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Kyle’s Time Travelin’ Tour, 2020 Edition

January 1, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

People hated 2020 about as much as non-New Englanders hate the Patriots. But hey, at least it’s over.

Now you may have noticed this fancy looking doohickey here. Though it might resemble a futuristic vending machine, it’s not. It’s actually a time machine.

Step inside, reader. I’d love to show you some stuff I worked on in 2020. And I promise we can stay socially distant and wear masks and all that stuff.

Ready? I’ll just close the hatch, press this button here, and…

January

We begin 2020 with an ending: I finished reading the Sandman series. That’s 10 collected volumes, 76 issues, and a heck of a lot of pictures of naked people.

I include this here because Sandman changed the way I think about long-form narrative. It’s impressive how the issue story arcs feed into the volume arcs, and how all 10 volumes combine to cover one gigantic story. Furthermore, the experimentation in form and style is incredible to behold. Can’t wait for the Netflix series.

February

February was a relatively quiet month for writing, mainly because I spent most of it gearing up for the 2020 Special Olympics New York Winter State Games (that’s my day job). About 1,000 athletes, coaches, and volunteers gathered in Rochester for competition in six sports. When we can safely host events of that size again, I highly recommend you join us.

On the writing front, I published a tongue-in-cheek blog post entitled “Podcasts I’ll Never Make.” Everybody seems to have a podcast these days. This post is why I don’t.

March

With Winter Games concluded, I dove headfirst into my next long-form project. It was going to be called And the End is Always Near (a title borrowed from the lyrics of “Roadhouse Blues” by The Doors). Notice the past tense there.

Chiefly inspired by The X-Files and the works of Emily St. John Mandel and David Mitchell, this novel was going to check in with five point-of-view characters over three years: 2000, 2010, and 2020. I read Monsters of the Week: The Complete Critical Companion to The X-Files (among other books) as research. I even quizzed friends and family on their recollections of my three years, hoping to get as many perspectives as possible.

I think you can tell where this story is headed.

Things shut down here in the U.S. in about mid-March. Remote work began, mask-wearing became as ubiquitous as underwear wearing, and 2020 turned into quite the stinker of a year. In a matter of weeks, my enthusiasm for the project dwindled.

It’s not dead. I plan to revisit And the End is Always Near in the future, once this pandemic nonsense is over. I’ve changed the years to 1999, 2012, and 2020. I’ll lose the clean decade spacing, but I like these three years because they’re three points in my life where the end truly seemed near (1999 had Y2K, 2012 had the Mayan calendar thing, and 2020 was 2020).

So, I pivoted on this year’s project. We’ll get to it soon.

April

I’ve done an April Fools blog post the past few years, and 2020 was no exception. I give you the sequel to my first novel:

(Here I tinkered with the brilliant original cover design by my friend Nathan Rumsey.)

I might need to put a disclaimer on these posts in the future, because like 2019’s post, people thought this was real. I felt especially bad about that because some readers were honestly excited. Sorry, everyone.

Lastly, on a non-writing related note, we did as many quarantiners did and got a puppy!

Her name is Osi and she’s an English Springer Spaniel. She is energetic, athletic, and very cuddly, but only when she gets tired (which is rare). We’re still working on her relations with the cats, but things are progressing.

May

The theme of this month was “hair,” as evidenced by my appearance during this live reading of my short story “Large Coffee, Black”…

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…And also this newsletter, which bore the strange subject line, “A quick update on the state of my hair.” Lot of unsubscribes on that one. Can you tell I was going a little nuts?

June

Here I regained some semblance of sanity with a new blog entitled, “My 5 Favorite Bad Movies.” Or maybe not, since it’s a post praising the works of Nicolas Cage…

I also finished David Foster Wallace’s A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. In fact, you’ll see it on my favorite books of the year roundup, coming soon.

July

Now here’s where things got spicy.

In terms of distribution, there are two paths an indie author like myself can walk: Exclusivity, or going wide. The former usually means Amazon, specifically opting into KDP Select, which mandates your book be exclusive to Amazon for a period of months. The latter means sharing your book in as many places as possible, thereby piecing together many smaller incomes into a (hopefully) greater whole.

I’m a going wide kind of guy. Therefore, in July, I began selling books directly on my website.

There are many reasons for doing so, though I won’t bore you with the details—unless you feel like being bored, in which case, check out this blog post I wrote on tax nexus. I spent more time than I’d like to admit trying to figure out whether or not I needed to apply sales tax to ebooks in my native New York State (turns out I didn’t, unless the IRS tells me otherwise).

But it was worth all the research, because it led to this…

Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane is a short story available exclusively through my website for $0.99. Look for more short stories like it in the new year!

August

August was a touchy month, in that I wrote about writing about touchy subjects. Specifically religion.

I’d hinted at my new novel a few times prior, but this, I believe, was the first explicit mention of the title, plot, and all that. I also went in-depth on my approach to the subject in a blog post.

Oh yeah, and this happened, too.

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September

In September I celebrated a birthday. Not my birthday. Not some other human’s birthday. It was the birthday of my second book, Monsters at Dusk. Is that weird? Probably.

My birthday present to my book was, perhaps cruelly, a frank evaluation. Of the 10 stories in the collection, here are my personal favorites, from most to least.

“The Megrim” (The one about Wendyll, Lockwood, and the missing kids.)
“Several Messages from Abby to God (Regarding Her Cat)” (The one featuring letters back and forth between God, Satan, and the little kid.)
“Large Coffee, Black” (The one where the guy falls in love with the titular beverage.)
“Virus/Affliction/Condition/Curse” (The one about a near future featuring werewolves.)
“Unbelievable” (The one about the college student abducted by vampires.)
“Thespian: A Tale of Tragedy and Redemption in Three Acts” (The one about the actor replaced by CGI.)
“We Remember” (The one about the guy whose memories are quaffed by a mysterious visitor in his dreams.)
“A Good Fit in Penbluff City” (The one about the epic fantasy sports team.)
“Wings” (The one about the character who has wings attached to their body by a demented scientist.)
“Alice” (The one about the kids in a field who spot a lonely monster.)

October

I’m not a big Halloween guy (unless you count my love of The Simpsons: Treehouse of Horror episodes), so I didn’t do any special writing for the holiday. However, I did remind you of the time I tried to convince you to read the aforementioned Sandman series. Remember that? No? Check out the refresher here.

November

I’d been working on Eggs for the Ageless all year, so I decided a fun near-New Year’s treat would be to share some of that work. I did so in this post.

As part of my research for the book, I also concluded The Book of Forgiving by Desmond and Mpho Tutu. As I wrote in my review, it’s not only a good book—it’s an essential one. I highly recommend it.

December

And finally, my writing year came to a squishy end with the appearance of a Book Blob.

What the hell is a Book Blob, you ask? Well, it’s when a blob of goo oozes on over and swallows your books, then refuses to give them back unless readers pay a measly ransom of five bucks (for the record, that’s how much I usually sell one book for). The Blob was supposed to leave by the New Year, but I’m told it’s sticking around one more day. So if you’d like to buy my books from it, you can do so here.

And Now, Back to the Future

Watch your step there. Make sure you wipe the interspatial dust from your eyes. And…we’re back!

Now that we’ve returned to the first day of 2021, some updates on the future: I plan to release Eggs for the Ageless later this year, along with another short story or two directly to this here site. We’ve also got a local short story competition in my neck of the woods, so I’ll be submitting there. And I’ve got another story I’m sitting on that I dig very much.

