, you're not alone
    No one is alone
    Truly
    No one is alone


    I wish...

    I know
    Mother isn't here now
    Wrong things, right things
    Who knows what she'd say?
    Who can say what's true?
    Nothing's quite so clear now
    Do things, fight things
    Feel you've lost your way?
    You decide, but
    You are not alone
    Believe me
    No one is alone (No one is alone)
    Believe me
    Truly


    People make mistakes

    Fathers
    Mothers
    People make mistakes
    Holding to their own
    Thinking they're alone
    Honor their mistakes
    Fight for their mistakes
    Everybody makes
    One another's terrible mistakes
    Witches can be right, giants can be good
    You decide what's right, you decide what's good


    Just remember

    Just remember
    Someone is on your side (Our side)
    Our side
    Someone else is not
    While we're seeing our side (Our side)
    Our side
    Maybe we forgot, they are not alone
    No one is alone
    Someone is on your side
    No one is alone

     
    Recent events have reminded me of a lesson I once knew, which I’ve forgotten over the last few years. In truth, I knew this lesson well, even preached it hypocritically from time to time, but I’d forgotten to apply it to myself, even when it was staring me directly in the face.
     
    This opinion may be unpopular, and perhaps that’s the way it will always be. I don’t know if I’m really trying to change anyone’s mind with this, or even trying to get under anyone’s skin. Actually, I think I’m writing this to accomplish the opposite. I want to tell you that if you disagree, I acknowledge you, I in fact, welcome you in my life, disagreement and all.
     
    The Orlando shooting caught me off guard. As many of you know (and of course you do if you’re reading this at one of those sites) I’m an active member in the LGBTQIA community. We’d covered so much ground over the last few years, and I honestly was breathing a sigh of relief that it seemed we’d finally reached a point of acceptance. Despite what happened on June 12th, 2016, the ground we’ve covered is still behind us, we just have more hurdles to cross still before we’re completely there. Unfortunately, some aren’t happy with the ground we’ve gained, and one of them decided he needed to do something about that.
     
    We all know about the 49 people who were killed and 53 who were injured by Omar Mateen that night. I’m not going to try and politicize this for either side of the argument. That’s not what I’m here for today. I’m not going to make a case for gun control, or a case for targeting “radical Islam” or any other such nonsense. No, I’m going to talk about something else, which arose out of this tragedy for me.
     
    But first, I’m going to talk a little bit about Omar. One thing I can’t entirely grasp is why we’re unwilling to count him among the dead that night. I’ve heard it said that it’s because we don’t count him with the victims, because that’s not fair to them. Well, maybe it isn’t, but his death should still be accounted for, shouldn’t it? When we talk about why this occurs, don’t we need to consider what broke a man so badly that he felt this was the answer to his problems?
     
    A great deal of evidence seems to have suggested that Omar was a gay man himself. Why did he target his own community? What could have driven him to that? You could say it was his religion, or perhaps pressure from his family, or perhaps it was some bad breakup we don’t yet know about, but all of these are rooted in something else, something I’ve been ignoring, and I think a lot of people have.
     
    Omar Mateen felt alone, that he, and only he, understood his problems, and that only he could solve them, and that this terrible act was somehow the way to answer that. He hated something so badly about himself (either his sexuality or his unwillingness to accept his sexuality would be my guess) that he felt set him apart enough it was worth destroying everything to end his pain.
     
    I’m not excusing his actions. I would never dream of doing that. I’m not trying to insinuate in any way that anything he did was remotely justified. He did something truly horrific, and clearly committed the act out of supreme hatred. But I think we need to acknowledge that the reason he chose his targets was because they had something he wanted, something he wasn’t able to rationalize within himself. Maybe he targeted them because of their sexuality, because they were free to live it and he wasn’t? Maybe he targeted them because they were able to be true to themselves (regardless of sexuality) and he felt he couldn’t? He thought himself apart from them, because they had what he desired. He felt alone, because he couldn’t see how to obtain what they had and become one of them.
     
