Category: Life

The Last Blog Post of My 20s

February 22, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Turning 30

On March 6, 2022, I’m turning 30. However, I suspect some part of me has always been 30.

For instance, I wear sandals with socks whenever the weather allows. I’ve prefer old music to most anything trending today (except for Lady Gaga, who’s timeless). I pre-date Facebook, Justin Bieber, and Magic: The Gathering. And as of four months ago, I became a parent.

Oddly, being a dad makes me feel young—at least for now. This is because, since my daughter Sasha is so little and she’s our first, most people call my wife and I “young parents.” Even at our most overwhelmed and sleep deprived, the mere mention of the adjective “young” makes one feel spryer (assuming “spryer” is an actual word).

But I doubt this feeling will last long. Sasha’s already said “hello,” plus her recent favorite activity is screaming incoherently, which means she’ll be talking soon. It’s only a matter of time before she asks me what my first silent movie was, or which side I fought on during the Civil War. I already know not to invite her to guess my age; I tried that when I was a counselor at a summer camp in college, and the kids guessed 44.

So I don’t feel too old yet, but I suspect I will soon. And if you couldn’t tell by the increasingly indecisive quality of this blog post, my feelings on turning 30 vary by the moment.

For instance, if I compare myself to other 30-year-olds, I’ll start feeling old—or maybe just inadequate. Derek Jeter had four World Series titles by the time he turned 30. Quick mental tally for me and…I have zero. Does this mean I’ve squandered my first three decades?

No. Of course it doesn’t! I may have spent countless hours playing Pokemon, Rock Band, and Civilization V, but that’s not the point. The point is, every 30-year-old turns 30 in their own way (unless you’re part of the 27 Club, in which case, RIP). And on March 6, it’s my turn. From then on, to borrow a phrase from Frank Sinatra, the best is yet to come.

And hey, Frank recorded that song when he was long past 30. So maybe he was onto something.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include two books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

My Most Embarrassing Writing Fails

January 26, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Bad Writing

My grandparents on my dad’s side were famous for never wasting anything. This is not a statement of hyperbole.

For instance, instead of killing dandelions in her yard, my grandmother served them as salad toppers. Also, my grandfather once removed every rusty nail from every board of a dismantled shed, then stored the nails in buckets in the basement for future use.

See? Nothing wasted.

I take after them in this respect, though my waste refusal has nothing to do with dandelions or rusty nails. Mine is all about writing.

I can’t discard my writing. No matter how bad it is, no matter how unreadable, I can’t write anything without using it somehow. So, this blog post is all about my lousiest work. I could (probably should) throw it out, but instead I’m sharing it with you. Hope you get a kick out of it—and maybe a few helpful tips along the way.

Pages of the Mirror

This pretentiously artsy script was my senior thesis project at Ithaca College in 2014. This was back when I feared nobody would take me seriously if I wrote comedy, so the resulting piece is emo, dull, and ultimately lousy.

Pages of the Mirror is about some dude named Danny who lives in a small town and is beloved by everyone, for some reason. When his equally beloved Uncle Jack (car mechanic with tattoos who listens to Metallica, of course) gets murdered, Danny becomes the prime suspect.

Plus, there’s an intertwined story of a mysterious fellow mysteriously named “The Writer” who’s working on a mysterious book and who continues to be generally mysterious, because I decided all this mystery would be intriguing. We soon discover this is a story within a story; the Writer is writing about Danny.

At the time, I thought this was clever. Looking back, the connection between the two stories was probably immediately obvious. Plus, it’s a classically egomaniacal story for a writer to write. (What if my writing became so good it came to life!?) I recall pulling an all-nighter the night before it was due, which is probably why I only got a B. But look at me now—I got blog content out of it.

My takeaway from this project: When you’re developing your voice, you might strike a few sour notes. Just clear your throat and keep singing.

“Apocalypse Now…or Never”

It’s hard to believe, but I’ve been writing on this here blog now for 10 years. If you explore my archives, you’ll find some bad writing. Perhaps the worst was my first ever blog post, entitled “Apocalypse Now…or Never.”

The title isn’t terrible; it’s the rest that’s ugly. Just check out this leadoff sentence:

“I’m having a hard time buying this ‘2012: World is Going to End’ crap.”

I wrote this sentence when I was 19, yet it makes me sound like I’m 60. Also, I’m pretty sure the punctuation is incorrect.