In short, I’m looking forward to this year, and I hope you are, too. Here’s wishing you happiness, good health, and a speedy return to normalcy. Thanks so much for joining me for the ride!

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their cats, and their dog. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories that make readers laugh.

Protected: A Slight Misunderstanding

December 25, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

The Blog About the Holiday Book Blob

December 7, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

Picture this: Four books sat on a shelf and watched as a blob—a festive, bookish sort of blob—slogged inexorably forward. Toward them.

The names of those four books, in no particular order, were Gerald Barkley Rocks, Monsters at Dusk, Past, Present, Future., and Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane. They were siblings, and therefore prone to disagreements every now and then. Like now, for instance.

“Listen,” said Gerald Barkley Rocks, who was the oldest and therefore the de facto leader of the four. “I don’t know what that blob is or what it wants, but I’m just a book. And I’m a book about music, mortality, and to a lesser extent, cats. How the hell am I supposed to know what to do in a disaster scenario?”

No help there. So the other books looked to Monsters at Dusk for guidance. After all, Monsters at Dusk was a book about monsters. And isn’t a blob a monster?

“Werewolves,” said Monsters at Dusk. “Dream entities that feed off memories. Giant black birds that take people in the night. Those are the monsters I deal with. Blobs are above my pay grade.”

Maybe Past, Present, Future., then? It boasted fewer stories than Monsters at Dusk, but its name suggested wisdom. Perhaps the past could inform their present and offer them a better future?

“Look,” said Past, Present, Future. “If it was up to me, I’d be on the website getting downloaded by some kind, friendly reader looking for fun stories. Instead, I’m stuck here with you three schmoes about to get eaten by a blob. I’ve got nothing.”

“You think it’ll eat us?” asked Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane. It was the youngest of the four books on the shelf, and therefore inexperienced in the ways of predators and prey. “Maybe it just wants a hug.”

The blob, which was not an especially swift blob (or was perhaps an average-speed blob, since blobs don’t have legs to run with), finally reached the books. It slurped, then glurped, and also blurped (you know, blob sounds). Then it spoke.

“You four look tasty,” said the blob. “And I’m hungry. So here’s the deal. I’m eating all of you. If people want to read you, they still can. They just need to pay up.”

“How much?” asked Gerald Barkley Rocks. As the oldest, it felt obliged to speak for its siblings.

“I may be a blob, but I have morals,” answered the blob. “Just $4.99, baby. It’s a good deal.”

“Um, blob,” piped up Monsters at Dusk. “The thing is, I cost $4.99. So does GBR.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane. “I only cost $0.99.”

“I’m free,” Past, Present, Future reminded its siblings, “so I’ll stay out of this one.”

The blob was beginning to sense a generational divide amongst these books, but so be it.

“Look,” said the blob. “I’m a blob, and a blob’s gotta eat. Tell you what. I’ll only devour you for the month of December. People can get all four of you for five bucks. After that, they gotta buy you individually. Capeesh?”

“What are you?” asked Gerald Barkley Rocks. “An Italian blob?”

“No, punk. I’m the 2020 Holiday Book Blob.”

With that, the blob swallowed all four books into its gelatinous maw. And then it turned to you, reader.

“You want these books, pal? You got ’em. Just click below.”

A Sneak Peek at “Eggs for the Ageless”

November 2, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

Egg wrote.

Or rather, she scribbled words on papyrus, frowned, then crossed them out.

The Almighty Penguin waddled into the distance, Egg scribbled, nearly tearing the page with the ink-wet tip of her quill. And like a pastry at dessert, it vanished gradually, until it was finally gone.

She eased back, swept her bushy black hair from her eyes, admired the words for a moment, then shook her head and slashed them.

Like a pastry at dessert? That was a weird simile. Maybe she was just hungry. And waddling off into the sunset? Too cliche. (Not so much the waddling part, but still.) This was the summation of a year’s work, the final line of her first book. It needed to be memorable, moving, and above all, not crappy. So Egg tried a new closing line instead.

“We’ll meet again, child,” said the Almighty Penguin. “Someday soon.”

No. No no no. She slashed that, too. Made it seem like she was setting up a sequel, and she hated when authors did that. So presumptuous. At least let readers ask for another before you go forcing it on them.

“Subtle,” she whispered to the parchment. “We need to be more subtle. And maybe even a little profound, if we can swing it.”

“Excuse me?” someone asked.

Egg bolted upright and threw on her most genial smile. The someone who’d spoken was a man seated in the sand beside her, a round and jowly type who smelled slightly of ale. They’d met a few hours prior, but Egg had already forgotten his name. Boffer, maybe. Or Boofer?

“Who are you talking to, girl?” the man asked.

“Well, Mr., um…Boogler…” Egg began, then thought better of answering truthfully and finished with, “…I was just warming up my voice. For the call-and-answer bit.”

“It’s Bowler,” the man snapped. “Mayor Bowler. And what are you writing about, anyway?”

You’re awfully nosy, Mayor Bowler, Egg thought, though she didn’t say it. Instead, she tried her smile again. “Just, umm, taking notes.” She waved toward the makeshift dais before them, where the Holy Devoted was busy reading some story of self-righteous dopes from a chunky book called The Everything. It was the only book Egg could ever remember disliking.

Bowler glowered at the stack of papyrus mounted atop Egg’s lap. “That’s a lot of notes.”

It’s been a long service, she thought. Two hours, according to a nearby hourglass, and the Holy Devoted had only just gotten to the introduction of the Ageless bit. Bowler gave her a parting snort before returning his attention to the oration.

Around them dozed a lazy little town, just a pleasant smattering of sun-baked houses. It took Egg a moment to recall the name of said town, but a glance to the west reminded her.

Plainwall. So named, presumably, because of the looming western wall that provided shade from the omnipresent (I’m being literal here) sun. Not the most creative name for a town, but it was just down the road from a city called Buystuff, so what could you expect?

On the dais before them (actually a creaky wooden box, but “dais” sounded fancier), Holy Devoted Sarene graced the boiling morning air with her voice, enunciating every syllable with precision and clarity. Her reading was flawless as ever. If only her material was less boring.

“And so Lira, Goddess of Order, and Florinioniorius, God of Creation, had 10 children,” Sarene intoned. “And those 10 children, along with their mother and father, would be the foremost of the Ageless, the Greater Gods and Goddesses. They would be the Dozen.”

“The Dozen,” the gathering repeated.

“And many more Ageless would be born of Lira and Florinioniorius, and though they would be divine as well, they would be known as the Lesser Gods and Goddesses.”

“The Lesser,” the gathering repeated.

“And so all the Ageless, both the Dozen and the Lesser, do guide the lives of mortals. They do make our world whole.”

“They make our world whole,” the gathering repeated.

“With the exception of Hylus, God of the Sun,” Sarene clarified, “who hasn’t allowed our holy sun to set in decades, and shall not allow it until we humans prove our worth.”

“Until we prove our worth,” the gathering repeated.

Egg, by the way, wasn’t listening to any of this. It was too nice a day. The sun was fat and bloated as ever, but it was hidden for now, and a handful of puffy white clouds floated above. The sand beneath her bottom was blistering, as usual, but at least she had a blanket to sit on. And a songbird had appeared, settling on the eave of a nearby house. It trilled, then departed. Egg tried and failed to suppress her jealousy.

