Updates and Such

Hey, folks.

It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? When life happens, you learn to adapt. There’s a lot going but it’s all for the greater good.

So, what’s to share?

We’re wrapping up production on The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal.

Meanwhile, the multipart conclusion of Johnny Nightwalker will be coming up this evening.

Part three of The Lodestone Files is being worked on, along with many other projects.

You can also check out books one and two of the series in the shop.

So, as for the delay in things…

It’s also a good idea to take a break, look over things, then get back at it, because let’s face it; nothing ever gets done on its own.

Keep at what you do and make sure YOU love what you do. Especially, when it comes to writing. I know and am aware not many folks give a damn what I do or write, but that’s OK. I write for me. An audience of one, is better than an audience of none.

Do stick around for more things to come.

Until next time,

RJM

One More Light

One More Light

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

It happened again. The dream where trillions of stars went out in the night sky. One by one, then dozens, until finally, all that remained was the full moon that slowly faded to nothing. The icy chill of nothingness wrapped its fingers around us all. Something we, as a whole—as humans, were not accustomed to. Sharing the same fate, the same grief. The light of the universe had gone out. There was no hope left. There was only death.

As I stared around, I saw people running rampant in the streets. The only light that lit up the sky was the faint glowing of city streets and raging fires. I thought it funny in a way. All the times we spent polluting the air with fake images, adverts, lights and otherwise that masked the beauty of the universal splendor that encompassed us. We were but a drop in the ocean. Now, though, the ocean had dried up.

I was gifted with an unusual ability. The one I didn’t understand, at least at the time. Now that the sun had died and the rest of the universe had gone dark, we were probably the only place left in existence that dared defy the darkness. I thought, so very like us; to confront, challenge and try to fight against the odds. Sadly, it wouldn’t be something we could ever hope to win.

The planet was beginning to freeze, and casualties were already high. Many countries resulted just ending it all by nuclear war. A lot of people committed their last acts of sin, proclaimed their love to their significant others and families, killed themselves, murdered other people. Observing it was hard, though enduring it was as hard.

I spoke of a gift that I possessed. On the day of my death, I said goodbye to my wife and kids. I was jettisoned from my body. I traversed in spirit through a blue-white portal that took me to the realm of the living…in another universe. I opened my eyes and looked around. Indeed, I was alive. How I could not tell you.

Then there came the telltale signs of the end to which I bore witness to. I tried to reason with my family and friends. I tried telling everyone. I tried social media, blog posts, anything I possibly could. I was called a liar, a crazy person, banned from church, labeled as insane, and that I should have my children taken away from me, and my wife divorce me.

Weeks before NASA had some reports that said stars in various solar systems were dying at a rapid rate and that it was spreading fast. I had sat with my wife and kids when I watched the announcement and had a grin on my face. I had told them all the truth, but none would listen.

On the evening of when the stars went out as I had once experienced it, I told my wife and kids that I would see them again. I gave them an embrace and like before; I left my body. My physical form dropped to the ground, and I was sent to another universe.

I had stopped counting how many Earths I have visited. Each time, I felt like I was getting more and more lost with why I have such a gift. What purpose was there in my ability? What good was it if I can’t save my family, friends, let alone humanity? I don’t want to be a hero…I only want to be with my family. I don’t want to carry our problems to the next world, where it seemingly already exists. So many thoughts, hypotheticals and such flooded my racing mind as I traversed universes.

While I was lost in thought, I could have sworn I saw myself but dismissed it as a possible reflection of time, since it seemed like a mirrored hallway when I’d reach the precipice of traveling from one point to another. I shook my head and disregarded it as just a coincidence.

At last, I came to a universe where the light was still lit. Our world, however, was nothing like it was when I had left. Irradiated and in a unique stasis field, where only our solar system existed. However, humans had become disfigured and decrepit—resembling the walking dead, but with our typical wit and sense.

I noted the surrounding and how familiar it was to me.

“How did you get here?” a raspy woman’s voice inquired.

“The light in this universe hasn’t gone out yet?” I replied.

