Dec 24, 2012

To my Parents,

Gene and Janice, you may be wondering why when you start up your web browser it goes directly to this website. Well, as your tech junkie son, I may have had something to do with it. No, there is not some weird Ravin Saga virus that has hijacked your computer. It could be just maybe I wished for you to take a gander at the new design of my website and see everything that I am ready to tell the world about. Or it could be because we don't get a lot of time to talk as we are all very busy adults, this is an easy way to get some steady information about what I am doing in my life outside of the day job.

But either way I just wanted to wish you a Merry Yule and remind you to mention my books on occasion. Remember, the more books I sell, the Merrier next year Yule may become. Can you imagine the day when I don't have to trek to that day job anymore and spend my time doing what I love to do? Why I am at it, I would also like to thank my current and future readers for empowering me to create this fiction I so love to write.

Love ya both mom and dad.

Your son,

p.s. TO EVERYONE, as a present for whatever holiday it is you celebrate this time of year, the TRAGEDY OF MACBETH: A NOVEL will be free for download on from December 25th through December 29th. Please download it for your own enjoyment, and tell everyone else about it. And yes, it will remain yours even after the 29th. Once you download it, it is yours!

Dec 16, 2012

It's Hobbitting Time!

So, many of you probably didn't hear about it as it's such a small movie, but this little production known as The Hobbit was released on this last Friday. I had the good fortune that this little known movie happened to come my way to the big city of Yankton SD. My impression of the movie is this: Perfectly what it should be. I've heard critics complain that it does not have the epic scope of the Lord of the Rings, but lets be honest here. The Hobbit is NOT the Lord of the Rings, nor should it be made so. It is a lighthearted book full that carries its sense of humor well. And the movie followed that admirably. I would recommend this movie to anyone who did enjoy the Lord of the Rings, just like I would recommend it to anyone who likes movies... or anyone who breaths, really.

Welcome Back

And here we are! is back up and running as of today. It has been redesigned with more information posted about different projects that are being worked on right now. The current novel being written is called Ouroboros. For information about that, look under the Library tab for The World of Parquis.

So what happened to make the website go down? We have been needing to redesign the website and clean up old information that was no longer accurate, to refocus on what we are working on while showing a little of what will be coming in the years ahead. So please check it out and let me know what you think. I am always looking forward to hear comments from my readers.

Happy Reading
--R.A. Wilson

Oct 9, 2012

A quick update for you. Yes you! Not the other people reading this. Just you.

Sorry the updates have slowed down a lot. Most of my time has been stolen greedily by the acoursed day job! Dun, dun, dun. I'm working so much that I must be insane on a technical level, especially considering I'm salery and get no extra pay for the hours upon hours of extra work. That's the way it goes though.

HOWEVER, this does not mean I am not writing (it does mean it is going slower than I like). I am working on two different projects right now. One is a collaboration effort between me and a dozen other people. It will be a sort of prelude to ENDOSPORE. It will not be a novel though, so by definition it will be something else. More on that later as the project develops.

The other project I'm working on is my next novel. It will not be a children's book, and it will not be the next Shakespeare adaptation (but give me any suggestions of which one you want done next). It is actually my flagship fantasy series. I know what you are saying out there, you yearning and eager masses! "I thought ENDOSPORE was the flagship series!"

Well, not really.

That would be RAVIN WORLD, the namesake of Ravin Saga itself. But how can it be the flagship without any books written in it? There are book. Three and a half to be exact. But those were the first books I ever wrote and are not worthy to see the light of the Kindle (you know, depending on your model). I have completely replotted this story (yes I am penning the word "replotted" right now. Go ahead an use it. You have my permission). And by story, I mean 10-20 book epic. I'm still working it out, the details of the individual stories, but it is coming along, and it will be glorious!

That's right: glorious. You can take my word for it. I'm a writer. It's okay. It will be a little bit of time before these two projects will be see. Until then, the audiobook for ENDOSPORE is in post production right now and will begin releasing in November or December. Howard has said so, and so it shall be!

Until next time,
Happy Reading
--R. A. Wilson

Sep 4, 2012

Have You Seen My Meow?

And the book is out 2 weeks early!!!! A perfectly charming little bedtime story for you children, nieces and nephews, or just a random child who loves a colorful book! It's only 2.99. Its found easily at Smashwords, and it will be out on Amazon on 9/4/12. iTunes, Nook, Kobo, Reader, Blio, Diesel will follow.

Aug 25, 2012

Macbeth Rises!

Macbeth as never before seen, translated and transformed into an easy to read novel. Macbeth is very ambitious, but he unfortunately lacks the killer instinct necessary to accomplish his goals. Thankfully for him, his wife does not have a deficiency in that regards, and she knows how to get him to perform. She pushes him to take the crown for himself, but can she handle the monster she creates.
The Tragedy of Macbeth: A Novel is released! Buy it. Read it. Or the witches will find you.

For the Kindle:
On Smashwords:

Aug 19, 2012


THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH: A NOVEL based on the works of William Shakespeare.

This book was written to solve two basic problems stopping the average person from enjoying the works of Shakespeare. The first part is the language is just so hard to understand. There are many different annotated versions of his plays you can read to help with this. But the second problem has not been solved yet, until now.

The problem is this, Shakespeare wrote plays. This is a format intended to be viewed, not read. The novel not only has made the language easy to understand, but also made it actually enjoyable to just sit down and read. It is a book, with dialogue and descriptions both. It is easily understood, and so easily enjoyable.

For your reading pleasure, I would like to give you a gift. The first chapter of THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH: A NOVEL.

Chapter 1 

Though dawn cracks the night, the sun’s warming rays cannot reach the cold shadow upon the ground. Occasional flashes of lightening reveal a frozen moment burned fleetingly into one’s eyes, dragging on blindness in the intervening time. Looking up during these moments of sight show thick clouds like dark smoke billowing to overcast the land. They carry the promise of a deluge that will soak anyone and everything caught outside when the heavens begin to cry. A precursor to the terrible downpour only moments away, the storm flashes brightly once again.

The booming thunder that follows shakes the ground, heralding in the rain, which begins to falls in a drumming of large, cold, raindrops. The darkness deepens even more, swallowing all but the flashes of light the storm itself brings. The hilltop beneath the sky is illuminated in another blinding flash. It has been made barren under the marching feet of an army that passed by merely the day before. And now the rain quickly turns the hill’s exposed dirt into viscous mud.

On the hilltop, three old hags approach one another, seemingly not harried by the storm but instead reveling in it. Each are dressed alike, wearing clothes that have long since decayed into old and moldy rags that hang from their thin and seemingly weak frames. The rags have been added on to cover the previous soiled cloth, leaving the old women to appear bulky in the layers. Their faces are old and dark, their thin hair hoary, and their shoulders slumped from long lives spent on hard paths. Their aged faces are covered by thin, wispy beards of hair that would look at home on a long dead corpse.

The first raises her arms up in greeting and speaks in a creaking voice. “Well met, under the thunder on the hilltop.”

The second and third grin in reply, showing rotten and missing teeth.

The second says, “It shall be as we foresaw at our last meeting. The events have come to pass.”

The third adds, “Then we shall need to meet once more to speak the prophesy to Macbeth. He is the one who must listen.”

“When shall that be? Under the thunder, the lightening, or shall it be in the rain?” the first asks.

The second answers, “After the battle the army marches to, when the victor emerges. We shall meet then.”

The third looks across the horizon, her eyes growing unfocused, seeing that which is hidden in the dark. “That will come before the sun sets on this day. They lock in battle as we speak.”

The second declares, “Then let the meeting be on the field, among the corpses, two days after the battle. It is a fitting setting for such deeds as any would be.”

The third cackles in joy. “And it will be there that Macbeth comes to us.”

The first hag looks behind her, into the darkness, her attention drawn by some sound only she can hear. The second and third also are distracted away momentarily before the three return their attentions to one another.

The shadowy outline of a cat emerges from the rain. Darker than even the night sky, the cat’s form is visible only as a shadow in the downpour. It comes from behind the first hag and sits, licking its front paw as it waits, unconcerned with the falling rain. A toad emerges from behind the second witch, looking much larger than a toad should naturally grow. Nothing comes from behind the third, but still she hears her familiar’s call.