Anyway, back to writing. She started by twirling her quill around and around, like a real, honest-to-goodness writer must do. Unfortunately, when she looked down, she realized she’d splattered ink across the topmost page.

Oh dear, she thought.

She fumbled the quill and dropped it, which stained the papyrus further, plus got ink on her robes.

Oh shit, she thought.

She scooted to retrieve the quill, which displaced the stack of parchment upon her lap. It slipped off and scattered everywhere, fluttering away like so many leaves, and in her haste to catch them, she kicked the ink pot seated beside her. It tumbled across the sand, leaving a black smear in its wake. Droplets of ink spattered everyone seated too close—including Bowler. The town’s Mayor.

“Oh fuck.”

She thought she’d thought that. But when she felt eyes on her—several dozen pairs of them—she realized she hadn’t. Those words had slipped out.

The entire village of Plainwall, all here for the oration. All staring at her.

She rose. She tried summoning her genial smile but managed only a guilty grimace. The stares had turned to glares, from Mr. Bowler and the other ink-stained townsfolk, the clean ones too, and…

Egg gulped. And Holy Devoted Sarene.

There was no Goddess of Disapproval, but if there was, she probably would’ve taken the form of the Holy Devoted. Sarene was stern and severe with a heron’s build and differently colored eyes: one brown, one blue. Her scalp was completely shaven, revealing a smooth head with a halo of runic tattoos—12 of them, each representing one of the Dozen Gods and Goddesses.

“Child,” Sarene said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Egg tried to speak, but the sound came out a sputter.

“She’s taking notes,” Mayor Bowler offered. “Allegedly.”

The Devoted did not react. She didn’t even blink. “You’ve made an unholy mess, Zeggara. Have you anything to say for yourself?”

“Yes. I have something to say for myself. I say I’d rather be writing than sitting here, because writing makes me happier than sitting around every week for hours on end, listening to stories I don’t believe in and participating in rituals I don’t care for. I say that maybe I believe in something else, or would at least like the opportunity to do so. Also, I say you’re overstating the state of this mess—I’ve done worse. That’s what I say.”

…Well, that’s what Egg would’ve said, if she’d had the courage. But she didn’t. Instead, she squeaked three words:

“I don’t know.”

Holy Devoted Sarene was intimidating enough. It didn’t help that she also happened to be Egg’s mother.

By the time the gathering dispersed, morning had turned to afternoon (not that you’d know it by looking at the sun; it hadn’t moved an inch, nor would it).

Nonetheless, the people of Plainwall returned to their houses, and Egg and her mother retired to their current home: Plainwall’s inn.

Up in their room, Sarene seated herself behind a desk. Egg sat across from her, beside a breezeless window. The ink-stained manuscript laid between them.

“So.” Egg’s mother flipped through the pages, examining them like scraps of food on the verge of spoiling. “Explain this.”

“It’s a book,” said Egg. Her eyes flicked to the candle flame dancing beside her manuscript. (Candles—and flames in general—became obsolete once the sun stopped setting, but you could still find them if you tried.)

“I see that. What sort of book?”

A good one, Egg thought. But she said, “I don’t know.”

Her mother pursed her lips and ran a finger along Egg’s tangled handwriting. “What would your father think of this?”

He’d love it. He’d at least give it a chance. “I…I don’t know.”

“Please stop telling me what you don’t know, Zeggara.” She fixed her differently colored eyes upon her daughter. “An anthropomorphic penguin?”

“It’s fiction,” Egg blurted. “Meant to provoke thought and reflection. You don’t have to take it literally.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Egg looked away. “You won’t like it.”

The edge of the Holy Devoted’s lip ticked up ruefully. “I don’t expect to.”

“It’s a story about a penguin who arrives in a town and teaches people how to be more penguin-like. They toboggan, feast on fish, and swim together in rafts. Did you know a pack of swimming penguins was called a ‘raft,’ mother?”

“I did not.”

“Well, it was. The point I’m trying to make is…” People have the right to live their lives however they want to. And maybe a penguin is just as good a deity as your Ageless. But Egg swallowed and instead finished, “I like penguins.”

“I can see that.” Her mother flipped to the front page and read, “Grand Teachings of the Almighty Penguin. Is that what I’m supposed to call this?”

“It’s a working title.”

Her mother sighed. “How long have you been writing it?”

“A year.”

The Holy Devoted shook her bald head. “And all that time you could’ve been reading your Everything. You could’ve been studying for your Devotion.”

The Everything was the holy book of the Ageless, and the Devotion was a ritual in which mortals pledged their lives to said Ageless to become (you guessed it) Holy Devoted. Devotion involved getting tattoos representing the Dozen, plus some sort of quiz and a public declaration. Truth be told, Egg was fuzzy on the details.

But Devotion wasn’t Egg’s passion in life. Writing was. It was the one skill she considered herself halfway decent at (aside from her abilities to forget names and spill things). She’d been writing constantly, ever since she was young. Granted, Grand Teachings of the Almighty Penguin was the first story she’d ever even come close to finishing, and some of her previous projects had been unimpressive at best. But she had written them. And writing remained her passion, despite her mother’s tireless attempts to replace it with religion.

“I just want to write, mother.”

Sarene offered no answer. Instead, she gathered the papers, flipped through them with her thumb. She sighed heavily. “There is only one book you should be studying, Zeggara. You know what I must do with this one.” Her gaze slid to the candle flame.

“Please.” Egg didn’t want to cry in front of her mother, but she feared she might, if it came to this. “You can’t.”

“I must. There is no Goddess of Penguins, Zeggara. We’ve traveled to this town to bring the teachings of the Ageless to its people. Not some fanciful tale of flying creatures.”

“Swimming.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Penguins didn’t fly—they swam. They were aquatic flightless birds.”

Egg’s mother rubbed at the tattoos on her bare scalp. “As you say, child. I know little of extinct species.”

“And it’s satire,” Egg added, her sudden courage taking her by surprise. “The point isn’t to present an alternative religion. It’s to poke fun at religion itself.”

Her mother’s mismatched eyes suddenly looked pained. “That cannot be, my daughter. Our faith is everything to us. It should be everything to you. Why do you think the sun never sets, hmm? Why do you think it dries our grounds and burns our backs? It’s because we aren’t devoted enough. We don’t believe enough. So if you truly want to become a Devoted, Zeggara, you must set aside this writing and focus on what truly matters.”

That’s what you want, mother, Egg thought. Not what I want.

It was unsurprising, anyway. Ever since she’d given herself to the Ageless, Egg’s mother had warned all about what wasn’t allowed. Egg wasn’t even sure she could have dessert without permission from the Ageless—not that it ever stopped her.

“Mother…” You’re missing the point. You’re preventing people from thinking for themselves. What if my book gave them a new perspective on their belief? What if it made them laugh, instead of feeling guilty or fearful?

She wanted to say that to her mother, and more. But she couldn’t. “Please. It’s just a book.”

“Books have power. This book you’ve written, Zeggara. It’s blasphemous.”

“Have you even read it?”

“I’ve read enough. For your sake, I must do this.” Her mother leaned toward the candle.

“Wait!” Egg cried. She wasn’t exactly sure what they were waiting for, but the answer came to her suddenly. “Let me do it, mother. I…I’ll do it.”

Sarene hesitated, holding the pages mere inches above the flickering candle. “You shall?”

“I must. It needs to be destroyed, burned, obliterated, all that. Just what blasphemy deserves, am I right?” She forced a chuckle, wishing she was better at lying. “I’m the one who created it. I should be the one to destroy it.”