    If you break them down to their base thought patterns, and disregard for just a moment the actions that Omar Mateen committed, is he any different than any other self-loathing homophobe? Or self-loathing happyphobe(I know this isn’t a real word)? Or self-loathing anybody?
     
    I don’t believe there is, and I believe therein lies the answer to how we prevent this kind of tragedy. Maybe all the political things will change some things for the better, though they’ll also probably make some things worse. I personally believe these things are symptoms of the greater problem, and it’s one I believe is within our ability to solve.
     
    Love. Inclusion. Community. We have to give them what they crave. Movements change minds. Bullies can be reformed. Witches can be right. Giants can be good. In order to find out, we have to show love to those who feel alone. You are not alone, and they are not alone.
     
    We need to remind them of that.

     

  14. Cynus

    Touching Base

    By Cynus,

    This is something I wrote to my Patreon supporters, but I figured I'd seek some input here, too.

    Hello everyone!

    I'm writing to inform you of a number of things going on with my writing at the moment.

    First, I will soon be releasing another serial titled "Fearless". It's a shorter work, only 11 chapters long, and it was fun to write, though I'm not sure what the reaction will be from my readers. I wrote it differently than I've ever written anything else, and I'm curious to see how it will be received. It will start posting midway through June, after From The Cup of The Worthless finishes posting.

    Second, I'm struggling a bit with what to write next, and here's one of the things which might impact you. This last little while has been a bit rough for me, and all the ideas which are coming to me are dark ones. I can't guarantee the next serial I release after "Fearless" will be a lighthearted one.

    I can attempt to write something fitting my normal stories. I can force myself to work on something which the muse isn't calling to me on, and I might just be able to finish something by the time "Fearless" is done, and it'll be okay.

    But it won't be great. It won't have my soul in it, because it's not what's calling to me right now. At the moment, the only things which go anywhere are stories which deal with a great deal of negative emotions I'm trying to work through. If I allow myself to work on one of these, I believe it'll be one of the best things I've ever written.

    However, in the end you'll be the ones reading it, and that's why I'm hoping for some input on what to write next. Which would you prefer? Something which isn't dark and brooding, or something emotional and visceral?

    All comments are appreciated.

    Thank you
  15. Cynus

    A Shallow Recess

    By Cynus,

    I’m going to try and write this without sounding childish, but perhaps that’s unavoidable. I may, in fact, be completely out of line to write this at all, but I feel the need to vent my frustrations.
     
    Over the past two and a half years, I’ve channeled nearly all of my free time into becoming a writer, and learning and striving to become the best one I could possibly be. Obviously that’s a work which will continue until I either die or decide to stop, as I can always improve. One doesn’t stop learning to improve at the craft, and in the creating of art there is no ending. In going back to read my earlier work, I can tell I’ve improved leaps and bounds in my skill over the language, and in constructing my plots in a more organized and believable manner.
     
    But I’m at yet another crossroads where I am left to question if it’s really all worth it.
     
    I had a tremendous amount of success with “The Navigator”. Before that novel, I’d been only truly comfortable writing short stories. I knew my first novel, “Rumors of War”, had been filled with a wide range of flaws, and my second piece of novel length, “Ashes of Fate”, wasn’t much better. Even the fantasy novel I currently have in my slush pile and once thought was great isn’t anything impressive to me anymore. I honestly didn’t think “The Navigator” was all that much better (And it does still have its flaws), but when I started posting it, I was completely blown away by the reaction.
     
    For some reason, it clicked with readers, and people liked it. I’m grateful for the attention it was given, and for all of you wonderful people reading this who took the time to review/comment on the story. It was amazing to engage with everyone as they read it, and to see people truly like my work. It wasn’t the first time I’d received positive feedback, of course, but it was the first time I’d received that much positive attention on such a grand scale.
     
    And it might have gone to my head. This is one of the possible problems I’m facing, though I’m honestly not sure. The success of “The Navigator” made me believe I could actually become a novelist and people would read my work, and enjoy it. I started to map out stories in my head, grand plans I didn’t think myself capable of writing before, but now I was really starting to believe in myself as an artist and as a writer. I’d learned a few major things while writing “The Navigator” as well, some more technical hurdles I still had to clear, but I was ready to face them.
     