“I am coming, Graymalkin,” the first says to the cat, waving a hand dismissively.

“Paddock also calls,” the second says to the first.

The third exclaims, calling to her familiar, who has yet to arrive, “I am here!”

Pulling their attention back to one another, the witches say in unison, “That which is fair is now foul, and that which is foul is now fair. Fly! Take to the fog and filthy air. After the battle we shall meet Macbeth to bear witness and ensnare.” The three fade from sight as if by some otherworldly sorcery, and their familiars vanish with them.

Aug 14, 2012

Thank you to all of our soldiers

I just want to say thank you to all of the service men and women around the world. They have the most important job of all. It is their sacrifice and hard work that allows the rest of us to do what it is that we do. Without the armed services, there would be no point in being a baker, farmer, ceo, salesman, or writer. We have a great debt to these brave men and women. It may seem like a small thing, but I always thought a little recognition and gratitude can go a long way. So, once again, thank you for keeping us safe.

I have recently discovered something called the Operation E-Book Drop. Started by Ed Patterson to give his own books for free to our service men and women, he found there were many other writers willing to offer up their works for free. I have joined these ranks. If you are in the armed forces and would like to benefit from this program that offers thousands of books for free, follow this link for Ed's email where he can get you in the program.

Again, thank you for everything you do. And as always,
Happy Reading
--R.A. Wilson

Aug 13, 2012

Poor little ragdoll

The poor man who thought to be king. Murder kills both men, one is just able to cause greater harm still.
Art done by Carly Jo Wilson.

Aug 8, 2012

Announcing an Announcement!

Attention, attention!

I am proud to inform you that we will be announcing just what the Super Secret Totally Awesome book is... next week on 8/18. At that time, the first chapter will be released on this site for your enjoyment. So let everyone know that the book that will change their outlook on life will be coming soon. It will be sent for publishing on 8/25, the following weekend. We are hoping to have it available on that day, but depending on the distributors, it can take a little longer. Smashwords and Amazon should see it posted that day however, the others can take upward to 2 weeks.

On a side note, the Book of Ethics is now available on Nook and iTunes! So get out there and buy this book. If you don't, you will be making puppies cry. Can you think of anything sadder? I can. It would be a burlap sack full of crying puppies. You don't want to make puppies cry, do you? Cause if you do, I just may have to put them into a burlap sack. Show your support for puppies! ...And the Book of Ethics I suppose.

Jul 25, 2012

My Super Secret Totally Awesome Book Project

So close now. Soon. It will break free soon. I can't hold it back much longer.

You have been warned.

Jul 11, 2012

Book of Ethics Smash!

Wal-Mart Book of Ethics Abridged Edition was just released on Smashwords. This will lead to inclusion on Nook, Kobo, Sony Reader, iTunes, Diesel, and others. Keep an eye out for these, but links will be added to as they are released. Here is the link.

And as a side note, I'm not going to do any updates for a little while. I need to focus on my current book to get it completed. Look for a new novel in September, as well as my children's book. I'll start posting again when these are completed. Until then.

Happy Reading
--R. A. Wilson

Jul 10, 2012

Even the wrong thing can be done for the right reasons

This is probably one of my most poignant short stories. It exists in a world that I have not yet began writing novels in, but this story is one of the foundations of what is to come from the world of Valaria. Enjoy.