The Holy Devoted gave her daughter a wary look. “If you say you’ll do this, you must not balk. I’m trusting you, child.”

Egg offered her most trustworthy smile. “You can count on me, mother. I just need a day to say goodbye. After that, I’ll destroy it. I swear it by…by the Ageless themselves.”

It hurt to make a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep. But her mother’s sudden smile hurt worse. It was one of the few times Egg could ever remember her mother looking proud of her.

“Believe in something, Zeggara. It will save you, in this life and the next.” She passed the manuscript across the desk, then patted her daughter on the hand. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Egg hugged her manuscript. “Thank you,” she said. But what she really meant was, Thank you for helping me finish my book.

Sunlight found her on the creaking front steps of the inn. The village was quiet, the stagnant air still, and Egg’s left hand itched to write. She drew her quill from her pocket, wetted it, then flipped to the back of her book and scribbled one final, fading line. It went like this:

“Believe in something,” said the Almighty Penguin, “so long as it makes you happy.”

“You’re finally finished,” Egg whispered to her book, planting a wet kiss upon the page. Her lips were probably black now, but whatever. “And now…I have to kill you.”

She’d promised it, sworn it, vowed it, both to the Ageless and her mother. Could she really break that promise?

Her eyes drifted to the horizon, to the gleaming spires in the distance. There loomed the city of Buystuff, the villagers had said. They called it the commerce capital of the world, the place where one could find any people or products there were to find. Hunters and diggers, jewelers and smiths, wanderers and soldiers, monarchs and peasants, writers and…

…And publishers…

“What do I do now?” Egg asked her manuscript. But she already knew the answer.

And Then I Tried to Convince You to Read Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman”

October 26, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

Remember that time we ran into each other at that coffee shop, and you ordered that drink you like and I ordered that drink I like, and we sat at that table near the window, and then I started blabbing about Sandman? Remember that?

“Here we go,” you sighed.

“I know,” I said. “Another book recommendation. But I really think you’ll like this one. It’s a series of comic books by Neil Gaiman.”

“You always talk about that guy.”

“I know. It’s because he’s the GOAT. Did I tell you about the time I met him at a signing?”

“At least four times.”

“Sorry. But you’d talk about him all the time too if you read Sandman. Now I know what you’re going to say, and I said the same thing. You don’t read comic books. But these are more like graphic novels.”

“That’s what people call comics when they want people who don’t read comics to read them.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But this time I mean it. Each story appears individually in comics, but the story arcs are collected into trade paperback volumes. You can click this link to learn more.”

“Are you breaking the fourth wall?” you asked.

“Kinda. Anyhoo, Sandman. First thing: It’s an amazing feat of storytelling. The greater story arc is divided into 10 smaller story arcs, which are in turn divided into something like five or six smaller ones. They range from horror to fantasy to historical fiction to humor, and they’re really well-written. Plus the art is sweet.”

You shrugged and sipped your drink. “Yeah, but it’s a comic book series featuring another Whatever-Man. I’m so sick of superhero stuff.”

“That’s the thing. Sandman isn’t a superhero. They barely even call him Sandman—he’s usually referred to as Dream, or Morpheus, or the Prince of Stories. He’s the guy who creates and regulates the Dreaming, a.k.a. the world we visit when we sleep. And he’s actually more of an antihero.”

“So no tights? No masks? No crime fighting?”

“Well it is a DC property, so there are some Batman-ish crossovers early on.” I fluttered my hand as if to wipe that all away. “But those dissipate later in the series. I promise, it’s not a superhero story. It’s contemporary magical realism combined with ancient mythology, told in both long-form and contained short story modes.”

At that point, I noticed how often you were glancing at the exit. Fortunately, you were very kind and decided to stay a while longer. You asked, “What would I like about it?”

“Well,” I said, easing back in my chair and inwardly smiling, because I was about to experience the joy of soliloquizing on a favorite subject. “The second volume is kinda perfect for Halloween. It’s about a serial killer convention and it’s super creepy. There’s also an issue where—minor spoiler—Satan quits being Satan and offers the key of Hell to Dream, then all these gods from ancient religions show up to bid on Hell itself. And in one of the most famous issues, William Shakespeare and his acting troupe perform A Midsummer Night’s Dream for the real Titania and Oberon. Puck shows up too. It’s great.”

“Whoa,” you said. “Sounds like quite the story. By the way, why didn’t you write all this as a generic blog post with a title like, ‘Why You Should Read Neil Gaiman‘s Sandman?'”

I shrugged. “I thought about it, but I figured this form would be more fun. And also way more pretentious.”

“True,” you agreed. “But anyway, the thing I find annoying about comic books is the entry point. The continuity shifts all the time and the villains never die and there’s no end to any story. If I wanted to read Spiderman, for instance, I’d have to sift through decades of character history, plus endless reboots and crossovers. There’s no way to read it all!”

At this point, I was feeling like a talking head on a postgame sports show. “That’s what’s so great about Sandman. You start with Volume one, Preludes and Nocturnes, and then finish with Volume 10, The Wake. Have I mentioned they have great titles? Granted, there are some spinoffs I heard were bad, plus another spinoff featuring Dream’s sister. Neil wrote it, it’s good. And there’s a prequel that’s also an epilogue, which is another sweet feat of storytelling. But basically, as long as you read one through 10, you get the complete story.”

“What if I’m not ready to commit?” you asked. “Because this sounds like a major commitment.”

“I prefer to view it as a lovely adventure. But I get it. You could start with the Audible audio adaptation, which features James McAvoy, Martin Sheen, Andy Serkis, and Kat Dennings. It’s fantastic. There’s also a Netflix series in the works, so we have that to look forward to. But if you read the comics now, you could be one of those snooty people like me who always reminds fans of the show that the books were better.”

“I’d rather not,” you said. “But you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“So do you think you’ll read it?” I asked.

You finished the rest of that drink you like so much. “I’ll consider it. Now who’s picking up the check?”

Happy (Belated) Birthday, Monsters at Dusk!

September 14, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

One week ago, Monsters at Dusk turned one year old.

That was also Labor Day, so the party had to wait. So today, you’re invited to MAD’s belated birthday. The cake is coming, I swear.

In the meantime, as I did with my previous book, Gerald Barkley Rocks, I’d like to try a little retrospective on Monsters at Dusk. Let’s examine what worked well, what didn’t work so well, and a few things I’ve learned in the year since writing it. I broke it down by story. Here goes!

Several Messages from Abby to God (Regarding Her Cat)

“Several Messages” is the only epistolary style in the collection (meaning it’s written as a series of letters). It’s a format I hope to revisit, mainly because of how much fun this story was. I think it’s one of the collection’s best.

I’m proud of the distinct voices I established here. Abby’s misspellings, Satan’s colloquialisms, and God’s self-censorship felt true to the characters. What’s more, it’s entertaining to follow information as it’s relayed between parties. Laclos’s Dangerous Liasons does the same, so I’m glad I could emulate one of my inspirations.

Fun fact: Until about a week prior to publication, I had this story second and the next story first. I’m glad I switched them. Collections often begin and end with two of the strongest entries, and I believe “Several Messages” outclasses my next work.

(Truth be told, I feared readers might not realize Abby’s spelling errors were intentional. Good thing I was wrong.)

Unbelievable

I was quite fond of this story when it was first published by Chantwood Magazine in 2017. Not so much now.