    I dug in deep and started working on “Return With Honor”. At the time, I’d never been more satisfied with how a story I’d written had ended, but as the story released I found few willing to even give it a first glance, much less a second. In talking with others I head the same thing repeated again and again. ‘It’s because it’s a religious story’ they’d say. ‘The LGBT community doesn’t have the greatest history with religion, and it will bring up bad memories for a lot of people’ was another thing I heard often. I was told the story was “niche”, and that was why people were avoiding it.
     
    I understood that, and I accepted it, though it took me awhile to get over the ego I’d developed from “The Navigator” in order to not take it personally. The story was, in fact, heavily influenced by religion, and I could see how that might turn people in our community away.
     
    Then I finished Ashes of Fate, wanting to get the story completed so I wouldn’t have it looming over me. I knew this was niche already, though I’d hoped the fresh release of the story at a new website might attract a few more readers. If anything, it seemed like I lost some readers during that process, and again I tried not to take it personally. It was just more “niche” writing, I told myself.
     
    Well, I managed to put all of that behind me around the end of October as I threw myself into my new project. “From The Cup of The Worthless” pulled me into it like no story ever has. Even in the busy season at work, I was driven to work on it time and time again. This story beat me up and tore at me in ways I didn’t know it could. I invested more of my soul into these characters than I ever have before, and at several points in this story the emotion for me as their creator was so thick I cried.
     
    I guess I got my hopes up that people would somehow sense that energy from me. I guess I let my expectations get ahead of me, telling me that this story would be the one people would see, to know I’d listened to the criticism I’d received on The Navigator, and to the wonderful advice I’d received from everyone along the way on this two-and-a-half-year journey. I honestly thought this would be the story where I’d finally connect with my readers again, where I’d finally be able to break free from that one label which has been applied to me time and time again.
     
    I’m so sick of being “niche”.
     
    When I was twenty, I received a very important piece of advice from a woman who’d been put in charge of me. She thought of us as her sons, and I know she was genuine in her affection toward us, and wanted us to succeed on all that we did. She was addressing us at a conference where we’d all gathered together to hear a number of important people speak, but I don’t remember who any of the other speakers were, or a single thing they said. I simply remember her clear and poignant statement, “All disappointment comes from unmet expectations”.
     
    I’ve tried to apply that statement to my life ever since. When I realize I’m disappointed in how things turn out, I look at my expectations and evaluate if I was really setting myself up for failure. Then I pick myself back up and start again, ready to face the next leg of my journey through life with a clearer head and reviewed priorities. Every time I do, it gets better, but that doesn’t stop me from falling into the same old pattern. I still end up getting ahead of myself with my expectations, and then they come crashing down, and I’m left with nothing but disappointment.
     
    And that’s what I’ve done yet again, here. I set myself up for failure by thinking that this latest story, which I loved deeply as it was torn from me, would finally make people see I could write something that wasn’t meant for an occasionally dusted niche in the wall. I know it’s my own fault for letting my ego get ahead of me, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
     
    I don’t really know that I’m expecting anything from you now. This was about me venting my frustration, and wasn’t meant to be accusatory or inflammatory in any way. I hope nothing I’ve said has offended any of you reading this, or that you think I have some negative opinion of people who don’t read my work. If anything, the problem lies with me and my work, and my own skewed perspective of the world. I guess it’s just the niche I fit into.
     
    I just hope you’ll visit once in a while and talk to me. . . It’s lonely here.
     
    Peace and love to all of you.
  16. Cynus
    Hello, everyone!
     
    I'm preparing for a short story competition in a couple weeks, as well as a personal goal I'm setting for myself in February.
     
    The short story competition follows a specific pattern, which I need to practice if I expect to do any good at it, and since the second and third stages of the competition happen in March and April, I intend to practice through all of February.
     
