Kyle A. Massa

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Monsters at Dusk

Happy (Belated) Birthday, Monsters at Dusk!

September 14, 2020 /

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?

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.

Touchy Subjects

Writing About Touchy Subjects

August 25, 2020 /

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:

  1. Pizzas should be topped with nothing else
  2. 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.

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.

Tapas Restaurants

Why Tapas Restaurants Fill Me with Rage

July 20, 2020 /

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.

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 about coffee.

Ecommerce, Tax Nexus, and a Short Story for You

July 13, 2020 /

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.

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 people laugh.

My 5 Favorite Bad Movies

June 9, 2020 /

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.

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 people laugh.

Fantasy Setting

Fantasy Settings: How Much Do We Really Need to See?

May 18, 2020 /

Everybody likes a good fantasy setting. Whether it’s Tolkien’s Middle-Earth, Jemisin’s Stillness, or Pratchett’s Discworld, there are some places we never want to leave. By that logic, there are some places we should see even more of, right? Well, not necessarily.

For us fantasy writers, it’s tempting to show every region of our worlds. That abandoned graveyard? Let’s send some characters there, just to see it. What about the ancient eagle’s nest atop the mountain? We need to show it, just because it’s awesome. And that village of singing trolls out in the west? There’s a chapter.

Before we do that, let’s take a step back and look at our world. Not the story world, but the world we actually live in. You know, Earth. It’s vast, isn’t it? And not only geographically—in terms of our knowledge, too. So many cultures, so much history. It’s practically limitless. Most people live their whole lives never seeing the entire thing.

To create an authentic fantasy world, I think we need to keep that same principle in mind. I believe every fictional world, fantasy or otherwise, should have parts on the periphery that we never discover.

A great example comes from The Lord of the Rings. Sure, you remember Mordor and Rivendell. But riddle me this: Do you remember Queen Beruthiel? She’s mentioned in an offhand comment from Aragorn:

“[Gandalf] is surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Berúthiel.”

That’s it. She’s never mentioned again. At first glance, this might seem like laziness or even a mistake. But that reference is almost certainly intentional, and one of the many tricks Tolkien employed when building Middle-Earth. He created a rich, wholly believable world precisely because he didn’t show us everything.

Just like in the real world, there are limits to our knowledge as readers. If we directly experience every location and every person, the setting ends up feeling awfully small. But if there’s more beyond the borders of the page, we get a proper sense of scale.

Let’s stick with epic fantasy for our second talking point. A Song of Ice and Fire is one of the most immersive worlds out there. And it’s a big world—big enough that the story might not even conclude after seven volumes.

In books four and five, author George R.R. Martin shows us more of this expansive world. He adds several characters just to serve as vessels through which we can see the other areas of his setting. For example, bodyguard Areo Hotah exists only to show us what’s happening in the desert kingdom of Dorne.

Does it work? Well, that depends on whom you ask. For the most part, though, fans hate it.

Why? Because even Martin, who’s been a professional writer for decades, makes the mistake of showing too much of his setting. He has many chapters in which his characters do little except tell us what’s going on in this one place. Do we really need to see what’s going on in Dorne and the Iron Islands first-hand? You could debate it, but a lot of fans will tell you it distracts from the main plot. Furthermore, it makes his world feel smaller.

The more we see of a setting, the smaller it gets. Though we might want to visit that cool place we referenced way back in chapter five, it’s often best if we resist the urge.

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 people laugh.

*Image credit: Mehmet Canli. Used under permission of CC BY-SA 2.0.

The 5 Most Underrated Fantasy Books I’ve Ever Read

May 11, 2020 /

Some books don’t get their proper due. So today, we’re going to look at some of the most underrated fantasy books ever written. Let’s give them the credit they deserve!

1. Best Served Cold by Joe Abercrombie

Best Served Cold

(Image via Goodreads)

I believe Best Served Cold is Joe Abercrombie’s all-time best—and he’s got some amazing books in his catalog.