Happy Reading
R. A. Wilson

The Weight of Sin
By: R. A. Wilson

                Over the west desert, the dual suns rose to find a lone man on the edge of the Abyss, a man that once made Drn-Darth Korda his home. His face was handsome for one that has seen much time in this hellish expanse of nothing. The dual suns tear at a person’s mind, leaving them raving mad, and they blister the flesh, leaving scars in their wake—yet this man seemed resilient to the Abyss’ horrors. He has traveled across its expanse, coming back to the west from the east desert, where he looked for answers he did not find. Empty handed, almost, he decided to put a semblance of life back together among the people that survived.
Traveling during the day, choosing the sweltering heat and mirages over the fringed and concealing night, this lone drifter was just waking up with the suns. There were a couple bags sitting near him that held his sole possessions; in them was his handful of clothes, as well as the little gold, silver, and copper he carried, but no valuable wood coins where among those. He carried no more food and very little water; in this state, a person in the desert would be walking towards death for water is life, but he knew a town was nearby. He only needed to find it. The town was new, one made when people began abandoning the onetime god-controlled city-states to start anew where they would not be reminded of the gods’ cruelty. The city was not on his map, but he could smell the moisture in the air that comes only from a well, the center of every city on Valaria. If there was no well, there was no life.
This drifter was not utterly alone in his journey as he had a traveling companion: a donkey. It was an odd-looking donkey, for it was black with white markings and had tan eyebrows and cheeks, giving it an expressive face. The man picked up his sole possessions and went to his companion to strap them on for the days travel. He never rode the donkey himself, but only because he had tried once before. It lay on the ground after he mounted and sulked for a whole day, refusing to move even after he dismounted; the donkey would carry his bags though, but only because they were bright pink. The drifter had to rid himself of his old dirty bags shortly after getting the donkey as it sulked when caring them, barley lifting its feet, its tail and head sagging; after using the new bags, the donkey would trot along happily.
It was not until after packing his belongings that the drifter first noticed the stranger walking towards him. He thought it might be a mirage as they show many things, but the stranger drew closer and did not vanish or waver. Sound also came from the stranger, and that was something a mirage could not do unless the viewer had completely lost his mind. This drifter had not.
The stranger came up to the other. He wore chaps, a white hat, and a blue shirt. His face was sandblasted and dark. “Hi ya,” the stranger said with a gruff voice.
“Hello,” the drifter replied. “What brings you out here?”
“I was going to ask the same thing.”
“I’m trying to find the town around here. I can smell the water in the air.”
“Ah, yes, Vaslin. I know where it is.”
“Would you take me there, or at least point me in its direction?”
“Sure I would, only if….”
The drifter grimaced. “Only if what?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any water, would you?”
“Water? A little.”
The stranger smiled through his cracked lips. “I am a scavenger from Vaslin, and I was trying to find something of value from the ruins near here.”
“The Tarin Ruins?”
“You heard of ‘em?”
“Yep, you could say I’ve heard of them.”
“The problem is, I had to run from some sand beetles, and I dropped my water. That happened at dusk, so I’ve been traveling all night without any.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, my friend, but while it is a sad tale, I can’t give you my water.”
“Just a sip would be great.”
The drifter opened a bag on the donkey and pulled out a water skin, then tossed it to the stranger.
“Thank you, friend,” the stranger said through gulps. He only stopped drinking when there was no more.
The drifter’s jaw dropped. “I wasn’t expecting you to drink all of it.”
“Oh, sorry. I got a little carried away. Well, at least the city is near.”
“Is it? I’m so relieved. That’s all the water I had left.”
“You gave me all the water you had? I thought you had another water skin. That was either very generous, or very stupid. You should never hand over all your water.”
The drifter grumbled, “I appreciate the gratitude.”
“Oh, not that I meant you are stupid. Of course not! Not a friend of mine.”
“Well, if we are friends, will you show me the city?”
“Of course, and we better get… go… ing.” The stranger looked at the loner’s donkey. “That’s an odd looking animal.” He walked towards it, but the donkey became excited, ran towards the stranger and rolled onto its back while in mid-stride, sending the bags and their belongings flying through the air. The stranger stood there, uncertain of the belly-up donkey before him.
The loner sighed. “Want’s you to rub her belly.”
“Rub her belly?”
“What a strange donkey,” the stranger said and laughed. He bent down and scratched its belly. The donkey became very still and stretched its legs out.
“Her name is Jack.”
“Her name is Jack?”
“The original owner thought she was a he, and so named her Jack, but it was too later after the truth was discovered.”
“Jack the donkey, huh?”
“Actually, her full name is Jack Dorado Bob Philip Valintino George Rasmussen the Third of Ass. She prefers Jack, though.”
“Your donkey’s name is Jack… of… Ass?”
“You are a strange one yourself.”
“I said I didn’t name her. So, do you mind showing me where the town is since I shared my last bit of water with you?”
“Why not? I’m from there, you know.”
“Yes, you already said that.”
“So I did. Let’s go then.”
“That would be great!” The drifter shoved Jack, and she got to her feet, reluctantly. He then proceeded to repack his bags and strap them on the donkey’s back. “You can be so infuriating,” he said to her.
“You ready to go?” the stranger asked.
“Yeah.” He grabbed the lead of Jack’s harness, and began to walk.
“Aren’t you going to ride Jack? Can I if you aren’t?”
“Can’t ride her.” As the stranger opened his mouth, the drifter said, “Don’t ask.”
“I see your point.”
They walked for about an hour before they could see the city. To the loner it was a shining pearl of hope; something of magnificence; a splendor indescribable. Others would have said that Vaslin was built all too hastily, and with the wrong materials, but the fact that they built it was beautiful to the loner. The town looked like a jigsaw puzzle that had all the wrong pieces hammered into all the wrong places, but it was; it existed. These people had left the cities that represented the gods to build something of their own, where they could feel they were their own masters for once.
“I have caused so much harm, and there is nothing I can do,” the drifter said to himself as they entered the city. “Despite that, they are still living.”
“I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” the stranger asked from ahead.
“No, it was nothing.”
As they walked down the main street of Vaslin, the stranger asked, “So what are you going to do now that you are here?”
“I plan to find a bar and become a fish.”
“A fish?” the stranger asked, confused. “What’s a fish?”
“It’s a long extinct animal. It used to swim in vast expanses of water.”
“Vast expanses… of water?” The stranger began to laugh. “No such thing.”
“There was at one time, long ago.”
“How are you going to become a fish then?”
“I will swim in hard liquor all night.”
“Hey! That sounds like a plan. I think I’ll become your mythical fish too, and I know the perfect place.”
They walked to one of the buildings. The only difference about this one compared to the others was the letters B A R painted on a sign above the door.
“Alright! I knew there had to be one here,” the drifter said as he tied Jack of Ass to a pole outside the bar. “After you.”
The stranger went in first, and the other walked behind, leaving his moody donkey tied on the street, where it sat down to sulk about being left alone.
Inside, the bar was cozy. There was a piano in the corner that someone pounded on, tables stood around the room with patrons at them, drinking and playing cards, prostitutes stood on a balcony over the main floor, and the counter was at the back wall. The two sat at one of the tables, and the barkeep came over to them.
“I’d like…,” the drifter started.
The barkeep cut him off. “I don’t want any trouble. You’ll have to give me your gloves, handslinger.”
“Oh, all right, Grandma.”
She smacked him in the back of his head. “Don’t call me grandma.”
“Sorry, miss.” He grimaced while pulling off the two gloves. They were elbow length and jet black with silver markings down their length; the tip of each finger donned a silver plate. He handed them to the barkeep, and then she took their orders.
After the barkeep brought them their drinks and again left, the stranger said, “I didn’t even notice you were packing. Those were odd magic hands.”
“They were given to me by someone who saved me.”
“So you are a handslinger. I’m not surprised. Most people are these days. What do you intend to use them for? Are they for protection, or are you one of those criminals? It stuns me that in this day and age, people would take advantage of another with all the other problems we have.”
“They’re different from all the other magic hands.”
“How so?”
“They’re good for absolutely nothing.”
“Good for nothing? You probably don’t know how to use them.”
“No, I do. They just don’t to anything.”
“Well, what type are they?” The stranger drained a shot glass.
“That’s just it. They don’t shoot fire, ice, lightning, or anything like that. As far as I can tell, they just don’t do anything. My magic hands can’t kill, destroy, or maim.”
“They probably are just used up. It happens all the time, and there is no way to revitalize them, at least that anybody has figured out. Why do you bother to keep them?”
“They have sentimental value.” The drifter took a swig from his mug. “You know, friend, I just realized I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Reeves.”
“Reeves? I’m Kiva.”
“Kiva, you say? That sounds familiar. Where you from?”
“Between you and me, that’s of no consequence.”
“Alright, all right, you can keep your secret. But tell me, you don’t have a place to stay, do you?”
“No. I’ve never been here before as you well know.”
“Then you can stay at my place if you want.”
“Thanks. I think I will do that.”
“No problem. After all, you are covering our drinks.”
“I’m what]
They stayed there late that night, talking about nothing of substance. Eventually the bar closed, and after retrieving the drifter’s magic hands from the barkeeper, those two stumbled out onto the streets, holding on one another to keep from falling as the ground spun all around them, trading places with the sky. Reaching Reeves’ house, Reeves found his bed, and Kiva found the floor of the entryway.
In his long life, Kiva had seen much that no one should ever witness, yet he did not feel that he suffered more than anyone on this planet. He knew each one of the survivors even though they did not know him; he had seen everything that they had gone through on the account of the now dead gods. He felt sad for them all and wished he could have taken their place to wipe their suffering away. Only the children born now would be free of such memories, but the memories would still affect them.
Kiva felt all that happened was his fault, and to a point it was, but not at his intention. The gods came and destroyed a fruitful world, creating this devastated one. It was enough a make a grown man cry, and it has, many times. Just as every night, the drifter cried when he closed his eyes, for he saw everything all over again; the countless dying time and again. He witnessed the planet withering in his dreams, going from a lush ball of vegetation to the dead world Valaria had become. Kiva wept for his sin.