    This year I will be doing something I'm calling "Flash Fiction February". I'm going to write a short, 3000 words or less story every day, assuming I can keep it up. I am going to need your help, however, and this is how.
     
    I need prompts, and I need them in a specific style (This is the thing I need to practice). During the competition, writers will be randomly assigned a genre, subject, and character assignment.
     
    Here are some examples of what I'll be expected to write:
     
    Drama / A laboratory / A teacher
    Romantic Comedy / Recycling / A bartender
    Sci-Fi / Halloween / A bus driver
    Horror / A trial / A CEO (Chief Executive Officer)
    Fantasy / Luck / A lead singer
     
    I would like you, those reading this blog, to comment with a suggestion of a genre, subject, and character like the ones above. Any suggestions will be appreciated. All of these will be posted at GA, and so if you want to see me write something specific, please suggest away!
     
    Thank you in advance for your suggestions.
  17. Cynus

    Withdrawing The Anchor

    By Cynus,

    My heart was broken yesterday.


     

    Does that sound a tad cliche?


     

    Perhaps it is, but not to me,


     

    For now my love will never be.


     

    But in the silence of the night,


     

    I contemplate my common plight,


     

    And now, quite plainly, I can see,


     

    That in the breaking, I am free.


     

    Yesterday, I learned something about a friend of mine. She is in love with someone; a person whom I do not know, but who has been in her life for some time. There was a time when she could tell me anything, and in fact, would. I was her confidant; her source of wisdom in times of distress. And I loved her. I loved her as deeply as I have ever loved another. I have never found another soul who matched me so perfectly, who played into my weaknesses with her strengths, and who needed my own strengths where she was weak. Even my first love, whom I surely loved as deeply before he passed on from this world, did not match me point for point as well as this woman did. She and I argued, and debated, but it was all in the pursuit of greater understanding and overcoming obstacles together.
     
    And then . . . And then, the lying started. We both began to hold back, truth disappeared in the face of some need to protect the other from it. We hid it under everything we could, until there was nothing left between us but shadows and masks. But yet, somehow, I knew behind that mask still waited the woman I'd fallen so deeply and madly in love with. And I held onto that thought in so many ways, I let it consume me, and my every action and thought was tempered somehow by how it would affect my being with her. It wasn't always conscious, but I realize now, looking back, that it was always there. I wanted to be with her, and so it kept me from other relationships, other pursuits, because they would have taken me away from the ghost of the good thing we'd had.
     
    I felt a panic unlike anything I'd ever felt before when I found out she was in love with another. I went from anger, to fear, to jealousy, to depression, to anxiety, to numbness . . . I stopped at numbness when it became apathy. I'd just passed through a torrent of emotion and then suddenly, I was left with this dark sea of nothingness.
     
    And I waited for something to happen.
     
    For a time, nothing did.
     
    And then, slowly at first, it began to brighten. There was movement in the nothingness, and I was swept up into an emotional state which I've not felt in a long time. I felt as if an anchor had been withdrawn, and for a moment I was able to move freely. The obsession I'd built up quietly within my soul had shattered. I knew that she was gone, that there'd never truly been hope of reconciliation, but yet I'd held onto the thought anyway. But suddenly my obsession had no ground on which to stand, and it crumbled to dust.
     
    I don't know what this new found freedom might become. I don't know where I'm headed. What I do know is that she no longer holds power over me, and for the first time in years, I don't feel weighed down by the thought of my captor, who has held my heart hostage with her intoxicating soul.
     
    My heart is broken, and I am free. And that is perhaps the best feeling I've felt in a long while.
  18. Cynus
    Disclaimer: This will be depressing. Read at your own peril.
     
    How do I define success?
     
    This seems to be the question of the decade for me. I don't know if I've been successful in my life. My instinct is to say I haven't been, but maybe I am? If success is having financial security, then I definitely have not been successful yet. If success is reaching a position of power, then no again. A position of influence perhaps? Yes, I have some small amount of influence on the world, so in that I am slightly successful, not enough to outweigh the other factors however.
     