The setup is simple. Monza Murcatto, a charismatic mercenary captain with a bloody reputation, is betrayed by Grand Duke Orso, the man who’s employed her for years. Orso and six other conspirators help kill Monza’s brother and nearly kill her, too. Yet Monza survives, and swears vengeance on all seven of them.

I really dig this book’s structure. There are seven distinct sections, each taking place in a different city of Styria (the book’s principal setting), each chronicling Monza’s revenge upon a different man. She collects a diverse cast of dangerous people along the way, including Caul Shivers (a northman trying to reform his life), Castor Morveer (a poisoner with an inflated opinion of himself), Shylo Vitari (a former torturer and dedicated mother), and Nicomo Cosca (a drunk with a bad habit of betraying employers). Each provides their own value to the story.

Why is it underrated? The book made a minor splash during its initial release in 2009, yet hasn’t been discussed much since. I think we need to recognize this one for what it is: one of the best fantasy books of the 2000s!

Look, I know that’s a strong claim. I wouldn’t make it if I didn’t really feel that way. Best Served Cold has outstanding characters, a non-stop plot, high stakes, and a vivid setting. In addition, it’s the best blend of heist thriller and epic fantasy I’ve ever read. Please read this book. You’ll be glad you did.

2. The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes

The Shining Girls

(Image via Goodreads)

I’ve written about this book before…but whatever. It deserves the buzz!

The Shining Girls is an innovative thriller with a strong element of contemporary fantasy (not to mention a very cool structure). Set in the modern day, the book tells the story of Kirby Mazrachi, a girl who was never supposed to have a future. She’s the sole survivor of an attack by Harper Curtis, a truly bad dude who kills women not just in his own era, but others. How does he do that, you ask? That’s the fantasy element. He discovers a house in depression-era Chicago that allows him to travel through time.

I first heard of this novel when its author, Lauren Beukes, did an interview on one of my favorite podcasts, The Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy. One of the most striking things she said in that interview was that she was sick of stories where the serial killer got all the narrative attention. With The Shining Girls, she wanted to write a serial killer story about the victims. She succeeded.

Why is it underrated? Well, I love Goodreads—but when it comes to this book, they’ve got it all wrong! Out of over 35,000 votes, the book’s average rating is a 3.49 out of 5.

I’m appalled by that rating. Beukes’s approach to the subject matter is something we must continue to emulate. I think people are realizing that more and more now, yet she was onto it years ago. Plus it’s just a great book.

Please do yourself a favor and read it. Then rate it. And please, give it the rating it deserves (hint: it’s better than 3.5 stars).

3. The Bone Clocks by David Mitchell

The Bone Clocks

(Image via Goodreads)

Another novel with a daring narrative structure, David Mitchell’s The Bone Clocks follows a woman named Holly Sykes throughout her life. The book is divided into six sections, the first beginning with a 15-year-old Holly in 1984 and ending with a 74-year-old Holly in 2043.

No matter what you’ve read, I promise this book is nothing like it. It’s about a war between two psychic factions, one that Holly ends up embroiled in. In fact, it’s almost a little misleading to call it a novel—perhaps a series of interconnected novellas would be closer to the mark.

One of my favorite parts of the reading experience is figuring out what happens between sections of the book. For example, we begin in 1984 with a young Holly. We then leap ahead seven years to 1991, where we meet a grifter named Hugo Lamb. Hugo meets a bar manager in Switzerland whom he’s immediately attracted to. We don’t know who she is at first, but soon we find out. She’s Holly Sykes!

Each section carries with it a little surprise like that. It’s amazing and fun to see how they all connect, how all the characters evolve and interact. Plus, there are some fantastic supernatural element scattered throughout, including telepathy and reanimated corpses. What’s more, Mitchell is a brilliant prose stylist.