The suns had already risen to their pinnacles over the city when Kiva and Reeves crawled outside onto the porch. Neither had strength to walk, and the tiniest sounds boomed in their ears. They talked in hushed voices and hid their eyes from the blaring sunlight while the rest of the town went about its business.
“It’s a shame, really,” Reeves said, “that we are forced to live in such a horrible place. All we can do is work together and try to resuscitate this god-cursed planet.” He leaned back in his wicker chair.
“Cursed by gods, maybe, but that ultimately means cursed by ourselves. Man created god, after all.”
“Yes, we did, but it was two that started it all. They deserve the credit.”
“Is it fare to blame them?” Kiva asked.
Reeves sat up and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Why shouldn’t we blame them?”
“Somebody else would have created the gods eventually, I think,” Kiva said.
“Perhaps you’re right, but all we have is what happened. Man created god; god kills man; man retaliates against his illusions.”
“Then we are not free yet.”
“How so?”
“Man still exists.”
Reeves laughed. “Then we should save ourselves and die!”
“I hope that’s not the answer,” Kiva said with no humor in his voice.
“Without us, the gods never would have existed. The monsters would never have come about, and the animals and plants would still be alive.”
“Yeah, but without us, we would not exist.”
“In oblivion there is no sin.”
“Then why are you trying so hard to survive?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Reeves said. “To live is too suffer, but without life, there is no happiness.”
“I haven’t experienced true happiness for many moons now.”
“Few have, but while we are alive, there is a chance.”
“Then you continue to live purely for hope?”
“For hope, or in spite of the gods. Take your pick.”
“What are you going to do when the food is gone?” Kiva asked.
“We are trying to cultivate the land, to make it vital again. If we can get plants to grow, then we have a chance.”
“You have seeds?”
“Oh yeah, they are our most prized possessions.”
“Where did you find them?”
“There were some in the food stocks, but the majority of them were found in the Tarin Ruins.”
“So that’s why you were there.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t able to find anymore. We might have all that is left. They are worth more than anything, save water.”
“If you can get them to grow, then maybe there will be a chance.”
Reeves looked out over the city. “That’s what we are hoping for, and we will never give up hope. We will continue living.”
“That is beautiful. My hope goes out to you.”
“Why don’t you stay here with us?” Reeves looked back at Kiva. “We can always use more help to cultivate the land.”
“If the people would accept me, then I don’t see why not. I want to start over, and Vaslin will be as good as anywhere.”
“We’ve never turned anyone away before.” Reeves looked over the street before the house and became excited. He called out to one of the people walking by. “Fuliver.”
A man looked over to the two and answered back. “Reeves! It’s good to see you back. Any good news?”
“I didn’t find any more, but I brought back someone that is willing to help.”
Fuliver looked at Kiva and came closer. “What is your name, stranger?”
“Kiva,” Reeves answered. “This man is Fuliver, the town sheriff,” he said to the drifter.
“Kiva? Did you say Kiva!” Fuliver’s mouth opened, and his eyes went wide in both fear and recognition.
“Yeah. What’s the matter with you, Fuliver? He’s my guest. Show some respect.”
“Oh shit!” Fuliver ran away as fast as he could, leaving Reeves confused, and Kiva nervous.
“I wonder what that was about,” Reeves said as he watched the sheriff. “We picked him as our sheriff because he has such a level head.”
Kiva stood. “I think I should go.”
Reeves looked at him in surprise. “Go? Where to?”
“I don’t know, but I need to leave.”
“Leave the city? But why? Don’t you want to stay here with us and help?”
“I do, but I would not be welcomed here.”
“Don’t worry about Fuliver. I’m not sure what his problem is, but he is a good person.”
“You don’t understand. You’re a good man, Reeves, but I have too much of a past to settle here. Some people will not be able to let go of what I have done. I do not want to bring my trouble upon you. Farewell, my friend.” Kiva stepped off the porch and double checked his bags to make sure they were strapped tightly on Jack. Satisfied, he untied the lead rope and began to walk away from Reeves, down the street to leave the town.
A crowd was already gathering by this time, and they began to mass in the street. Fuliver was talking loudly so they all could hear him. As Kiva reached them, Fuliver turned to him. “Where do you think you are going, murderer?”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Kiva said as he tried to walk past him, but Fuliver moved in his way.
“You can’t go.”
“Let me pass.”
“You are going nowhere.” Fuliver pushed Kiva, knocking him to the ground.
Reeves watched this and became infuriated. He ran from his porch over to the mob of muttering and yelling people. “What are you all doing? This is no way to treat a guest,” he yelled at them as he helped Kiva to his feet. Jack looked nervous and began to shuffle about.
“He’s no better than the monsters in the desert. In fact, he’s worse!” a lady screamed.
“He did this to us all,” Fuliver said.
“Did what?” Reeves asked.
“He’s Kiva, Reeves, Kiva.”
“I know that. I introduced you.”
“No, apparently you don’t. Kiva of Drn-Darth Korda.”
“Kiva the God Begetter?” Reeves suddenly understood. He turned to his friend. “No, no, that can’t be true. Is this true?”
Kiva did not answer.
“Did you create the gods that destroyed this planet?” Reeves asked.
The drifter looked down. “In part. I was one of the two that originally designed the religion they came from.”
“You were the one in the temple of Drn-Darth Korda?”
“How can you be so casual?” Fuliver yelled. He leaped past Reeves and punched Kiva in the jaw, sending him to the ground once more. “You murderer. Scream in pain!”
“Stop, Fuliver,” Reeves commanded.
“No, we have the right to do this. We have the right to kill this bastard!” Fuliver yelled. “He cursed our lives and Valaria. It’s his fault. Bring the horse.”
From behind him, someone walked out of the mob leading a horse, and seven people jumped upon Kiva, again throwing him to the ground. Jack ran and hid behind a building, only showing her head to watch, but wincing for each blow Kiva received from the mob that swarmed over him.
A rope was tied to the horse, and in turn strapped about Kiva’s feet. Fuliver then mounted the horse and kicked its sides; it began to trot, and Kiva was pulled out of the crowd. Fuliver sped the horse to a gallop, then a full sprint, leaving a trail of dust behind him from the writhing body of Kiva on the cutting sand. He slowed the horse, turned, and began to trot again, sending Kiva rolling, then dragged once more. Fuliver pulled him through the street three times before stopping in the midst of the crowd once more.
A man came forward and untied the rope, then kicked Kiva in the side, rolling him onto his back. His arms and face were cut and bleeding in many places, and his clothes were in tatters; only his black magic hands remained unscathed. The crowd gasped at seeing his mostly naked form, for it was covered with deep scars where flesh had been stabbed, sliced, and even carved from his body. Some scars were so deep that they had to descend into muscle. There were marks from stabbings, deep cuts, tears, and impalements from what could only have been magic hands and bladed weapons. His body was a roadmap of suffering, but it only showed a fraction of what he felt inside from knowing what the mob felt was warranted. Women covered their faces with their hands in horror, and men looked away, unable to witness the suffering that Kiva must have endured.
“I am Kiva, and I did create the gods. It is my fault… all of it,” he said through winces of pain. “I do deserve to die.”
“What happened to you?” Reeves looked over his tattered body. “Who did this?”
“This is part of the price of my sin. The gods tormented me for I would never forget them as I was their life force. The men that saved me and killed the gods added to my suffering to pull me out of my illusions. My body shows the suffering of man, and also that of the gods. I killed this planet, and many people, and even the gods who only desired to exist. I have paid a prince for everything that I have done, but it will never seem enough.”
“This changes nothing!” Fuliver screamed. “I’m glad to see you have suffered so, but it is not enough. We deserve your life.”
“You probably do. I’ve accepted my fate long ago, and even relished for oblivion to come. There is no suffering in oblivion, but Reeves made me realize something. There is no happiness in oblivion either. I want to live; I want to experience happiness once more.”
“You don’t deserve happiness. You only deserve suffering.” Fuliver pointed his palm forward, spreading his fingers towards the heavens, and Kiva saw that he too had a pair of magic hands, a red pair of fire. “I will take you out of our suffering.” The glove began to glow, and from each fingertip, a beam of dark red light was emitted, and they all bent around, coming back into the palm, building a shining orb.
“No, you mustn’t,” Reeves pleaded. “He has suffered enough, as have all of us. We can only rebuild this planet by working together.”
“He won’t be here to enjoy the fruit of our labors. He does not deserve to see the revitalized planet.”
“I probably don’t. I remember how it used to be. There were great forests and fields with vegetables. There were no monsters, but animals. And the water, oh, the water. There were roads of water that flowed from the smallest creak into the mightiest rivers, and they all joined together where the Abyss now sits. The Abyss used to be a vast ocean that covered most of the planet. It was beautiful, but now gone forever.”
Fuliver’s lower lip quivered at hearing about the ocean, and he stepped back in uncertainty. “Water so vast. How could that be?”
“Yes. One could not see the other side, and it was so deep you could not swim to the bottom. I gave that all up for beliefs that were false. I wish I could change it, but nothing can undo the damage that has come.” Kiva lifted himself up with his elbows and gave a faint smile. “I would not hold it against you if you took my life, brother, but there would be no point to that now. It would change nothing. If I live, then I can make a difference, and maybe find a way to repent.”
“Fuliver,” Reeves said. “Don’t shoot him.”
“I have the right,” the sheriff said with a shaking voice.
“He could not stop what happened. He had no idea what would come. He has suffered much more than anybody else. Kiva watched his planet die, all those he loved disappear, and his creations kill so many throughout centuries. He deserves happiness more so than anyone else. Let him try to find it somewhere.”
“I owe him nothing but oblivion.”
“We all owe him. If it wasn’t for his suffering, things would have been worse. Let him go.”
“I… I… can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can. He deserves to find his own happiness.”
“If it wasn’t for him, all of this would not have happened.”
“We can’t know that. Somebody would have created something similar. It would have still happened. Kiva is a victim like the rest of us.”
Fuliver fell to his knees and the light from his magic hand diminished. He buried his eyes in his hands and wept. He shed tears for the man that caused the death of Valaria.
Jack walked over to the mob, and they parted for her; she went to Kiva and licked his face. “There you are, you coward.” Kiva smiled and grabbed the length of rope on her halter, and she helped him to his feet. Together, they began to walk out of the town, leaving the mob behind. Back into the desert they went as he held a stone hard face, gazing into the blue sky, finally knowing the resolve he needed. Alone, again, he traveled, not knowing where he was headed, nor to what ends. All he knew was that he must keep hope.

Jul 1, 2012

Endospore Free Coupon Code

Alright, all of you addicts out there. You can get my flagship novel for FREE!!!!!!! Endospore, from Smashwords. Enter the coupon code SSWIN and it's yours. And it is available there in pretty much all ebook formats there, as well as some that read well on a computer. And it's all DRM free. Download and experience an emotional rollicoster that you will never forget. You'll just have to tell all of your friends how awesome it is. Follow the link here:

Happy Reading
--R. A. Wilson

Jun 28, 2012

Endospore for FREE!!!!!