There are bits I still enjoy. The plot moves quickly, it’s structurally sound, and it’s mostly funny. Plus, I believe I effectively lampooned my subject matter (no spoilers). I dig the opening conversation because during my re-read it reminded me a bit of Tarantino.

But “Unbelievable” has some issues. Here’s one of my notes to myself during the re-read: “Two and a half pages into the story and there’s really no one to like.” It’s true; The guy and the girl are rude to each other, Toby’s a bit of a loser, and the remaining characters don’t appear long enough to make much impact. Plus, the story relies heavily on college-style humor, which might not appeal to all readers.

All in all, I think this story would’ve worked better had Toby been a more likeable protagonist. I put him in danger, yes, but he’s such a schmo that it’s hard to feel invested in his fate. That said, I gotta admit; the ending is still pretty cool.

We Remember

It’s an exquisite feeling to create a detail that’s perfect for your character. I think I did that with Max, our point-of-view character, twice.

First: His penchant for picture taking. It’s so tragic because he sees all these beautiful memories, yet can’t remember what any of them mean. That moved me, especially during my re-read. Second: His workmanlike mentality. His insistence on doing everything himself gives him a solid character arc. I’m happy with the way it concludes.

All that said, “We Remember” is far more sombre than my usual fare. I don’t think it became melodramatic, but it came dangerously close. It reads like someone who wants to be invited into literary circles, what with all its self-seriousness and lavish description. A fine story, though I’m glad it’s not my typical style.

Large Coffee, Black

My wife pokes fun at me for liking this story as much as I do. But honestly, I think it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written.

I dig the brevity here. “Large Coffee, Black” has a sick title, plus it’s quirky, humorous, and unique in just five print pages. Some of my favorite lines:

“Some people flavor their coffee with sugar, milk, creamer, and the like. Osbourne truly hates those people.”

“…Whenever his mind descends into dream, the images melt to black, then trickle down into a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee.”

“It starts with a C and has two Fs and two Es.”

I’ll admit, this story isn’t as profound as “We Remember,” nor as heartwarming as “Several Messages.” Honestly, it was a bit of a thematic stretch to include in the collection to begin with. But after my re-read, I love it as much as I ever did.

A Good Fit in Penbluff City

I remember liking this one more when I wrote it.

Sure, the interview structure works, and I think Pren’s final decision is concealed fairly well. But I was going for the feel of the film Moneyball. Unfortunately, I don’t think I got there.

First off, there’s tons of exposition. No sooner are we introduced to a concept than I spend a paragraph explaining how that concept works. Perhaps I should’ve pared down the world a bit, or maybe truncated the explanations. Whatever the solution, I can see why epic fantasy appears more often as long-form fiction.

Also, I could’ve done a better job raising the tension. I tried doing that by mentioning a key player signing by a rival franchise, but that’s not enough. If Pren’s hiring process felt not just important, but essential, the entire story might’ve worked better. As it stands, I think it’s one of the weakest entries in the book.

Alice

Here’s a little behind-the-scenes trivia: “Alice” was once accepted for publication by online magazine Lakeside Circus. Sadly, they closed shop before they could publish it. To paraphrase the Dude, it’s a bummer, man.

I was on the fence about including it here. The narrative voice is unique, but the plot itself feels too simplistic. Our narrator changes from beginning to end, yes. But the steps to arrive there feel clipped.

Nonetheless, I added the story because of its almost-publication and because my wife enjoyed it. Hopefully, new readers will enjoy it, too.

Thespian: A Tale of Tragedy and Redemption in Three Acts

It’s fun to write a foppish character every now and then. I had a blast doing it in “Thespian.”

The central concept was inspired by a conversation I had with my dad, who theorized all movies would be made via CGI in the near future. After fumbling with the idea for several drafts, I found the right voice for Joel Henry Desmond. After that, the rest fell into place.

Yes, I once again stretched the monster theme with this story. If you think of technology as a metaphorical monster that devoured Joel’s acting career, it sort of fits. Anyhoo, I think this is one of the collection’s strongest tales. And it also happens to be my very first professional publication (10 whole bucks, baby).

Virus/Affliction/Condition/Curse

Notice how I lifted the naming convention off Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy? Thanks, John le Carré!

Though this one rarely offers my customary humorous tone, I still like it. Ted Chiang’s “Liking What You See: A Documentary” inspired the style (a series of interconnected vignettes regarding a controversial speculative topic).

“Virus” features some of my best character work. A few of my favorite examples:

Mandy Stackhouse, particularly her energy drinks, Cheez-Its, and sleeping bag.
Margaret Vine and her tendency to “[speak] in chunky paragraphs.”
Geovanni Fressi, his six-day work schedule, and of course, his basketball shot clock.

But “Virus” isn’t without its flaws. I imagine some readers might find the style a bit aimless, especially at its conclusion. The ending is meant to turn the decision back on the reader, though I fear some might view it as a cop-out. Also, I regret my description of the way the police handle the situation.

Wings

I have mixed feelings about this one. “Wings” has some well-written passages and a creepy atmosphere, but ultimately, horror isn’t my thing.

I like reading horror. I’ve just come to realize it’s not my forte, likely due to personal embarrassment. My family reads my stuff, so writing stories themed around deranged doctors and gruesome bodily torture makes for awkward conversation. I’ll stick to humor, thanks.

The Megrim

Now here’s some humor. I hope this doesn’t sound self-aggrandizing, but I think “The Megrim” is the best story I’ve ever written.

It starts with the characters. Wendyll and Lockwood make for a perfect pair thanks to their constant opposition. Wendyll is thoughtful, spiritual, timid, and well-read; Lockwood is impulsive, atheistic, brave, and illiterate. These differences generate constant tension and humor. Like here (the passage begins with Lockwood):

“If you’re so sure you have the answer, why call on your High Temple in the first place?”

“Because I’m no hunter.” I nodded to the axes strapped across [Lockwood’s] shoulders. “And I don’t have a pair of those.”

That made the mercenary grin. “You’re missing a pair alright.”

I’m thrilled with the way the mystery concluded, too. I don’t read or write much mystery, though I enjoy stories that feature mysterious elements. I believe I concealed the final reveal, plus made it satisfying.

But hey, this shouldn’t be an exercise in back-patting. “The Megrim” has its issues. Part one, for example, isn’t particularly funny (likely because Lockwood hasn’t yet arrived), so I worry it doesn’t establish the story’s tone. Also, I probably should’ve seeded Asrith’s motherliness better, since it’s absent in her first appearance.

Nonetheless, I believe “The Megrim” is the best story in Monsters at Dusk. Take that, “Several Messages”!

Parting Thoughts

My goal in publishing is to make each book better than its predecessor. I believe I accomplished that goal with Monsters at Dusk.

Anyway, thanks for attending the birthday! Please use the code “MADiscount” on my store to get Monsters at Dusk for $0.99. (It expires a week from today, so please hustle.) Now how’s that for a party favor?

Writing About Touchy Subjects

August 25, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

Touchy subjects are interesting by nature. That’s why they’re fun to write about.

Take pineapple on pizza. People have exactly two opinions about pineapple on pizza:

Pizzas should be topped with nothing else
It makes a mockery of a perfectly good pie

I’ve somehow ended up in the middle on that one, which sort of undermines my point. Hmm…

For a better example, take religion. I’m writing about that for my current project, a novel entitled Eggs for the Ageless. It’s a story about a girl who accidentally creates a religion. The existing Gods and Goddesses of her world (the titular Ageless), are not happy.