Why is it underrated? Well, people recognize its awesomeness, yet it’s overshadowed by Mitchell’s magnum opus, Cloud Atlas. I agree, Cloud Atlas is amazing. It too is one of my favorite books. But let’s not allow that giant to distract from Mitchell’s other work. The Bone Clocks is an amazing book in and of itself, and I would be sad if people forgot that.

4. Three Moments of an Explosion by China Miéville

Three Moments of an Explosion

(Image via Goodreads)

Another book that released to initial praise, then seemed to fall into obscurity. Three Moments of an Explosion has a fantastic title. The stories within are even better.

To a certain extent, I understand why it’s been forgotten. After all, short story collections don’t have the longevity that novels do. Still, I think Miéville’s collection should get more love than it does. These stories range from odd to strange to bizarre to downright horrifying.

“The Dowager of Bees” is one of my favorites. (Being a Magic: The Gathering player, I really dig stories with copious shuffling.) It’s about a card shark who stumbles across a magical card which inexplicably appears within his deck. “In the Slopes” tells the bizarre tale of archeologists who uncover some sort of alien life form. Then there’s “Säcken,” which is quite frankly one of the most disturbing stories I’ve ever read.

This collection is fantastic. I encourage you to read it!

5: Fire & Blood by George R.R. Martin

Fire & Blood

(Image via Goodreads)

Fire & Blood is a history of the Targaryen family. It takes us from the founding of the dynasty through its near breaking during the Dance of Dragons, then into the war’s aftermath. It’s not a complete chronicle of the line, so there should be a sequel to finish things. (Hopefully it doesn’t release before The Winds of Winter. Otherwise, there might be a riot.)

I love Martin’s work, both within A Song of Ice and Fire and outside it. So I was disappointed to see such a negative reaction to this book. Upon release, a lot of people said something to the effect of, “Whatever. Where’s book six?”

I get it. I want The Winds of Winter, too. But this one is still really good!

Fire & Blood is filled with fascinating characters, rich conflicts, and ample imagination. Though written as a history, it’s certainly not boring. What’s more, this book seems to drop hints here and there for what we might expect in the remaining stories of the main series.

Please don’t underrate this book. If you enjoy A Song of Ice and Fire, you’ll enjoy this, too.

Any I Missed?

That’s my list. These books are awesome and I wish they got more love. What are some that you’d like to see more of? Let me know in the comments!

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 about coffee.

Sideburns

May 4, 2020 /
Ray Manzarek

Ray Manzarek (and his sideburns)

A video version of this post is available here.

About the most rebellious thing I did in my teenage years was grow out my sideburns like Ray Manzarek.

You might know Ray Manzarek as the keyboardist for The Doors. You might know The Doors as the psychedelic rock group that did “Break on Through (To the Other Side),” or “Light My Fire,” or “The End,” or any number of other rock radio staples.

I discovered the man and the group because of the music they made. But on a purely cosmetic level, I really admired Ray Manzarek’s sideburns.

Refer to the picture above. Ray’s sideburns were long and thick and perfectly symmetrical. To me, they were an almost artistic continuation of hair down to the upper jawline. It’s easy to grow out a beard or a mustache, but sideburns are different; they require a certain finesse, a certain style to pull off.

Being a dopey 16-year-old, I went ahead and assumed I had the requisite finesse and style. So I let my sideburns grow. And grow. And grow some more. Actually, maybe “mutate” is a better word for what they did.

My Manzarek-inspired sideburns developed a texture similar to bristles on a brush. I feared that if I trimmed them I’d ruin them, so they exploded not only downward, but outward, to the point that they protruded from either side of my head, sort of like wings.

I’d show you a picture, only I feel like that would be like a horror director revealing the monster in the very first scene. What you come up with in your mind is always more frightening, anyway. Suffice it to say that my sideburns really didn’t look very good.

That fact, however, wasn’t especially important to me. What was important was that no one else at school looked like me, and I didn’t look like anyone else. I’d basically joined a party that had ended four decades prior, but whatever.