    Or is it happiness? If success is happiness then I am certainly not successful at all. I don't know that I've ever been happy, at least not in recent memory. I think most people define success as happiness, and it's likely they're right. Being successful then is out of my reach. Even with the people in my life who make living bearable it isn't enough to make me actually happy. I have good friends who care a great deal about me, and they too shake their heads in silence when they see me slip into bouts of depression, helplessly wondering how they can help me.
     
    I thought loving someone would make me be happy, and it doesn't. Even with the people I loved the most in the world, and even when they loved me back, there was overwhelming sadness and bitterness for me. There was frustration, angst, worry . . . plenty of ego . . . but happiness? Perhaps it was what I caught brief glimpses of in the distance, I don't know, but whenever I arrived at that distant point it was gone long before I'd arrived.
     
    I thought spirituality would make me happy, and it doesn't. At best, it helps make life livable, because at least I have perspective to understand that life is similar for everyone, in the respect that all of us have ups and downs, problems and fortunes. At least it helps give me the capacity to understand that life is more comfortable when we treat others and other living things with respect, and live with integrity. But comfort is not happiness, and therefore it is not success.
     
    I thought pursuing my passions would make me happy, and it doesn't. It gives me something to do, sure, but it does little more than fill my time, and oh how I need to keep myself busy! If I don't I will be lost in the endless melancholy, the boredom of one trapped in a life they can't stand with no end in sight. If I don't keep myself busy I'll surely die. But all of my passions, writing included. do not fulfill me, they simply keep me from drowning. Staying afloat is not happiness, therefore it is not success.
     
    And so the question is, what am I doing wrong? Am I trapped in ego? Locked behind my narcissistic tendencies? Am I so busy peering into the mirror of my own soul that I have already gone too far? Have I reached a point of no return in my self-absorption?
     
    Or am I just not good enough? That's the depression talking, isn't it? Or is it legitimate? Am I truly deluding myself into thinking I can actually make this work? Recent developments in my life seem to suggest so... even those closest to me are beginning to withdraw their support.
     
    So what the fuck am I doing?
     
    Recently, it seems as if I've felt that popularity would make me happy, and it sure as fuck doesn't. It can't even distract me anymore, and it becomes an addiction, with the worst kind of withdrawals. I didn't really believe popularity would bring me happiness, but the lack of it once I've tasted it? I never imagined that would be so disheartening, so crushing to everything I've tried to do.
     
    And I don't even know why. I don't know why is does that, I don't know why I care, and I don't know why it's happening in the first place. I don't know why I go on social media, here at GA, any of the other places I post, fishing for likes and reviews as if they will somehow make me feel better about all the crushing despair around me. I don't know why I keep trying to draw attention to myself, as if for some reason the world paying attention to me would be enough to illuminate my problems and show me the way out of this mess.
     
    It won't. It doesn't and it won't. Nothing fucking works, and thinking popularity would was grasping at straws. There's certainly no happiness to be found anywhere in it.
     
    And so I'm quitting that way of life. No more attention seeking. No more asking for likes, or reviews, or emails, or trying to show everyone that I can be witty, funny, and just as cool as they can be. I am leaving it behind me because it does nothing but force me into the addiction cycle.
     
    For those of you worried about me (As I know some of you reading this will be) don't worry, I'm not going to hurt myself. If I've survived this long, I'll continue to survive until something other than me decides it's time for me to stop surviving. What I won't be doing is living, because apparently that's impossible for me. Survival is not happiness. Survival is not success.
  19. Cynus
    I shared this quote on the "Inspirational Quotes" forum a short while ago, and it was brought to my mind again in response to several of the comments on my last blog posting:
     
    "If you one day make it back to the West, what will you tell men of this strange word, 'kung fu'? Will you tell them that it means to fight? Or will you say like a monk from Shaolin to summon the spirit of the crane and the tiger? Kung Fu. It means, 'supreme skill from hard work.' A great poet has reached kung fu. The painter, the calligrapher they can be said to have kung fu. Even the cook, the one who sweeps steps or a masterful servant can have kung fu. Practice. Preparation. Endless repetition. Until your mind is weary, and your bones ache. Until you're too tired to sweat, too wasted to breathe. That is the way, the only way one acquires kung fu." -Hundred Eyes, "Marco Polo"
     