Things don’t improve from there. My intro paragraph is a block of text, and I somehow venture into a rant about Ozzy Osbourne possibly being a zombie. I don’t even address my anti-apocalypse stance until paragraph eight, and when I finally get to it, I use a funfetti cake as a metaphor.

If you want to read just how bad this blog post was, you can find it here. My takeaway: Writing gets better with age. I’m not some premier blogger, but this blog is certainly better than it was a decade ago. Second takeaway: I was right about the world not ending in 2012. Yay me.

Pleasant Street

This is another college project, though Pleasant Street was a short story, not a script. It’s so bad that I’ve actually written about it before. Not sure this is something I should brag about, but here goes…

This story has it all: A doofus protagonist, heavy-handed symbolism, clumsy language, geriatric cannibals. What more could you ask for?

Well, if you’re asking for competent plotting, compelling characters, or an interesting setting, look elsewhere. Pleasant Street is about a first-time cop named Officer Green (I warned you about the heavy-handedness) who’s assigned to walk the beat in a neighborhood called Pleasant Street. See? Because it’s called Pleasant Street, you’d never expect anything bad might happen. Brilliant misdirection.

As it happens, the residents of Pleasant Street have achieved eternal life via cannibalism. (I partially lifted this idea from an episode of The X-Files, so my apologies to Mulder and Scully.) Rather predictably, the story concludes with the main character being cooked and eaten. I would’ve offered a spoiler warning, but no one will ever read this story again—I’ve made sure of it.

As for the grade on this assignment, I don’t recall it. Perhaps my mind is repressing it to defend me. But here’s what I do remember: I never collected feedback on this piece. If I did, maybe someone might’ve told me it needed work. So that’s our takeaway for this story. Get feedback from people you trust, then use it if it works.

“10 Bold Predictions for the Future of Magic: The Gathering”

Yes, I know most readers will not care about Magic, let alone understand it. If you were to browse this article, you’d find such esoteric phrases as “enemy fetch lands,” “two-block paradigm,” and “Kaseto comes along in the new Commander product.”

However, I’m including this article because of my low success rate on these so-called bold predictions. To be clear, the writing is actually passable; I had some decent wisecracks, including a dig at Jar-Jar Binks (timeless). The issue is, I only got five of my 10 predictions right!

I won’t bore you with the details. I’ll just say this: We must deliver on our promises to our readers—especially when the promise is right in the title.

“Someday”

I’ve saved the worst for last. You think my poetry is bad now? Just check out this poem from May 5th, 2011, for a creative writing class at Ithaca College.

“Someday soon,
We’ll touch the moon.
Ride the stars to the sun.
Someday soon,
We will commune.
And then we shall be one.”

This is weird pseudo-hippy crap that sounds like something you’d cringe at if you heard someone singing it with an acoustic on the campus quad. And it’s only an excerpt! I feel like I should apologize to you for forcing you to read it. I’m sorry.

The lesson learned here is clear: Don’t F with poetry. Bad poetry is more offensive than bad prose. My poetry is still pretty bad, but at least I’m reading and studying the craft before I write more. And I’m definitely not trying to rhyme.

Summing It All Up

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again here: I think it’s healthy to review your old work, no matter how nauseated it makes you feel. I may not be a great writer, but at least I’m better than I used to be. And sometimes, that reminder is all we need.

(P.S. I hope I made my grandparents proud. Waste not, want not!)

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

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.

Two Pitchers

April 6, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

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.

My Recent Experience Without Internet

April 6, 2015 / Kyle A. Massa

Last week, my girlfriend Sara and I were watching some sweet NCAA action when our Internet decided to take a snooze. We did a lot of screaming, and then pouting, maybe a little crying. Finally, we just gave up and went to bed.

For the next few days, the signal continually and sporadically came in and out, which got pretty annoying while I was trying to send emails. I grabbed my trusty iPhone and called up customer support (because when one piece of technology isn’t functioning, you should always use another. And they say Terminator will never be reality…)

The representative on the other end informed me, of course, that our Internet was working just fine. “Also, it says here that you’re eligible for a free account upgrade for no extra charge. Would you like me to go ahead and get you started on that?” I thought it was odd to start a sales pitch after a customer complaint, but I guess I admired his persistence. Still, the answer was no.

I got off the phone, and I looked out my window with newfound wonder. It was like when Neo took the red pill in the The Matrix. No longer did I have to be plugged in all the time, keeping track of short story submissions or the NCAA Basketball Tournament or who’s being eaten on The Walking Dead. For once, I could spend a Sunday doing something other than web surfing.