My book’s religions are fictional, but they’re inspired by real ones, most notably Ancient Greek myths. Therefore, I’ve got a Goddess of Love and a God of War. But I tried adding a little humor, too, with a Goddess of Coffee and a God of Waste Management. Ya know, the essentials.

Controversy is interesting, but it’s also, well, controversial. That’s why I’ve given myself three rules when writing about religion, and touchy subjects in general. They are…

Rule #1: Play Both Sides

I once heard some excellent advice on writing controversial topics: You must argue both (or all) sides. Otherwise you lose conflict and fall into didacticism.

In other words, if all the bad guys in my book were religious and all the good guys non-religious (or vice versa), it would feel too preachy. I’m taking extra care to explore the merits of both sides. And honestly, if there really is a religion with a God of Coffee, I’ll convert today.

Furthermore, subjects often become touchy because there’s no objectively correct answer. Take politics, for example. Humankind has devised countless ways to organize society, and though some prefer certain structures over others, there’s no perfect way to run things. So, if you write about that touchy subject, play every side that makes sense.

Don’t just argue the benefits of, say, monarchies, in the style of Hamilton’s King George. Touch on all the touchy sides. (Although, I have to admit, King George kinda pulls it off.)

Rule #2: Provide a Range of Intensity

Every touchy subject has its fanatics and its casuals. In religious terms, consider the self-flagellating albino dude from The Da Vinci Code versus people who believe in God but don’t really pray or attend church. Though they’re technically on the same side, their belief carries a different intensity. So examine them both.

If you don’t, you’ll fall into the same trap of Rule #1. Imagine, for example, if every religious character in Eggs for the Ageless murdered people in the name of the Coffee Goddess. Not only would that be unfair to coffee drinkers—it would also be unfair to peaceful religious folks, of which the world has many.

I’ve got some fanatics in my book, sure. There’s Sarene, our main character’s mom, who’s so devoted that she tattoos her bare scalp with images of the Ageless (you don’t see that every day). But I’ve also added some laid-back religious types, such as the multi-talented Trast, who’s an early reader favorite so far.

People have strong opinions on touchy subjects, yes. But some are stronger than others. So it is in life, so it should be in writing.

Rule #3: Find the Humor

People have a tendency to dismiss funny stories as less meaningful than serious ones. I disagree. Humor is funny precisely because it gets to the heart of its target. Take this Oscar Wilde quote as an example:

“I think God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability.”

For the religiously inclined, that’s a statement about how humans don’t always live up to God’s expectations. For the non-religious, it’s highlighting the comedic irony of a supposedly omnipotent God. Either way, it’s pretty funny—and certainly meaningful.

There’s humor hidden within most touchy subjects. We’ve covered religion, politics, and pizza—but hey, people can make jokes out of just about anything. Kurt Vonnegut, for example, could find humor in seemingly unfunny subjects. Like this…

“I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone.”

Or this…

“Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning do to do afterward.”

Or this…

“Dear future generations: Please accept our apologies. We were rolling drunk on petroleum.”

If Vonnegut can find humor in greenhouse gas emissions, there’s humor to be found in pretty much any controversy. Especially pineapple on pizza.

Looking forward to writing more about touchy subjects in Eggs for the Ageless. More details to come.

Why Tapas Restaurants Fill Me with Rage

July 20, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

There are few things in life I hate more than tapas restaurants.

If you’ve never been before, here’s the gist. You don’t order normal meals at tapas places. Instead, you order several small plates which (surprise!) you’re expected to share with your tablemates. The idea is, ostensibly, to create a communal experience and sample several entrees in one sitting.

In reality, tapas restaurants are one of the worst ideas humankind has ever devised, up there with Crocs and Windows Vista.

Before we go any further, let me be clear: I’m not dumping on Spain or its people (where tapas originated). I’m dumping on the American version of tapas, those allegedly trendy, blatantly overpriced restaurants that fool us into buying glorified appetizers at revolting prices (plus the f-ing gratuity). Allow me to elaborate.

First problem: I have no idea how much food to order. Are three dishes enough? Or five? Maybe 10? More? The waiter/waitress always offers some nebulous answer such as, “One dish usually serves about 2 to 8 customers,” or, “Most patrons find this item rather filling.”

Thanks, Raphael—that wasn’t helpful at all. Anyway, no matter what we do, we’ll inevitably order too much or too little.

This whole futile process also takes forever. The group elects a spokesperson, probably the hungriest one present, then listens to said spokesperson mangle the entrée names. If they forget something, I can’t blame them; the poor sap has to remember 20 different dishes!

After some hangry small talk, Raphael returns with a quarter loaf of bread. This I can handle. Bread is a legitimate appetizer. It’s not masquerading as the main course, unlike everything else listed in curly font within the leather-bound menu.

The bread only lasts a few bites, so I sigh and gaze wistfully at the open kitchen. Our main courses won’t be ready for another fortnight or so, but in the meantime, I’ll settle for a food-high via the smell of other peoples’ dinners as they’re bustled past.

When the food finally does arrive, I’ll admit, some is tasty—if you can get it. With upwards of 10 dishes crammed onto the tabletop, most plates end up out of reach. If I’m lucky, I snag the gravy-laced beef and load up before anyone else. If not, I’m stuck with the pickled cauliflower soufflé, which not even vast amounts of cheese can make palatable.

That’s a universal constant of tapas restaurants, by the way. Someone reads a bizarre concoction off the menu and suggests ordering it. I’d never sample such crap in a million years, but I’m trying to be polite, so I smile and congratulate this person on their adventurousness, all the while wondering if cannibalism is the best solution here.

I goop the experiment onto my plate, then pray there’s enough of the tasty dish left to satiate my raging stomach. Unlikely, since it’s quite the challenge to portion properly.

When the tasty dish appears, I’m presented with a frustrating conundrum: Do I take whatever’s left, or should I leave a scoop for some other schmo? It’s always the latter, because emptying the plate feels like splurging during a famine.

If tapas portions were reasonable, this wouldn’t be an issue. However, the plates look like they’re prepared for Keebler Elves. What’s worse, while I’m trying to eat, I get nudged on both sides by new dishes I don’t even want. So I discard my utensils and pass the food along, all the while pretending this is all so much fun.

At some point during the meal, I must excuse myself to the bathroom. Not that I actually need the facilities; I haven’t consumed nearly enough food to warrant a bowel movement. Instead, I’m going there to mutter about how irritating this situation is. “Tapas restaurants,” I growl at my reflection, probably sounding like Robert Durst. “I’d rather watch the film adaptation of Cats than eat here.”

If only there was something in the bathroom I might eat, but they’re out of paper towels and I won’t stoop so low as to try the urinal cake. So I wash my hands, return to the table, and smile apologetically whenever my empty stomach gurgles too loudly.

This is the part where I become envious and straight up angry at my fellow diners, even if they’re friends or family. Because while I’m force-feeding myself cauliflower, I notice somebody across the table poking at a half-eaten slab of gravy-laced beef.

How dare you!? I think to myself. You got the gravy-laced beef and you’re not even going to finish it? Don’t you realize how lucky you are!?

Sadly, none of this torment rivals the most infuriating moment of the night. That comes when the check arrives.

Though the dining party usually wants separate checks, nobody ever remembers to tell Raphael pre-meal. If he’s sharp, Raphael might ask preemptively—perhaps noticing that nobody appears to be related—but most often it’s only remembered at meal’s end. At which point Raphael invents some convoluted excuse about why he won’t do it. “The cash register—it’s part of a union! I can’t ask it to separate checks!”