I think pretty much every American high school kid goes through this phase at some point in adolescence, this phase where we copy a behavior or a trend that seems unique, even though we’re making it less so by copying it. Only for my phase, I copied an anachronistic (and kind of gross) hairstyle.

I remember re-watching an old video of myself playing basketball during the Manzarek Sideburn Era, one that my dad had filmed. He’s talking with my cousin in the background, and my cousin asks where I am on the court. My dad says something like, “The floppy hair and the sideburns.” There’s a pause, and then my cousin says something like, “That’s an interesting look.” And then nobody says anything.

#

The sideburns died sometime during my junior year. My mom politely handed me an electric razor and encouraged me to at least trim the sideburns if I wanted to keep them.

Instead, I shaved them. The magic of the sideburns had dissipated. Besides, I’d been getting enough grief from my friends.

It’s funny how important those sideburns were for the short time I had them. The allure of facial hair to a teenage kid is something like tattoos to college students; it’s a form of self expression that goes beyond others because it’s right there on your skin, out where everyone can see it.

I still have sideburns, though now I trim them and they’re even with my eyes. I’ve attempted other hairstyles imitating other musicians; when I discovered Iron Maiden, for example, I very seriously wanted to grow my hair past my shoulders, a la Bruce Dickinson. It always grew outward but never downward, so eventually I gave up.

These days, I get a clean cut every few months. Sometimes I apply a little pomade to the front, but I’m afraid I’m getting too old for that look. That’s alright. A lesson I learned in high school: my hair is probably not my best medium of self expression. That’s what my crappy classic rock band t-shirts are for.

Maybe someday my Manzarek sideburns will return, perhaps if I’m forced into the witness protection program for some reason. But for now, I’ll stick with the hair I have. It’s a lot less itchy.

Kyle A. Massa is the author of the novel Gerald Barkley Rocks and the forthcoming short story collection Monsters at Dusk. His stories have appeared in numerous online magazines, including Allegory, Chantwood, and Dark Fire Fiction. He lives somewhere in upstate New York with his wife and their two cats.

Unusual Narrative Styles in Fiction

April 20, 2020 /

Writer

Mark Twain once said, “I like a good story well told.”

We’re with you there, Mark. Whether that story comes in the form of a book, a news article, or over a drink with a friend after work, stories are pretty much universal. It’s the “well told” part of this statement that interests me most, though. What exactly does that mean? Regarding fiction, is there an optimal way to tell a story well? I think not.

Linear, cause-and-effect narratives are fine. Third-person omniscient narration is cool. And the Hero’s Journey works. But when you find a story told in a weird, out-there sort of way, it can really make things feel fresh.

What am I talking about here? I’m talking about present tense. I’m talking about all-dialogue. I’m talking about non-linear narratives. Let me give you a few examples.

The Shining Girls

I just got finished reading The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes. It’s about a woman who survives a brutal attack by a time-traveling serial killer, and then devotes the rest of her life to stopping him. Not one for the kiddies.

It’s not the typical cut and dry, one-scene-into-the-next thriller. First thing: it’s written in the present tense, which is atypical for genre fiction. Present tense works perfectly with this story, though, because it gives everything a sense of immediacy. It’s as if the events of the novel are unfolding before us in real time, sort of like a news story (Beukes was a freelance reporter for a while, by the way).

Furthermore, present tense works best with quick sentences and short chapters, which we see much of in The Shining Girls. Beukes writes her chapters in quick hits, like jabs to the mouth. We zoom in on one character, end on a resounding note, then move on to the next. An economical yet powerful approach.

Could Beukes achieve the same effect using traditional narrative styles? Maybe, but I don’t think it would’ve been quite as effective. There’s no distance to the events with present tense—it’s happening instead of having already happened.

Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?

Another weird narrative comes in David Eggers’s Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever? The plot: an unremarkable man kidnaps an astronaut in order to ask said astronaut many existential questions.

…That probably already sounds weird. It gets weirder.