But, disappointingly, the first thing I did was go for my computer.

Oh well. I guess old habits die hard. But, without Wikipedia and MagicTheGathering.com on hand, I instead went straight to Scrivener and opened up my latest project. Sure, I was still on the computer, still worshipping the Apple God, but at least I was writing and not wasting time. In fact, I think I did some of my best writing in recent memory.

Afterward, I really did put down the ol’ computer and picked up a book. Sara and I always read before bed, but sometimes we don’t have enough time, or we’re too tired, or we elect to watch that extra episode on Netflix instead. We read for hours, though, and it was really awesome. (If you haven’t checked out George R.R. Martin’s Dreamsongs collections, please stop reading this article, go down to your nearest bookstore, purchase it, and read it. If you purchase an eBook copy, shame on you–you’ve missed the entire point of this blog.)

I’m thankful for the Internet. I’m thankful that there’s a place on there for my fiction, which I will now unabashedly hyperlink here. I’m thankful that I can get news stories and see what my friends are doing in real-time, and watch videos of Nicolas Cage threatening to kill old ladies. The internet is an awesome thing.

But unplugging (sort of) for a while allows you to cut down on all those inane distractions. Don’t get me wrong–I’m not on my way to Walden Pond anytime soon. It’s just that we don’t always need to be connected to the net.

And now the Internet’s back and stronger than ever (five little semi-circle Wi-Fi waves, baby), and I’m sure I’ll be back to looking up pirates and Elder Dragon Highlander decks.

But I’m glad I had the experience, at least for a little while, of existing without the internet. And next time I sit down to write, I might even be so bold as to shut the Wi-Fi off altogether.

Just don’t quote me on that, though…

Crazy Mother’s Day

May 13, 2012 / Kyle A. Massa

Having a hard time thinking of something to do for your mom on Mother’s Day? Think another lame card from Target just isn’t going to cut it this year? Well my friends, here are some ideas for Mother’s Day your mom will never forget!

Crazy Mother’s Day Idea #1 – Take Mom Skydiving

Defying death has never been so fun, and who better to do it with than your lovely mother? This will be an experience that neither of you will forget. You can make it even more interesting by taking bets on who will have a heart attack first. If you go this route, make sure you bring along the trusty old defibrillator.

Crazy Mother’s Day Idea #2 – Take Mom for a Joyride

Most people don’t know this, but a lot of moms have a huge amount of repressed anger, and most of it’s directed at you. Remember that time you didn’t do your science project, and then mom had to do it for you at midnight? Or the time you left your dirty socks on the floor and mom had to pick them up? It’s these kinds of things that make moms so angry. So on Mother’s Day, put your mom behind the wheel of a car and let her drive one-twenty down the freeway. You could even bring a baseball bat to a residential neighborhood and have mom whack a few mailboxes while you’re at it. If you get pulled over, just remind the officer that it’s Mother’s Day. If he has a mom, he’ll understand.

Crazy Mother’s Day Idea #3 – Blow Something Up with Mom

What could be more fun? There’s nothing like a nice big explosion to bring a family together. I would start small, with a garden gnome or something, then work your way up. Maybe by the end you could blow up mom’s boss’s house. Now that’s a Mother’s Day gift I’m sure she’d appreciate.

…

In all seriousness, I wish every mom out there a happy Mother’s Day. I encourage everyone to do something with their moms, whether it’s something crazy or something relaxing. And to my mom – the best mom in the world – I love you, and happy Crazy Mother’s Day!

I JUST KILLED A DOG! (I bet you’ll read this now.)

April 26, 2012 / Kyle A. Massa

Before we start, just to be clear, I’ve never actually killed a dog. But dogs are the topic of today’s blog, or rather, animals in general. Have you ever been to a movie in which an animal is killed? People get mad. What’s funny is, nobody seems to care when, in the very same scene, a human being is killed.

Of course, I should first clarify what I’m talking about. I’m sure that many people were moved when Jenny died in Forest Gump or when Dumbledore died in Harry Potter. But these were characters that we had connected with over the course of the film. I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about action films in which people are being blown away in every other shot. Most of the time, viewers don’t even blink.

Take the same movie, but now replace that nameless extra with a dog. Suddenly you have a mutiny in the theater. Chairs get destroyed, popcorn begins to fly, chaos reigns supreme…

Of course, I’m exaggerating. By not by much. I kid you not, I’ve been to movies where people have left the theater after seeing a cat get killed. I’m not trying to say that this isn’t upsetting, but at least ten humans were killed earlier in the film, and no one flinched.