So that’s great. Where’s the person with the closest amalgamation of a mathematics degree? They need to parse this tapestry-length receipt so we can pay and get the hell out of here.

This is all assuming we didn’t make the mistake of ordering dessert. Because now that we’re at a tapas restaurant and we’re all treated as one entity, Raphael will totally foist some sweets on us. If somebody decides they’re craving sugar, they’ll be disappointed if I’m not. So now I’ve been guilted into dropping another 20 bucks on some banana-flavored ooze that takes the kitchen another half-hour to concoct.

Also, before I forget, there’s something else I’d like to complain about. Unless you’re on Top Chef, I don’t give a crap about the presentation of the dish. If there’s more empty plate than there is food, I’m gonna be furious. I don’t care about negative space, or artful streaks of sauce, or garnish. None of those things make me less hungry. I can dig art, but when I come to a restaurant and pay money for food, I want food. Not a goddamn Van Gogh.

Anyway, back to the bill. By now we’ve discovered the restaurant’s 20% gratuity tip, a term which I’ve always found oxymoronic. Nobody feels gratitude toward anybody for being forced to pay anything. Whatever. I hate these stupid places, anyway.

Now that my wallet is $80 lighter, it’s time to reflect on this experience. How many stars would I give it? Zero! Negative five! I just spent my hard-earned cash on Happy Meal-portions of mediocre food I had to share with a bunch of people I now despise. No thank you, world.

Once we get outside, someone invariably remarks, “Wasn’t that fun? Shouldn’t we do that again sometime?”

Depending on who this person is, I feel like punching them in the neck, or at least challenging them on their definition of “fun.” What else do you find fun, former friend? Self-immolation?

Instead, I say nothing. I just nurse the grievance like a Neanderthal sharpening a wooden spear. There’s no vitriol left in me, anyway—I’ve poured it all into this essay, or rant, or whatever you want to call it.

So I silently seethe the whole drive back. I’m just trying to hold it together until I arrive home. Once there, I’m going to gorge on Cheez-Its.

Ecommerce, Tax Nexus, and a Short Story for You

July 13, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

Ever wanted to learn about sales tax nexus?

Me neither. Unfortunately, I did anyway.

Sales Tax Nexus Explained (A.k.a. a Natural Sleep Inducer)

Sales tax nexus is a series of criteria one must meet before enforcing sales tax on products. You automatically establish nexus in the state where you live, but you can also expand into other states by making lots of sales, leasing an office, etc. (If you’re interested in this sort of thing, I learned tons from the TaxJar Blog.)

Still Awake?

Okay, phew.

Anyway, why am I telling you this? Because I learned all about it for my ecommerce store.

You might’ve noticed that my Books page and its sub-pages have changed. Most notably, you’ll see a little purple button labeled “Add to cart” and a menu item labeled “Checkout.” Try clicking those buttons. You’ll find you can purchase ebooks directly from this website!

Why Build an Ecommerce Platform?

Or more pertinently, why hazard the murky waters of sales tax? A few reasons.

1. Easier Buying

Time was, when you clicked a button on this site, you were redirected to buy on another site. No longer. Instead, just add your book to your cart, enter your credit card info (it’s secure with Woocommerce Payments, Stripe, or PayPal), then buy.

(For the record, I still have links to my books on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.)

2. Better Cuts

Amazon is the most generous retailer for author royalties, but even they claim a 30% cut of ebook purchases. The payment portals on my site take between 2.9 and 5%. Therefore, I make more on each sale, while fine readers like you need not spend extra.

3. New Short Stories!

Most exciting of all, this platform is perfect for distributing short stories like this one:

Cover designed by the author

I meant to share this with you last week, but I hibernated for seven days after reading too much tax documentation. Here’s what it’s about:

How many thieves does it take to rob a dragon? Five—and that’s not a punchline.

In Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane, an old man, a young girl, a coward, and a pair of twins attempt the heist of a lifetime. Their target: a hoard of treasure. Its guardian: a dragon with a death wish. Will the thieves succeed, or will they meet a fiery (and crunchy) end?

A hybrid of farce and high fantasy, this short story proves that even the best fellowships aren’t immune to a few blunders. Hope you brought your dragonsbane.

If that sounds fun to you, you can read Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane for $0.99. Hope you dig it!

Epilogue to the Sales Tax Thing

I contacted several financial experts, both individuals and entities, plus the dreaded New York State Department of Taxation and Finance (it actually wasn’t that bad). Finally, I got my answer. Drumroll, please…

Ebooks aren’t taxable in New York state. And since I’m not selling nearly enough in other states to warrant taxation, all that research could’ve been better spent doing something else. Like playing Magic, for instance.

Nonetheless, I’m glad I get to share my ecommerce store with you. Try it out and see what you think.

My 5 Favorite Bad Movies

June 9, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

A video version of this post is available here.

Film is just about the only medium where a failure can fail so hard it becomes a success. Take, for example, the films in this post.

Today, I’d like to share my five favorite bad movies with you. They’re bad for several reasons, but good for one: hilarity. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Number 5: Plan 9 from Outer Space

It’s never a good sign when a movie is directed, written, produced, and edited by the same person. That’s what we have with Plan 9 from Outer Space, widely considered one of the worst movies of all time.

The name behind the credits: Ed Wood, a now-notorious B-movie master with a fantastic Wikipedia blurb, which I’ll quote now.

“[Wood’s films were] notable for their campy aesthetics, technical errors, unsophisticated special effects, ill-fitting stock footage, eccentric casts, idiosyncratic stories, and non sequitur dialogue.”

That’s Plan 9 in a nutshell. Aliens arrive on Earth and, in an attempt to stop humans from destroying the planet, they enact the titular Plan 9, which involves summoning zombies from beyond the grave. Why the zombies? To get people’s attention, of course. (You’d think that aliens landing would be enough, but not in this movie.)

In addition to the aforementioned aliens and zombies, Plan 9 also boasts such discordant elements as 50s working-class drama, film noir detectives, and vampires, in the form of both Vampira and the original Dracula, Bela Lugosi.

Lugosi’s presence is perhaps the strangest element of the film, not least of all because he died three years prior to its production. Here’s the deal: Ed Wood filmed several miscellaneous scenes of Lugosi in 1956, many of which involved him sporting his Dracula cape and stalking around a graveyard. When Lugosi died shortly after, Wood shelved the footage. Until 1959, that is, when he decided to cram it into Plan 9.

The result is magnificent. The same handful of scenes with Lugosi are replayed several times throughout the film. Furthermore, he never appears in a scene with any other member of the cast (since, you know, he was dead). To fill narrative gaps, Wood hired his wife’s chiropractor to act as Lugosi’s stand-in. Unfortunately, the two looked nothing alike, so the chiropractor covers his face with the Dracula cape whenever he’s on screen.

It gets better. The film features the kind of special effects you probably used in home videos when you were a kid, such as flying saucers that are clearly hubcaps suspended from fishing wire. Also, the alien spaceship looks like a submarine with lots of curtains. And I can’t forget to mention some of the best dialogue, such as:

“Inspector Clay is dead, murdered, and somebody’s responsible.”

“Future events such as these will affect you, in the future.”

“Then they attacked a town, a small town I’ll admit, but nevertheless a town of people, people who died.”

A foundational pillar of so-bad-it’s-good cinema. Highly recommended.