Smashwords 2012 Summer/Winter Sale

Why Summer/Winter sale? Because it may be Summer in the north, it is winter in the south. So, in participating, Endospore will be free from 7/1 to 7/31 through Smashwords to those who use the coupon code. What is the code? I... don't... know. It will be in the catalog during the promotion, but I just may post it here when I know. And when I say "just may" I mean of course I will. Here's the link:

Happy Reading
--R. A. Wilson

Until then, here's a poem. I know. I don't know why you keep coming back after being subjected to this nonscense. Really, I understand how bad my poetry is. I just figured if I have to read it, so should you. >:-]


Those who wander are not lost,
They are only on a journey
That can be reached through wanderlust.
Ahead waits discoveries untold
On the end of trails of dust.
They make their way down the unseen
So only in each other should they trust.
They set out with one another
For alone they would surly bust.

Jun 25, 2012

Artist Confirmed!

Yesterday, I just signed an artist on for my children's bedtime story book. Her name is Caroll Patten, and her artwork is incredible. Here is the first sample of the character Little Kitten Mitten. Expect to see this book out no later than September 15th, possibly much sooner.

Happy Reading
--R. A. Wilson

Jun 24, 2012

But I didn't eat the salmon mousse!

I just felt like sharing another story! Enjoy, you filthy, filthy addicts. This one is free. The next will cost you a bag of jelly beans. But we can discuss that later.

Happy Ready
--R. A. Wilson

Death to a Degree
By R. A. Wilson

Death has always fascinated me. As a young lad, I once saw a homeless man that had frozen to death on the streets. He sat there, propped up against a wall, and people were walking by dropping money in a cup placed at his feet. The adults paid him no heed; only I seemed to notice he did not move. I watched him intensively, pleading him to move, if even an inch—a twitch would do—but there was nothing. I crept close to him, ever so slowly, until I was face to face with death; not Death himself, mind you. His eyelids were open, his eyes staring. There was so much loneliness, sadness, in his eyes. No smile cracked his lips. There was nothing there, no grand message, only emptiness. I’ve heard death is the great equalizer, but nothing seemed equal about this. Who was this man? What dreams had he had, and what caused them to fail, as surely they must have? Many don’t deserve to live, and many that die do, so what is equal about this? Is it that death comes for everyone? Ha, he never seems to come at the right time.

This dead man was only the beginning of my fascination, and I am surprised how few it fascinates. It surrounds us, you and me, all the time, everywhere. We cannot escape it. I stepped on a bug the other day. I wonder what that was like. Did it see it coming but knew it couldn’t be avoided? Was Death’s imminence terrifying to the creature, or was it met with acceptance? The bug died as so many others have, but the will for life is strong in everything. I’m sure it tried to run in the end only to find the attempt futile. Maybe that’s it, Death makes everything, not just people, equal.

Then again, when I died, I wasn’t squashed.

Death comes and goes among us, but most don’t realize how literally close to Death they have been. Those of us that notice him are those that supposedly die. The first time I saw him was during a pouring rain. I was looking down the barrel of a gun held by the man I thought was my father. I pleaded with him, asking him why, what had I done, but he only said he was my father no longer.

They say your life flashes before your eyes seconds before you die, and it kind of does. You think of all that has happened in your time, and you remember things that had been hidden to you. I remembered it all. This man indeed wasn’t my father, but an agent set against my real father. It makes sense now. That man was always detached. Never once did he show any great concern for me, but he did make sure I was well cared for, so I owe him for that. I remembered my real father in this moment and knew that he was a powerful man; some would say he was a cruel man, one that had a lot of enemies. I had been kidnapped when I was only a year old and placed in this other man’s care. I was with him for years, seeing him as my father, until the day he was ordered to kill me. I was supposed to be used as leverage against my real father, but they killed him (I wonder how) and so had no more use with me.

The man I had though to be my father pulled the trigger, scattering part of my skull over the sodden ground. Before Death comes for your soul, you remain in your body, watching all that happens around you, but you are unable to move or speak. You can only observe all that happens, and I watched my false father walk away, leaving me behind without even looking back. There was no emotion for him, only the death of one that may be able to stand up against his boss eventually. But more than just being able to observe, there was pain. It was more than I thought I could endure, but there was no way to alleviate it. I could only endure it.

It was after my false father was gone that I actually met Death. This black shadow detached itself from the rain, drifting over my limp body that worked no more. A skeletal hand reached forward and entered my chest as if it were intangible. I felt it grasp my soul as it began to draw me from my body like one would a poison. The discomfort was immense, and the pain was much worse than that of being dead. I pleaded with this creature, begging to let me live and let the pain subside back to what it was before. It only laughed and said I was already dead and could live no more.

I asked for a chance to exact revenge for the wrongs done to me, but it seemed as if it did not hear me, and I was loosing consciousness as Death continued to draw me from my body. I said all I could think of, which was to accuse Death itself, saying that it does not create equality but destroys the chance. I was amazed when I felt it stop. Feeling bold, I told Death that to take me now would be to leave my body to the carrion, but if given the chance, I would create the equality attributed to Death. I pleaded it to let me go forth and bring the one responsible for my demise with me. I would take his life and then give mine back with his. I heard Death’s raspy voice then, and it still haunts me to this day. It said that I was to become the equalizer, to share Death’s own sentence. At that time, I did not know what he meant, but it seemed of little consequence.

Though I could not see it, I sensed the creature smile, and then it vanished altogether as if it never was. My soul released, I drifted back into my body. I was alone, still laying in the rain and mud, dead, but my soul was as of yet mine. It is very difficult to train your body to move once you are dead, as your soul is only a prisoner, not a companion. It took a great force of will to just make my finger twitch; and to breath again, that was a miracle. I lay there for a long time, how long I do not know, but many many suns rose and set before I could even sit up, but from there it went quickly. Somehow I managed to merge my soul back into my dead body, and I rose again, though the decay had already set in.

The merger was not complete, and I think it impossible to do so. As I took my first step, I noticed that my spirit moved before my body. I saw a ghostly image of myself take the step before my leg followed. I would move, and my body would follow slightly after. It was a haunting thing to witness, especially knowing that it was me, and I began to wonder if I had asked for something horrendously evil. Death comes for all, but when has he left one such as I? Perhaps there is a reason why it has not before. I feel that I asked for a cursed existence, but at least I could look for the one that ordered my life forfeit, and for that I was grateful. I could endure the pain of death for that.

That’s why I am here, and why you are tied to that chair. Why do you still struggle like that? It is all over for you, I just want you to know what’s coming. I’ve already killed the man that posed as my father, but not before he told me who you were. It has been some years since then, and all my pain is entirely your fault. Now you will meet Death by the same gun that I met Death with.

Do you see it now? Do you see your life, your mistakes, loves, pain, and happiness all over again? What is it like for you? Do you see me in there? Do you regret anything that you have done to me, or was my life mostly inconsequential to you? For me it was not.

Why do you beg for life? You will die sometime, sooner or later, and I would rather it be by my hand. You will die now.

Such an odd sensation, isn’t it? There you lay on the ground, your chair toppled over, and your brain in a puddle behind your broken skull. You can’t respond anymore, but you can still hear me, I know.

There it is! Death comes for us both now, and I think I am ready for what lies beyond.

Isn’t the pain excruciating, being drawn from your broken body? I will be drawn out now too, and together we will face what comes next, both as assailants and victims of each other.

Wait! Death, why do you turn to leave? Aren’t I to go now? I am ready. What do you mean all is not equal as I promised? I have killed my killers, and now I shall go with them.

There is inequality left? Surely you jest, Death, for how am I supposed to make everyone equal?

Am I supposed to wander in this decaying flesh for all eternity? As you do?

Shall I never find rest? Am I to be cursed like you?

Jun 20, 2012

The Ballad of Scooter, a Wal-Mart Story

Here is an excerpt from the Wal-Mart Book of Ethics Abridged Edition. It's available currently on the Kindle, and next month it is going to be distributed to further venues. Like the man it's based off of, it's quite the humerus bit of reading! He's a great guy!