Eggers’s book is written entirely as dialogue. It’s sort of like a stage play in that sense, only without even so much as stage direction. Like in The Shining Girls, this makes things move quickly. Though it’s a roughly 200-page book (which isn’t super long to begin with), it reads as though it’s half that length.

The best part about this all-dialogue style is the way it puts the characters’ voices right in your ear. After a while, you can imagine distinct accents and inflections for each of them. Furthermore, the dialogue takes on a special weight, because without a description to back it up, every line must do more to advance the story. In addition, the dialogue must also perform such mundane actions as orienting the reader in the space, a function usually performed by description.

Slaughterhouse-Five

The last weird narrative style I’d like to discuss is that of Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five. Perhaps the weirdest of the three, Slaughterhouse centers on the life of Billy Pilgrim, a WWII veteran who’s trying to adjust to postwar life. Which is tough when you’ve become “unstuck in time” and subsequently cycle through different moments of your life.

Billy jumps from moment to moment, from the war to troubled times at home to an alien planet, all of them years apart. The narrative cuts between all these times and settings in an unpredictable pattern—definitely not the style of most books.

But the genius here is that we become disoriented, just like Billy. If the story was told in a normal, linear manner, we’d know exactly when we are in time, i.e. the events on page 100 are happening after those on page 50. As written, though, we’re just as unstuck in time as Billy. It’s an effect that couldn’t be achieved otherwise.

So What’s the Best?

So what makes a good story well told? Like any good question, there’s no single answer. It might be a classic structure, or it might be something unusual. Whatever the structure, it’s not just what happens that makes a story great—it’s the way in which it happens.

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife and their two cats. 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 about cats.

Two Pitchers

April 6, 2020 /

Author’s Note: A video version of this post is also available here.

Nature’s Classroom is a sleepaway camp somewhere in New York State. As a fun excursion, sixth-grade students from Goff Middle School took an annual trip there to learn about conservation, wildlife, active living, and how to make convincing fart sounds while people were trying to sleep.

Nature’s Classroom was my first extended absence from home. I’d never spent an entire week without my parents, my sister, my dog Daisy, or my Game Boy Advance. It was a rough time for me. I remember being stressed and nervous and uncomfortable.

They had many rules at Nature’s Classroom. Don’t waste food, always consider your biological footprint, don’t jab each other in the stomach as a show of adolescent dominance (yes, we really did this before going to bed; we called it “Poke Wars”). Most often, we were lectured about proper nutritional habits. For example, the dangers of soda.

Now I’d be fine without soda. It’s not like I poured Fanta over my cereal or gargled with Moxie. I’m not Buddy the Elf or anything. But once in a while, soda was a special treat my parents allowed me to indulge. For instance, at a bowling alley birthday party one year, I remember informing them that my friends and I were “drunk on Sprite.” So yeah. I was a fan of soda.

That fandom didn’t go over well at Nature’s Classroom. One counselor, a dreadlocked, khaki shorts-sporting dude—we’ll call him Alfonso—preached the dangers of the beverage.

“Soda makes you fat,” he said, using the same grave tone Obi-Wan chose when describing how Anakin killed those younglings. “Soda gives you cavities. Soda hooks you with bright colors and carbonated fizz. But soda’s got zero nutritional value.”

Okay, I thought. Can I have some soda now?

The answer, tragically, was no. They did not serve soda at Nature’s Classroom, nor did they offer anything with even trace amounts of sugar in it. Our only options were water, milk, and some murky brown substance they claimed was unsweetened iced tea.

Yet on the last day of this week-long ordeal, Alfonso and his cohorts relented.

“You guys have been awesome,” he announced. “Like, a super group. So as a thank you, we wanted to give y’all something special…”

I gripped the lunch table. My eyes went wide. Soda, I thought. Say soda!

“Lemonade! We’ve got lemonade for everyone!”

Maybe not the gift I’d wished for, but I didn’t want to be rude. And as far as I was aware, the sugar content of the two beverages were pretty much the same. It would do.