    I want to expand on my view of what "Life is meant to be art, and most treat it as work" means to me. There are many necessary things in life, that are unpleasant, uncomfortable, and are, quite simply, mundane. We still have to do the laundry. We still have to wash dishes, or do paperwork. How do we make these things into an art rather than work? I believe that's where the philosophy of Kung Fu comes into play.
     
    My first job, which I acquired several weeks after my sixteenth birthday, was in a restaurant washing dishes. Our restaurant, although it served a full menu of food, was specialized in ice cream, which we served in all manner of glass dishes. Our job as the dishwashers, was to clean these glass dishes that were covered in gooey melted ice cream. It was a messy job, it was a wet job, and it was fast-paced. If you didn't move quickly then the piles of dirty dishes would back up and before you knew it you'd be overwhelmed.
     
    At first, I hated this job. I couldn't stand going home soaking wet and smelling like rancid ice cream. I hated having my bosses riding my back and telling me that we needed more clean of some dish that was buried beneath mountains of other dirty dishes. I would have never expected that I'd come to enjoy it.
     
    But I did.
     
    The job transformed gradually. As I continued to work, I became more practiced at methods which helped us get the job done more quickly. I learned how to set myself up for success rather than failure through careful preparation, as instead of washing one dish at a time I learned how to line them up in such a way that I could wash many of them all at once. These and other skills I acquired helped me grow as a dishwasher, and eventually I became one of the best that we had. Through constant exposure to the task, countless repetitions of the movements required, I could do these things as if they were a second nature to me. At the beginning of my six months in that dish room, I was a teenager with no respect for anything. At the end of it, even when I'd go home tired, weary, wet, and smelling like spoiled milk, I felt like I was accomplishing something, because I had been able to turn my work into an art.
     
    Practice. Preparation. Endless Repetition. Until your mind is weary, and your bones ache. Until you're too tired to sweat, too wasted to breathe. That is the way that we make the mundane into something extraordinary. It doesn't matter if you're a writer, lawyer, painter, executive, or the cashier at McDonald's. All work can become art, for all work can grant you "supreme skill from hard work". Every mundane task can become an art form.
     
    Sometimes, when I'm washing dishes, I remember those nights in the dish room, and I can't help but smile. Not much is better than fond memories made from simple pleasures of a job well done.
  20. Cynus
    (If this is an improper use of a blog, please let me know and I will remove it immediately.)
     
    The Alphabet Game is a game we've been playing over in the "Forum Games and Humor" section of the site. We've been having a lot of fun over there, and we'd love to see you there, too. The object is for us to take turns writing lines, with each successive line beginning with the next letter of the alphabet from the line before it. There are examples below in the spoilers.
     
    Come participate in writing a scene. So far, it's almost like they're connected, and I created a cast of characters below as well, just in case we do decide to connect these scenes in the future.
     
    Who knows? Maybe we'll end up building an entire world together?
     
    Scene: Two kids walking home from school.
     
    Starting Letter: F
     
     

    Scene: Two friends studying in the Library
    Letter: H
    Our Second Scene:

     
    Scene: The local Dairy Queen has stayed open late to help their customers beat the heat. Mike and Jeff decide to head over.
    Letter: L
     
     
    SCENE: Two female burglars attempt to break into a museum to steal priceless works of art.
    STARTING LETTER: "S"
     

    CURRENT SCENE: Unfortunately, for Tina and Mary, the old security guard was a track star in high school. When necessary, he could still move like the wind. The squabbling between them has only gotten worse, now that they were in jail.
     
    STARTING LETTER: "D"
     
    We hope to see you over there. As for those who've already participated, I have a question for you. What do you think about connecting the scenes? Since we already used one name twice, and it's easy to believe that they could be the same character, I think we could easily make it happen.