Happy Reading
--R. A. Wilson

A Sporting Chance: The Ballard Of Scooter

By R. A. Wilson

When I first met Scooter, I thought he was loud, obnoxious, and an idiot. After knowing him, I realize he is just loud, obnoxious, and an idiot with funny stories. He will be the first person to admit he is loud and obnoxious. As for an idiot, I do not mean he is stupid, far from it; he has just done some really idiotic things.
As good as the stories about Scooter are, he has told me some about other associates and customers that had me falling out of my chair in laughter. He was department manager of electronics before Allison, and Joeltron started in electronics under Scooter. Joeltron (then just Joel) was cleaning the TV screens with window cleaner and paper towels, using an aluminum ladder to reach the shelves. Scooter recommended shutting off the TV’s before cleaning them. Joel did not.
The reason Scooter recommended shutting off the TV is a simple one. The “tube” television is actually called a CRT, or cathode ray tube. A cathode ray is a beam of positively charged particles used to create TV images, but this attracts a large negative charge on the outside of the screen. When Joeltron wiped the screens, the negative charge passed to him as static electricity. And when his hand touched the metal ladder, there was an arching snap of light. It shocked Joeltron so badly that he almost fell off the ladder.
Nora, who worked in the department then, did the same thing, but she did fall from the ladder and onto the concrete floor. Sitting in the personal office afterward, Scooter said to her, “I give you a seven.”
“A seven?” Nora asked.
“It was ten on the dive, but you didn’t get your legs together on the reentry.”
Nora laughed, but Cleo from personnel hit him with a clip board.
Back in those days, the videogame case was different. The company had just changed from a locking metal rack to the glass cases. These older glass doors slide shut and lock, overlapping a few inches. Once, Scooter found a young boy had slid his hand between the overlapping doors and grabbed a videogame inside the case. Once in hand, he could not pull his arm back out. He was struggling with this when Scooter approached him.
The boy demanded, “Open the door.”
Scooter shook his head and laughed. “Let go of the game.”
“Open the case.”
“No, drop the game.”
The boy then tried to remove the game with only two fingers holding it, but that still was too wide to fit through the small opening. “Open the case.”
“Drop the game,” Scooter reasserted. “I can’t open it with your arm in the doors. They slide over each other, making your hole there much smaller.”
The boy’s mother then came, seeing Scooter and her son arguing. “Open the case for him,” she demanded.
Scooter stepped out of the way. “Look at what your son is doing.”
Her face became red as she was embarrassed for her son’s theft attempt. He eventually dropped the game, and his mom did not buy a game for him. Now, the glass cases latch together instead of overlap, so no one can do that anymore. Apparently, that was not an isolated incidence.
Scooter obviously is no longer manager of electronics. That change has to do with ten-thousand dollars of loss. The problem was, nobody knew what was missing. Scooter, being the department manager, was the fall guy. He was blamed and demoted. It was later discovered that an employee of our distributor of CD’s and some DVD’s was stealing them to sell back to the store. It was too late for Scooter then, as Allison was hired in his place. Lovable Scooter was removed from the department after an argument with Allison that involved his tongue being stuck out when he blew her a raspberry. Scooter in electronics became Scooter in sporting goods. He is still the same ol’ Scooter though.
Recently, three high school boys wearing letterman jackets walked through sporting goods and picked up a can of buck scent, which is concentrated doe urine in aerosol form used for hunting. The can acts like a grenade when the top is opened. It first fizzes, but then pops, creating a cloud of urine, and it cannot be stopped from popping once opened. Scooter watched one of the kids open the can, and the group started giggling like a group of adolescent girls talking about boys. They walked to the aisle of hunting clothes and placed the can down and walked away.
Scooter followed them, knowing they were up to something, and his rage peaked when the can was opened. He picked if off the floor and hurried after the boys, who were walking away. Scooter grabbed the one who opened the can and twirled him around. Holding the boy by the shirt, Scooter shoved the can under the kid’s nose.
“You think this is funny? You think this is funny?” Scooter said.
The kid’s eyes were watering as he tried to pull away, saying, “Dude.”
“No.” Scooter gripped tighter. “You think this is funny? Here’s how it’s going to work. You’re gonna leave. I do not want to see you in my department again with your buddies. If I do, here’s how it’s gonna work. I’m going to call management, their going to call the cops, and you are going to go to jail for vandalism.”
“Let me go.” The boy struggled a little.
“Get out.” Scooter pointed in the direction of the doors, removing the buck scent from under his nose.
“You can’t make me leave.”
“Oh yes I can.” Scooter walked him and his friends to the front and through the doors. The kid looked like he had been tear gassed with tears streaming down his face. Scooter went to the bathroom afterward and washed my hands as the urine got all over him. The smell was nauseous, and it stuck to his hand, looking like a brown sugar gel. That rancid smell stuck in his nose, making him vomit.
The can of buck scent was the third to be opened in two weeks time, prompting them to be placed behind the sporting good’s counter.  Scooter did not know what was happening the first time he saw one go off in the department as he had never actually seen one before. It was sitting in the middle of sporting goods, hissing. Scooter went to pick the buck scent up to put it away, and when he was standing over the can, it popped in his face. It amazes me he finished his shift after that, smelling like he fell asleep in a field and a herd of deer squatted over him.
The third one was an accident, having exploded in the box that came on the freight truck. The poor guys in receiving could not figure out where the stench was coming from, but Scooter figured it out when he opened the box.
It was not even an hour after the boys set off the buck scent when Scooter, Dean, and Stan heard a noise coming from the furniture aisle. Scooter headed that way with Dean following, and they found a group of high school girls gathered around an empty spot on the big metal racks that furniture freight was kept on. Four girls had climbed into the hole, though it was only eighteen inches wide, eighteen inches high, and about four feet deep. These girls were crammed in there like clowns in a car. The six other girls standing around were snapping pictures and giggling like the boys were when they first opened the buck scent.
By this point, Scooter was so mad he yelled, “Don’t you kids have anything better to do on a school night then tear this place apart?”
The four crawled out, and the girls walk away, giggling all the while. Scooter later said, “I wanted to go all King Kong and rip someone’s arms right off their shoulders. I just feel like giving up. They just destroy whatever they want to destroy, and you cannot do anything about it.”
And then there was the rocket scientist, as Scooter calls him. This guy came in with his fifteen year old son, approached the sporting good’s counter, and said, “We want two non-resident water foul licenses.”
These licenses cannot be bought at store level. One needs to mail into the state to enter a lottery, and from that, names are drawn for a chance to buy one. Scooter tried to explain this to the guy, but Scooter could not finish before being interrupted.
“I want you to sell me a non-resident water foul license.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” he asserted.
“Can I see you’re ID?”
“I don’t got my ID.”
“Well, I need to see your ID to sell you any kind of license at all.”
“No, no. You don’t understand. I’m from Iowa.” He patted his chest as he said this, like he did not need ID because he was from Iowa.
“Sir, a law is a law.” Scooter then showed him a board hanging above the counter that states we cannot sell licenses without valid ID. This still was not good enough for this genius. Scooter should have known this guy probably could not read the sign anyway. Beth in sporting goods also tried to explain it, but she had no better luck. Scooter even called the game warden, who talked to the guy over the phone, saying, “Without an ID, you do not get a license.”
As Scooter hung up the phone, the guy said, “Well, I’m gonna go down town and buy a god damn hunting license. I’ll see you in about half an hour, and you are going to sell me my duck stamp.”
Scooter was tired of being yelled at for the better part of twenty minutes for no reason, so he was glad when the man left. But then he actually came back. He shoved a license in Scooter’s face and said, “I’ve got my god damn hunting license right here, so sell me a duck stamp.”
Beth asked, “Where did you get that hunting license?”
“I got it from Freedom.” He even told them the name of the guy that sold it to him.
At that point, Beth left the counter and went to the personal office to call the game warden once more, but this time to report the gas station. A couple weeks later, sporting goods received a call from Freedom, saying their license computer could not connect to the network. Freedom then sent their customers to Wal-Mart. We reported them, and they sent their customers to us!
While Beth did that, Scooter sold the guy a duck stamp, which is needed in addition to the license to hunt duck. Afterward, when the man seemed placated, Scooter asked to see the license, knowing he could not have the right license. He looked it over and said, “Uh, this is a non-resident small game license for hunting pheasant. You still don’t have a duck license.”
The man began stamping his foot, throwing a ten year old temper tantrum in front of his fifteen year old son. “God damnit.” He asked to return the stamp, and Scooter told him he needed to go to the service desk. The guy sent his son to do that so he could continue to yell at Scooter.
By now, Scooter was enjoying the conversation. “Now you’ve spent two-hundred and twenty dollars, and you still don’t have a duck license. Here is the other fact. You drove across two states without a driver’s license.” Scooter wishes he called the cops when the man left the store to be picked up for that alone.
When the rocket scientist’s son came back, he said, “Well, I’m still going to go hunting.”
Pheasant season was weeks off, so his license was no good at the time, and he planned to go hunting duck with no license or stamp. Scooter likes to imagine him sitting in jail with his son right next to him. Perhaps they could afford bail if they had not bought that defunct license.