Number 4: Ghost Lake

This obscure gem was first introduced to me by my wife Sara, who lists it as possibly her favorite movie, ever. Her mom bought it for her and a friend to watch on their way to an ice-skating competition, and it’s been entrenched in Sara’s pantheon of bad movies ever since. In fact, she owns a DVD copy of the film, which we’ve watched several times. (By the way, the shipping cost more than the product itself.)

Ghost Lake is a film about loss. Er, well, it tries to be. It’s actually more of a rip-roaring comedy featuring bizarre direction and goofy dialogue. Here’s a great example of the latter:

“What did you think stars were as a kid?”

“I don’t know. Stars, planets, galaxies.”

Or this line, which almost feels like a direct plea to the viewers re the movie itself:

“Understanding it doesn’t matter. Surviving it does.”

Or how about this searing one-liner that was no doubt meant for the trailer:

“Don’t die…yet.”

But that’s not all there is to love. There’s also the aforementioned bizarre direction, exemplified by the gratuitous use of split screens. Characters go for jogs and have their upper torso pictured in one screen and their feet in the other, all for no discernable reason. And let’s not forget the movie’s earliest use of split screen, in which the main character is out clubbing on the left frame while her parents die of carbon monoxide inhalation on the right.

Are the split screens necessary? No. Am I glad they’re there? Absolutely.

There are plenty more baffling shots, such as a long take of the main character’s eyeball peering through a dollhouse window. My personal favorite is a scene in which a little girl bounces a ball, and the camera jerks up and down with every bounce. And then there’s the film’s final scene, in which we slowly zoom on the neighbor’s lawn, then fade to credits. Not sure why our parting image is grass, but I like it.

Ghost Lake is a B-movie of the highest order. Recommended especially for those who like lines enunciated so poorly you’ll need subtitles to understand them. For years we thought the ghosts were saying, “We. Are. People.” Turns out they were saying, “We. Are. All. Here.” Who knew?

Number 3: The Happening

If you were duped into paying full ticket price for this one, you might not find it as funny as I do. The Happening dropped in 2008, back when people still respected M. Night Shyamalan. Not so much after this one.

The Happening stars Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deschanel as a weird couple struggling to survive while the world suffers a series of mysterious mass suicides. Wahlberg plays a high school science teacher (nice sweater vest), and Deschanel plays…I’m not really sure what she’s supposed to be. She spends most of the film bugging her eyes out and asking Wahlberg why humans suck so much.

Speaking of Marky Mark, he delivers some of the best lines in this movie. Like this one:

“I need a second, okay, why can’t anybody give me a goddamn second!?”

Or this exchange, which is outstanding:

That stuff’s great, but the Shyamalan twist is the best. Spoiler alert, but here’s the twist of The Happening: the plants did it. How did they do it? By urging people to kill themselves via the wind.

The. Wind.

This leads to arguably the funniest chase scene in movie history, in which the characters try to, yes, outrun the wind. Most confounding of all, they somehow succeed.

At least Shyamalan knew it was bad. Just before the reviews rolled in, he stated, “We’re making an excellent B-movie, that’s our goal.” Wahlberg took two years to admit it, but in a 2010 Entertainment Weekly interview, he said, “It was a really bad movie. Fuck it. It is what it is. You can’t blame me for not wanting to try to play a science teacher.”

If you dig usually good actors delivering terrible performances, this is the one for you.

Number 2: The Wicker Man

If there’s a GOAT of unintentional humor, it’s Nicolas Cage. I don’t care if he’s in a movie about witches, vampires, or homicidal parents—he always makes me laugh.

Nic’s Wicker Man is a remake of a 1973 British film of the same name. The original is apparently quite good; Film magazine Cinefantastique went so far as to call it, “The Citizen Kane of horror movies.”

Nic’s version? Probably better described as The Room of horror movies.

Cage plays a bummed out cop who’s summoned to a secluded island by his ex-girlfriend because their daughter has gone missing. Nic spends the rest of the film moping around, doing some shoddy investigative work, and later threatening a bicycle-rider at gunpoint.

First off, this film has very confusing gender politics. The island is ruled by murderous women, and it’s unclear if they’re supposed to be evil, or if Nic is just a misogynist douchebag. Probably some of both, though the question remains unanswered and mostly unconsidered, even at the film’s conclusion, when Nic’s own daughter lights the fire that burns him to death.

A guy burning to death doesn’t sound funny, but Nic is such a master at unintentional comedy that he manages to pull it off. Imagine him shoving his face through a gap in a wooden cage and bellowing incoherently for a collective 22 seconds of screen time (I counted).

But the hilarity doesn’t stop there. In the scene prior to the burning, the gals dump a swarm of bees on Nic’s head. This might’ve been horrifying with better supervision, but that’s the magic of B-movies (no pun intended); their earnest attempts at affecting moviemaking invariably turn to comedy. In this case, we get the now-classic line, “Oh no, not the bees! There in my eyes, my eyes! Ahhhhhh!”

The Wicker Man boasts some wonderful slapstick moments as well. For example, Sara’s favorite scene is one in which Nic lumbers downstairs in disarray, after having been nearly killed the night before. The innkeeper smirks at him and remarks, “You’re looking a bit worse for wear.” Without saying anything, Nic trudges up to the counter, glares at her, and punches her out. This sets off a slew of random ninja kicks and sucker punches, the best of which comes while Nic is dressed in a bear suit.

The Wicker Man is one of Cage’s all-time best. And you can trust me on that, because I’ve seen way too many of his movies.

Number 1: Troll 2

Troll 2 is everything a bad movie should be. Atrocious dialogue, horrendous acting, cheesy special effects, a ludicrous premise, even a bug settling on an actor’s forehead during a dramatic(?) scene. Troll 2 has it all, and more.

Our main character is Joshua, a little shit (his sister’s words, not mine) who sees visions of his inexplicably omnipotent Grandpa Seth. He and his family vacation in a small town called Nilbog, which they eventually discover is populated by vegetarian goblins who turn people into—in the words of Grandpa Seth—”half man, half plant. The goblins’ favorite food.”

You may have noticed there were no trolls in that description. That’s because there’s not a single troll in Troll 2. Allow me to explain.

In 1986, Empire Pictures released a semi-successful cult film entitled Troll (which randomly featured the likes of Julia Louis-Dreyfus and Sonny Bono). It was a standalone film.

Four years later, Filmirage produced a film under the working title Goblins. An appropriate title, considering it was a film about, well, goblins. However, the producers felt the finished product was so terrible that no one would watch it unless they were fooled into doing so. They therefore renamed the film Troll 2, hoping filmgoers would mistake it for a sequel to Troll. The films, for the record, are completely unrelated.

It gets better. Since budgets were so low, many of the actors were not actually professional actors. The Nilbog shopkeeper, for example, was just a guy who’d smoked tons of weed before filming. Or take Joshua’s father, who’s actually a dentist from Alabama and had never acted before. Despite the lack of experience, he delivers one of the most iconic performances of the film.

There’s so much more, but words don’t do it justice. The local sheriff, whose name is Gene Freak. The music, which might be composed of Garageband sound loops. The corn cob makeout scene, which concludes with popcorn being tossed onto the actors from offscreen. It’s brilliant. It’s one of a kind. And it’s uniquely Troll 2.

All Highly Recommended

Hope you enjoyed this post. I recommend watching all these films, especially with friends. Just make sure you turn on the subtitles—might be hard to hear over the laughter.