     
    Cast of Characters
    Noah — High school student. Best friends with Zach
    Zach — High school student. Best friends with Noah
    Tommy — High school student. Best friends with Luke
    Luke — High school student. Best friends with Tommy. Was casually dating Mike
    Edward — Grumpy old man. Played football in college and fought in Vietnam.
    Zachery — Sarcastic old man. Was a hippie in his youth.
    Sean Jefferson Adams — High school student. Best friends with Mike, and soon to be boyfriends. Just came out. Goes by Jeff (He’s my favorite so far, so he got the full name.)
    Mike — High school student. Best friends with Jeff, and soon to be boyfriends. Was casually dating Luke.
    Mary — Burglar. Partnered with Tina.
    Tina — Burglar. Partnered with Mary.
    Charlie — Punk rocker inmate. Her full name is Charlotte.
  21. Cynus
    I received a message from someone who read my last blog entry, "Social Anxiety and Crying Wolf", and who thanked me for sharing my experience, as it related to their own. This was the second of two messages that addressed the same subject, and I don't know what came over me as I was responding, but the words flowed like magic, and I just wanted to share my response with you now. I hope it's not too forward.
     

    Thank you for the message. I remember watching a video a couple of years ago about depression, and ever since then I've wanted to be more vocal about it. I've heard numerous things described as "the silent killer", but I think depression is the one that fits the bill the best. I realize that we're talking about social anxiety here, but if you're anything like me then social anxiety goes hand in hand with depression. I don't believe that depression has to be "the silent killer", and I think that the more we talk about it, the more we'll learn to combat it effectively.
     
    Here's the link to the video: https://www.ted.com/talks/kevin_breel_confessions_of_a_depressed_comic?language=en#t-13337
     
    I completely relate to what you're saying about your experiences, of course. It sounds similar to my own situation(I refrain from saying they're the same, only because I can't truly climb inside your head and know exactly how you feel). I wish that it was easier, but it just gets to you, doesn't it? Sometimes people just aren't worth dealing with, and almost like it's a defensive measure against the world trying to suck our souls away, we retreat into the world of our own creation, where it's safe and we're no longer vulnerable.
     
    I think that we, as a society, are living in some sort of crazy dream state, where we somehow always seem to ignore what's really going on. Like how we've applied such fragile and ultimately meaningless purpose to life as a species in order to do nothing but eat, work for money to afford to eat, sleep to do more work all over again and eventually die, without having accomplished anything great at all. I don't mean that to sound depressing here, because I know that there's an alternative, but I do think that the general state of the world matches that statement.
     
    I notice that the times I'm freest from that way of thinking are the times that I'm engaged in things I'm passionate about. It's when I'm dancing to the song that comes on the radio which speaks to my soul. it's when I have my hands buried in clay at the wheel and I feel the earthy texture of the world that connects us all (something I haven't done in a long time and really need to do). It's when I'm writing a scene that just flows from my fingertips because my characters are speaking to me and I and the story are traveling on the same wave length.
     
    Life is meant to be art, and most people treat it as work. Many times I do too, but when I treat living as an art, I am free. Those people who harass and belittle the contribution you make to this community and the world around you in general; those are people who have forgotten what art is. They have forgotten what it means to be alive.
     
    I don't know what it was that made me write all of this, and I hope I didn't sound like I was rambling. I hope that you find some use out of my words, and that your life has been made better by this conversation. I am grateful for the time you took to respond, and hope that more people like us will be able to gain from our continued exploration of the subject.
     
    May you find peace in your endeavors, my friend.
     
    To anyone who took the time to read this, thank you. I appreciate all of you who help make this community the wonderful place that it is.
     