Jun 17, 2012

Snow White and the Garbageman

Okay. First off, I love the idea of doing Snow White as a live action and making it a dark tale. But then, I saw what they did with it. I don’t know what happened, but something went wrong. I’m not going to compare it to the Disney animation because I expect it to be very different. I would be disappointed if it wasn't. There’s just… something wrong here. I’ll try to explain.

The movie starts with the villain taking over the kingdom by marrying and then killing the king. The princess, Snow White, is locked up in a tower where she resides for years. Let me make sure this is understood. They never let her out, not to stretch her legs, go on a walk, or a cross country run. She was unable to get any type of exercise at all. When she escapes by overpowering the evil queen’s brother (I’ll come back to this later), she is able to run away and escape the castle. She goes from being locked up in a small room to being able to run for miles, evading soldiers who go through physical training for their job. At a later seen toward the end of the movie, she wears full battle armor and runs up stairs to the top of a tower… and… is… not… even… winded. She’d be dead half way up trying to do that. But whatever. Artistic license, right?

Snow White escapes into the Dark Forest, because every fantasy story apparently needs a dark forest. The evil queen cannot chase her down herself because her magic does not work in the forest because… I don’t know. It just doesn’t, okay. Isn’t that good enough for people who read fantasy. They never question what they are reading. I mean, come on, they read about magic and elves and faries. They don’t care if things make sense.

Screw you, movie.

So the queen sends her evil brother to chase her down with the huntsman as a guide into the dark forest, after she just handed his ass to him. So he’s a wimp, basically. Well, that changes. He goes from screaming like a little bitch when Snow White overpowers him to being able to beat the crap out of the huntsman like he is a hobbit. So how did this happen? Probably because the story called for it. That surely justifies such a change.

Then there are the dwarfs. Yes they exist, and they are there mostly for comedic distraction. The problem with them is they are not really funny. In fact, there is so little character buildup with them that what is supposed to be a touching scene when one of the seven is killed by an arrow, I found myself wondering why they even tried to look sad. I thought it was more akin to losing a spoon from the pack. Sure it is kinda annoying, but there are six more. Oh, and one other thing about the dwarfs. There are seven, one is killed leaving six. They even say there are six dwarfs then. So there only being six is verified by the movie. Why are there seven at the end? I counted, a few times, just to be certain. Seven. Seven. There were six, but then there were suddenly seven at the end. Did they forget the script when shooting the last scene and forgot how many dwarfs they were supposed to have? Movie, can you really think we’re this dumb?

And the thing that annoys me the most with this movie is that it steals from so many others. Yes, to be fair, there is a lot of borrowing that goes on in fantasy. This is true of any genre as similar themes and ideas will find their way through many different stories. But there is a difference from borrowing an idea and plagiarism. When you borrow an idea, or even give homage to another, there is a little wink in there, saying we know we are borrowing it and are admitting it. Plagiarism is when you take the idea and portray it as your own with no mention of where the idea may have come from. There was a traveling scene that I swear was ripped straight out of the Two Towers. You know the one, where Aragorn, Legolis, and Glimi are traveling across the land hunting down the orcs that took Marry and Pippin. But maybe I’m the only one who noticed. Who has seen this Lord of the Rings thing anyway? Another one that I thought was very blatant was when they meet the Forest Spirit. It was a giant elk with the most amazing rack of antlers. It was an almost perfect depiction of the Forest Spirit from Princess Mononoke. But again who would get that reference? Because surely no American would watch this has ever seen anime before, especially one from Hayao Miyazaki. Who is that anyway? He couldn’t be a big name in animation, could he?

And this movie even has a Big Lipped Alligator Moment. If you don’t know what that is, it’s a reference from the Nostalgia Chick. In the movie All Dogs Go To Heaven, there is a scene where the main hero Charlie is sacrificed to a big lipped alligator in the sewer. He ends up singing with the alligator in the most surreal scene in that movie… AND IT IS NEVER SPOKEN OF AGAIN. Something so weird, so out of place, and it is not even referenced back to. The BLAM moment in Snow White was with troll on a bridge… because that’s where trolls are? It is about to kill the huntsman, and she stands up to it and yells. It yells back and she falls on her behind… and then they have a staring competition, and the troll goes away. Moving on now, because it is never mentioned again. That’s a bad movie. Bad. You deserve a time out!

And of course, Snow White, who grew up locked in a tower, dons armor in the end and plays at being Joan of Arc, sword fighting and everything. She was shown (rather awkwardly and for no apparent reason at the time) how to defend herself with one single move. This then latter makes her into a battle hardened warrior princess like Xena with no further training.

I have to admit some of the visuals were downright awesome, like the queen reforming out of a puddle of dead birds that landed head first into a brick floor and gooeyed themselves. And then there are the whimsical fairies that crawl out of bird chests like on Aliens. Less blood in this one though, but not as magical as I think they intended. It is a pretty movie, but it treats us all like we ride the short buss. In summary, the only thing I can guess that would have caused this movie to fail so badly was it must have been written by someone who has never read a fantasy book or watched a good fantasy movie. They must have had one explained to them many years ago and decided to try to write one without an understanding of the genre at all. They threw in every element and story idea they have heard about being in fantasy stories with no understanding of why. All I can really say is: Bad movie, no apple for you… unless it’s poisoned. Then you can eat it all you want.

Happy Reading
--R. A. Wilson

Jun 15, 2012

Just a Little Poem

The muse for poetry does not hit me often, but it ocassionally does. Here is something from the first book I ever wrote, one that has not gone on to publication and for good reason.  But this poem is a nice little gem... well, not really. I'm not a poet. Enjoy. Muahahahahaha.

Happy Reading
--R. A. Wilson

Cast into Rubble

When our masters call
You will feel the rumble
We will come, one and all
And make your kingdom tumble
Fire, fire, fire

We’ll make your bridges fall
And the tallest buildings crumble
We’ll come and start a brawl
And watch you fumble
Fire, fire, fire

And when it is done
We will walk through the rubble
It has been a lot of fun
Creating this much trouble

Jun 12, 2012

The Dreamer

This is a short story I wrote while in college. It was supposed to be published in the magazine Dream Fantasy International, but I moved a few times since signing that contract and never found out if it ever was released. This is the edition that was to be published, but I feel it needs editing still. I just wanted to post a story here for my followers. It will probably appear in a short story compilation of mine sometime in the future, edited, but for now, please enjoy.

Happy Reading

--R. A. Wilson

The Dreamer 
By: R. A. Wilson 

Beep, beep!

My infernally hideous alarm clock blared, scaring me awake from my dreams that left me in a cold sweat. I sat up straight in my fright, breathing heavily as I tried to shake off the dream’s effects. I looked over to my alarm clock; it was 6:30 in the morning and time to get ready for work. I didn’t want to get up so I weighed the matter over and over, only considering going to the office since my boss told me that if I was late again I would have to find a new job. Finally coming to the conclusion that I should heed the chief, I could not afford to be late again, so I started the desperate fight against my grogginess. I swung from underneath my covers and sat at the bed’s edge, the lion slippers on the floor staring up at me. Inserting my feet as I do every morning into their mouths, I stood up to begin the morning tradition.

My room was dust covered as per usual and clothes were strewn all about the floor haphazardly; I stumbled through this clutter and went into the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I just sighed as I wished for nothing more then the comfort of sleep, thinking that being awake is worse then unemployment. Knowing that it wasn’t going to happen, I scratched the sleep from the corners of my eyes and then ran my hand over my chin to see if I needed to shave. Finding nothing more then a light stubble, I wrote off shaving and grabbed my toothbrush from the cup next to the faucet. I brushed my teeth with my eyes closed, still fighting with the lure of sleep, though not fighting hard. I combed my hair next and then returned to the bedroom, dragging my feet.