“There’s a catch, though,” Alfonso added, lifting a soil-stained finger. “Your table has to finish your water pitcher before you get your lemonade, okay? Water, then lemonade.”

That was another Nature’s Classroom thing. You had to share a pitcher of water amongst the seven other poor saps at the table. I’m not sure what the lesson was there, except learning to hate the kids who poured too slowly.

Alright Alfonso, I thought as I downed my first glass. I’ll play your game, you sick bastard. 

I felt a little like Gollum must’ve felt around the Ring. The only thing standing between me and my precious: This stupid pitcher of boring water.

Frustratingly, nobody at the table took more than a cup. They were busy reminiscing about all the fun times they shared the past few days, about how happy they were to see their families again.

Didn’t you people hear what Alfonso just said!? I wanted to scream at them. Lemonade! We can have lemonade! Look, I know it’s not root beer, but come on. Help me out, here!

Nobody did. So I put the team on my back. I felt like Jordan in the fourth quarter of the ‘98 Finals, Game Six. I must’ve slammed at least that many glasses of water, if not more.

Then came my reward. Alfonso nodded approvingly, then returned with a pitcher of golden lemonade. And I thought, You know what? I worked hard for this. No. I earned this. I deserve as much lemonade as I want.

I didn’t even bother sharing with my ungrateful tablemates. From that pitcher, I’d estimate I drank a good 75, 80 percent.

“Okay,” said Mr. B., my sixth grade science teacher. “Get on the bus, people. We’re going home.”

#

I think I made it 30 minutes before the pain set it.

You know that scene in Alien when the creature bursts out of John Hurt’s chest? That’s what my groin area felt like. I expressed my growing discomfort to my friends, Jimmy and Jeremy. They’re still two of my best friends to this day—though after recalling this story, I have to wonder why.

I was looking for some encouraging words from my pals, you know? Maybe a, “Hey, you’ll be alright!” or a, “Don’t worry, your bladder won’t be totally ruined.” Instead, they pointed out every rushing body of water we passed, whether real or imaginary.

“Did you see that garden hose over there?” Jimmy asked, tapping on the window. “I think it was trickling.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Jeremy countered from across the aisle. “I heard it was, like, gushing. Just spraying everywhere.”

This was not helping. With about two hours to go, I removed my seatbelt—despite what my parents would advise—to relieve the pressure on my abdomen. I also hunkered down in the seat and covered my face, and maybe cried a little.

At this point, one of the chaperones said, “You guys better lay off that kid. He looks like he’s gonna pee his pants.” An astute observation.

At about the halfway mark, I turned to Mr. B. and pleaded, “Mr. B. Can we please stop the bus? I really, really need to go to the bathroom.”

To which the merciless Mr. B. snapped, “Nope. We are not stopping.” Evidently, he hadn’t had as much fun at Nature’s Classroom as the kids.

So that left me with two options. Option A: Endure the pain and try my best to ignore Jim and Jer’s aquatic quips. Or, Option B: Release, and be forever known as that kid who peed his pants somewhere along I-90.

I wasn’t a stellar test taker, but even I knew the answer to that one. So I gritted my teeth, squeezed my crotch, and reminded myself, There’s no place like home. Or better yet, a bathroom.

Miraculously, I arrived at the Goff parking lot with mostly dry Levi’s (there might’ve been a few dribbles). There awaited everyone’s parents and siblings to greet us. They stood on the sidewalk, waving and smiling and pointing and waving some more. Finally, after so long apart, we could all go home together.

Not now, family.

Before the bus even stopped, I was ramming fellow classmates aside. I had no choice, really; I was near the back and I couldn’t afford to be polite. When I reached the front, I leapt off the steps and ran not toward, but away from my family. It hurt to do it, but it hurt more to hold in all that lemonade.

For the record, I did make it to the bathroom before the floodgates opened. I stood at the urinal for oh, 15 minutes, give or take. Still the most relieving bathroom break I’ve ever taken.

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife and their two cats. 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 about cats.

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