So what does this say about us? Why do we find dying animals so upsetting?

Personally, I think it might be about cuteness. Yes, cuteness. Show someone a video of a guy stepping on an ant. Very few people will get upset. But replace that ant with a kitten, and you’re in for it. And what’s the difference between an ant and a kitten? You guessed it. Cuteness.

I’m sure there are thousands of other explanations for this phenomenon, but honestly, I don’t care to spend five-thousand plus words exploring them. I think the reason probably varies from person to person.

At any rate, I’ll leave you with this parting question: why do we always assume that animals are all innocent and cuddly?

Hasn’t anyone ever read Cujo?

Apocalypse Now…or Never

January 3, 2012 / Kyle A. Massa

I’m having a hard time buying this “2012: World is Going to End” crap. Don’t get me wrong, I think 2012 is going to be a big year. After all, we’re going to have a new presidential election, and those are always fun, right? For those metal heads, Black Sabbath is going on tour with the original lineup for the first time since ’78. And, we’ll finally be rid of those abysmal “Twilight” films. I think it’s safe to say that these things are all far more certain than the apocalypse. Though to be fair, Ozzy Osbourne may put a damper on the reunion, due to the strong possibility that he’s been a zombie for the past ten years. I’ll admit that he doesn’t seem to have much of a craving for brains, and he doesn’t seem to be completely dead. But seriously, much as I love the man, he doesn’t seem to be entirely alive either.

As we all know, the Mayans were a brilliant and progressive people. They created a complex hieroglyphic system and built structures that wow experts even today. There is even some evidence that suggests the ancient Mayans were astronomers, even before the telescope was invented. But perhaps their most notable contribution to the world is the Mayan calendar.

For those who don’t know, the Mayan calendar ends somewhere around December 21st of the year 2012. Many people seem to think that this is some sort of warning for our imminent destruction, that the world is going to end on this date, or that there will be some great cosmic event that will irrevocably alter our world.

On that point at least, I agree with the doomsayers. There will indeed be a huge event in the year 2012, and it will be called…The Hobbit.

That’s right, The Hobbit. Not a meteor, or a flood, or any other cataclysmic disaster. It will be this move, and it will change our world. This is the foundation of fantasy literature, being translated into a live-action film for the first time. I’ve never been much of a crier, but tears of joy are staining my computer screen even as I type these words…

But, I digress. After all, according to the doomsayers, we only have a year to live. They seem to think that there’s no time for tears, nor is there time to be thinking about dwarves and dragons and wizards. I should be doing all the things I’ve always wanted to do but have never had the balls for. That’s the good thing about a deadline: it gives you the balls to get things done.

And what better deadline is there than my own impending doom? It’s so final, so conclusive. The perfect motivator. If I don’t do it now, I’ll never have the chance to do it again.

But wait a second. Let’s be rational for a moment. Before we all pull out our bucket lists, let’s sit down and think for a moment. Let’s say that you’re making something, anything. It could be a cake, a song, a scrapbook, a movie, anything. At the moment, I’m feeling hungry, so let’s use the cake as our example.

Let’s say you spend a huge amount of time on your cake, adding layer upon layer until you’ve constructed a castle of funfetti and frosting. It may be huge, yes, even long-lasting, so great that people will gawk at it for years after you’re dead. (If you don’t believe me, make a funfetti cake and leave it in your dorm room for a few months. See if it isn’t still there.)

Eventually, due to old age, a lack of baking tools, or a sugar-induced coma, you’ll have to stop adding layers to the cake. The same is true for anything. Much as I may want it to, even “The Simpsons” won’t go on forever. Well, maybe that’s a bad example.

At any rate, I think we must understand the Mayan calendar from this perspective. The Mayans could not add and add and add years to their calendar infinitely. They had to stop somewhere, and December 21, 2012 just happened to be that day.

Although, I will admit that I can see why some think we’re headed for annihilation. Between war, global warming, and Justin Bieber, the world seems to be going a little nutty. I swear, if Bieber gets any more popular, I hope the world ends.

Either way, whether we make it through this year or not, I think we can all agree on one thing. Life can change at any moment. One day, we may be on top of the world, and the next, the world may be on top of us. If the latter is our fate, if 2012 is really our last year on this earth, let’s go out with a bang. Let’s do what we’ve always wanted to do.

Because isn’t life best when it’s lived to the fullest?