    Peace,
     
    Cynus
  22. Cynus
    I have some significant issues. I think most people have one or two, but are able to keep them in check. Over the past few months it hasn’t been as easy for me to do the same with my issues. They keep sneaking up on me at inopportune times and trying to take me down. Every once in a while, they succeed.
    I wouldn’t be surprised if people thought I was nothing more than a spoiled child seeking attention. Every now and then my social anxiety gets the better of me, and I overreact, and I start threatening to leave whatever social scenario I’m involved in. Regardless of what may be thought of me, I don’t do these things in my right mind. I don’t claim I’m going to leave and then stick around because I want to be known as the ‘boy who cried wolf’. I do them because I start to freak out because the stress gets to me, and then before I know it I’ve said something that simply isn’t true.
    The reality is that I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to quit writing, or leave GA, or even reduce the time I spend in the wonderful online communities I’ve become a part of. Sometimes the depression becomes almost unbearable, and it makes me want to run away from everything, but in the end I choose to stay. Why?
    Because these communities I’ve become a part of are what is keeping me alive. Being able to interact with you, the vast ocean of people who understand what it means to struggle against oppression in everyday life, is what keeps me going. Knowing that there are people out there who actually care if I live or die is a wonderful thing. Knowing that I actually make some sort of difference here . . . I couldn’t really ask for anything else.
    If you see me post something like “I won’t be around for a while” or “You may not see very much of me”, just know that it’s coming from a place I don’t entirely control, and hope someday I’ll be able to move past. You don’t have to say anything; I get that it grows old very quickly. But, whether I’m a petulant child or not, I’m here to stay for as long as you’ll have me.
    Thank you for reading. I plan to do update my blog from time to time, and hopefully with less annoying subjects.
     
    Peace,
     
    Cynus
  23. Cynus
    Hey everyone!
     
    My story "Mask of the Hunter" is currently on sale on Amazon(Kindle) for $0.99 through Halloween! It's also available for free here at GayAuthors.org, but if you'd like to support my efforts in becoming noticed at Amazon, this would be a great way to do it. Every little bit helps my stats, and the stats help me sell my books to others who haven't yet had a chance to read it.
     
    If you can't afford it or otherwise have something preventing you from purchasing it, but still want to help, please feel free to read the story here at GA and then review it on Amazon. I'd also love it if those who've read "From The Cup of The Worthless" would also take the time to review it on Amazon. Thanks! You'll find the link to that story here: http://www.gayauthors.org/forums/blog/622/entry-16126-from-the-cup-of-the-worthless-now-available-on-kindle/
     
    If you'd like a refresher as to what the story is about, here's a brief description:
     
    Halloween is a night of mystery and magic, and for Samuel Cleese it is no exception. When attending a masquerade goes awry, he's drawn into the most magical night of his life. Who is the mysterious man whose face is hidden by a dark mask, and what does the future hold for Samuel?
     
    Thank you for your time and your support! Have a great Halloween season!
  24. Cynus
    A short time ago, I received the cover art I'd commissioned for "From The Cup of The Worthless", and went ahead with my original plan of publishing it on Amazon. It's now available through Kindle, for anyone who would like a copy. For those unfamiliar with the story, here's a brief description:
     
    Family isn’t only a matter of blood, and sometimes the only blood required is that shed in defense of those you consider family. In the world of organized crime, the family you belong to is everything. Nobuyuki Sato, a young member of the Inagawa-kai Yakuza Clan, is eager to prove himself to his father, Masahiro Sato. When he attracts the interest of Viktor Karimov, the son of the Chief of Police, Nobuyuki is certain he’s gained an important foothold in the city of Vladivostok, but it all begins to fall apart as Nobuyuki develops feelings for Viktor. Nobuyuki must learn to balance love and loyalty in order to keep his father’s favor, and Viktor alive; not everyone is happy with Nobuyuki's actions or position.
     
    For those who may be worried that I won't be posting it for free anymore, don't be. I'll still be posting the chapters at a rate of once a week, and the story will finish posting in June. You're welcome to continue to follow it here and I hope you'll let me know what you think. The edition on kindle is the same as the one posting here.
     
    If you're interested in the eBook, click here: http://www.amazon.com/From-Cup-Worthless-Samuel-Roe-ebook/dp/B01D234T5I?ie=UTF8&*Version*=1&*entries*=0
     
    Thanks everyone!
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