Stumbling through the room again, I found myself standing before my closet. Opening the doors, I was presented my array of suits; in my tired delirium I did not care which one I wore, so I just grabbed a random one out and threw it on the bed. I sat back down on my mattress and placed my head in my hands and again fantasized about sleep, wishing that being up now was only a nightmare. I took off the slippers and stood up; dropping down my robe, I then dressed in my suit. Finally clothed, I was committed with continuing throughout the day; I walked down the hall to the kitchen. My coffee pot started to percolate as I set it to do at 7:00, and while it did this I poured a bowl of Rice Crispies. Sitting at the table, I ate while downing the coffee in hopes of the enlightened state it would beget as it tore me from my dreariness. Placing my dishes in the sink, I grabbed my briefcase lying by the door and went outside to head to the office.

My blue Volkswagen beetle stared at me, begging to be taken on a road trip and skip these daily practices. It pleaded over and over with me, but its words fell upon deaf ears. Inside the car, turning the key, I started my blue beast and onto the road we went. I drove down the block to the stop sign and then turned right. On the corner there stood a group of prostitutes; I thought it was a little early for them to be out, but I didn’t know that profession all that well and so I wrote them off quickly. Shortly thereafter, the interstate loomed ahead of me offering a quick route to the office; I pulled out into the traffic and joined the rush. Looking in my rearview mirror, I noticed a speeding pink hummer coming up fast from behind me with license plates that read “Teddy Bear.” It whipped around my beetle and merged in front of me, nearly. You could say that it merged, but it more like clipped my fender and sent me flying into the ditch, my VW rolling.

Beep, beep!

I sat up straight in bed, shaking off the weird dream as my alarm clock rang, waking me from my dreams as it did every morning. I looked towards the alarm clock; it was 6:30. Pictures of my irate boss eating a donut and yelling in the meetings that I was usually late for came to my mind; I had to get up. Swinging from under my bed’s covers, I sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at my lion slippers. They were growling at me; I guess they didn’t want my feet in their mouths as they ended each up each morning. I thought, “Too bad,” and inserted my feet, silencing their growls into barely audible muffles once again. I stood up and walked to the bathroom, nearly tripping over a pair of pants on the floor of the cluttered bedroom.

In front of the bathroom mirror, I rested my head against its cold surface and dug the sleep from my eyes; this took a few minutes to accomplish. Afterwards, I picked up my toothbrush and brushed away; the foam filled my mouth, cleansing the bacteria and my stinking breath. Grabbing the comb next, I stood up straight again and brushed my short hair, shaping it with styling gel. I put the brush down and returned to my bedroom and went to my closet to grab a suit. Dropping my robe onto the floor, I then dressed in the work clothes. After this I sat on my bed and removed the slippers, which started to growl again, only becoming silent when they watched me put on my shoes. I stood back up and walked down the hall to my kitchen.

My coffee pot was already percolating at its preset time. I went to the fridge and grabbed out two eggs. I fried them on the stove, unfortunately getting a piece of shell in one; it wasn’t too crunchy though. I put my coffee in a travel mug and, with my briefcase, went outside to begin my commute. My red VW beetle sat in the driveway, staring at me. Ignoring its glaring, I got in and started the motor. Backing up, I pulled onto the road. Driving down the block, I stopped at the stop sign and turned right. Standing on that corner there was a trio of prostitutes. It was kinda early for them to be out I though, but not that I really care. Shortly beyond that I found myself on the interstate, merging with the traffic.

I watched a speeding white bullet coming up from behind me. It was a unicorn, and it carried a maiden that wore a flowing white robe. It pulled beside me and then back in front of me. In an attempt to not to hit it, I swerved to the right, sending my car spiraling off the road, and rolling down the hill.

Beep, beep!

My alarm clock blared, tearing me from my dreams once more. I slowly sat up; glancing at my clock I saw it was 6:30. I closed my eyes to fall back asleep, but the only thing I saw was the donut-filled mouth of my boss shrieking at me; it was time to get ready for work. I swung around and sat on the edge of my bed as I did every morning, then stood up and walked into the bathroom.

I looked at myself in the mirror and scraped the sleep from my eyes. I picked up my toothcomb and put the gel on it; since I had bed teeth, they had to be combed into their normal shape. After that I mowed my hair. Done in the bathroom, I walked back into my bedroom and over to the closet. Inside of which, I found my suit and dressed in it. Looking over to my bedside I saw my slippers laying there. I thought I had already put them on but writing this off I walked over to them; they growled up at me. I smiled at them as I shoved my feet into their mouths.

My coffee had already percolated so I poured myself a cup and popped a slice of bread in the toaster. Sipping my coffee, I spread peanut butter over the toast when it was done. With breakfast finished and the coffee flowing through my veins, I grabbed my briefcase and went outside. My maroon beetle waited for me in the driveway. Sitting down in the driver’s seat and turning the key, the motor started and I backed out of the driveway and onto the road which will lead to the office. In drive, I proceeded to the corner. Turning right, I noticed a trio of prostitutes dressed as clowns, offering their services to keep me home from work. Trying to ignore them, I just looked ahead and drove on to the interstate.

After merging into traffic, I noticed a white unicorn sporting a white robed maiden racing up from behind me doing at least eighty-five. It whipped around me and cut me off; in an effort to not hit it, I swerved to the right which ended with me rolling down the hill.

Beep, beep.
My alarm clock showed 6:30, demanding me to get ready for work. I sat up and stared at the time in disbelief. Again? I sighed and turned to sit at my bed’s edge. My lion slippers growling slightly, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I smiled at the slippers and though that this still does not seem right, but still stood up and went to the bathroom. I quickly gelled and combed my teeth and mowed my hair, wanting to hurry this process, unsure of its actual existence. Finishing in the bathroom I went back into the bedroom and out to the kitchen.

The coffee hadn’t started to percolate yet, so I grabbed my peanut butter and plopped it on the floor. I stood in it and smeared it over my toes until the coffee was finally ready. After pouring the dark drink over my hands I felt awake. I then noticed that I was still wearing my robe so I went back to my room and over to the closet; inside I found my purple suit. Taking down my robe, I dressed and noticed that my slippers were also still lying by the bed. Though they were growling at me, I still put them on.

I grabbed my box of assorted cheese from mozzarella to bree and went outside. My large purple pineapple stared at me from the driveway, asking me to take it on a tropical vacation. Ignoring its pleadings, I jumped on top of it and pulled out onto the road.

At the end of the block was a group of three prostitute clowns that offered book readings to those that decide to call in to work; I couldn’t since I had missed so much work lately. Turning right, I headed onto the interstate and merged into the traffic. Joining the rush to the office, I noticed a unicorn speeding up from behind me. It whipped around me so fast that my orange pineapple rolled down the hill side.

Beep, beep.

My alarm clock flashed 6:30, telling me it was time to start the day again; how many times was I going to endure this morning? I sighed and sat up. Jumping down from my violet pineapple in the driveway, I went into my kitchen. The coffee had yet to start percolating, so I plopped chunky mud on the floor from a jar. Standing in the goopy mess, I smeared it over my toes until the coffee was done. I finally felt awake after throwing the coffee maker out the window.

Following this I noticed that I was still wearing my robe! Going into my room, I saw a group of three prostitute clowns in the hallway that were wearing purring lion slippers. The clown prostitutes offered book readings to those that decide to call in to work; I couldn’t do it this morning with my job on the line. I went to the closet, inside of which I found my purple gerbil costume. Disrobing, I dressed in the rodent uniform and placed the head over mine. I now went into the bathroom to quickly gel and comb the costume’s teeth and mow its claws.

Finishing in the bathroom, I went back into the bedroom and out to the kitchen. A white unicorn was standing there, glaring at me; this unnerved me so I tried to ignore it. I grabbed my box of assorted paper shreddings, from blue to pink, and went outside. My large violet pineapple stared at me from the driveway, asking me to take it on a tropical vacation. Ignoring its pleadings, I jumped on top of it and threw my blankets on the ground and then pulled out onto the road.

I headed onto the interstate and merged into the flowing river of strawberry jam. Joining the rush to the office, I noticed an egg in a suit that carried a white robed maiden speeding up from behind me. It whipped around me so fast that my violet pineapple rolled down the hill side.

Beep, beep.

I sat up straight. The amorphous pile of slug that was my alarm clock said it was 6:30 in the morning. Picking it up with my shovel, I threw it against the wall and laid my head back down on my toaster thinking, “My job’s not worth this.”