The woman shook her head. “It has. Our solar system is the only one left in the Darkness.”

“What happened then?” I asked.

The woman’s black eyes looked to the ground and then back to my eyes. “A man came from another time with a gift that could provide us with new lives,” she gestured with his hands, “this is what became of us. He, however, has been gone for some time.”

She cleared her throat and asked again where I came from.

“I originate from another time. Where the Darkness, as you so call it, took place,” I said.

The woman nodded. “A lot of people died you know.”

I nodded in reply. “I know, I was there until I finally started traveling.”

The woman began to weep.

“What’s wrong,” I asked her.

She wiped away a murky tear and gave a broken smile. “We never once stopped believing you’d find us again.”

Hanging on to a Thought

A poem in remembrance of an “artist” but as a person who also suffered from the demons and fought against them. For Chester Bennington and those who suffer… and continue to suffer.

Even though you’re gone,
We’ll keep moving on.
You’ll be another thought—a memory,
Someone who was just like me.

You should hear the things that they say
That you “quit and threw it all away.”

That “you didn’t care about the rest world,”
“Selfish. Good riddance.” Other “sentiments” hurled.

Though, I know that you’re somewhere around,
Safely watching all the things that will become unbound.

They say it’s a joke, a cop-out, and easy to quit,
“Live. Let love.  C’mon, man, take another hit.”

To leave behind all that you love and make a great escape,
When we live and breed in a world full of greed and hate.

For when the demons have finally won, what more is there to say?
“Why did you give up. Why didn’t you stay?”

So often we say that we’re fine,
Debating, procrastinating, biding my time.

When will it be?
All this misery…

Too many times I’ve put it all down,
Not to let myself be consumed, pulled under and drown.
Letting others know that it’s not my time to go.
And though I smile and try to be strong,
My thoughts, they’re dark; caged, I don’t know how long.

Eventually, the dam will break,
All that has been locked away—will I wake?

It’ll be a day where there’s no preparation,
Maybe then we can have our conversation.

In the end, we die alone,
But in life we’re lights, shone.
To each other in the dark,
We guide one another, looking for our spark.

And so your story might have ended,
Those who are lost will continue to be tended.
Our invisible wounds from which that we bleed,
All the pain and agony inside which has sown its seed.

We’re not alone in our daily struggle,
But the world makes it harder to “love your neighbor.”
Frowned upon and looked down on,
Being called “a freak,” and “you should kill yourself.”

The problem isn’t us or those that already hurt,
It’s those that antagonize and do so spurt—
Content and think they’re “safe” behind their computer screen,
When they’ve never even met you or me.

So I understand why you felt you had to go,
I only wish you could have lived to see life so.

What wonders that maybe… the world will bring,
Even though we’ll never hear you sing.

…Again…

Comfortably numb do I exist,
Still, I’ll fight and continue to resist.
The darkness and horror that lives within,
So that maybe others can be helped—that they can see what life’s like when it begins.


Rest easy, and thanks for all you’ve done.

A Poem: The Night

The Night is a poem by Robert J. S. T. McCartney. Often, the night is mistaken as a grim harbinger of death, anxiety, and an onslaught of depression (and more). This poem is to reflect that the night is a beautiful contrast and place, where the day’s reflections (and our own) are beacons…and stars in a brilliant world we can all be a part of, together.

The Night

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

The night…

Often confused for and left bruised,

by a society that does not yet understand.

The night is a sanctuary; a necessary refuge for the accused,

Those afflicted by a blight and plight; of the day’s transgressions—a modern day gangland.

The darkness—tis who the real enemy,

for it shrouds the world; its outlook, gloomy.

There, within it, the night shines; a beacon,

to lead those who are lost, home, their Eden.

The good, the bad, the disturbed, craven and damned,

All have been twisted, some, not all, have gone mad.

So it’s up to us to take the hand,

That’s been outstretched for us, and be guided across the land.

It often appears to us in many forms,

A pet, spouse, friend; many persons, places or things in life’s storms.

So, though at times the night may seem scary,

Know that it is there to help you, and you are not alone.

So keep your head up, for this is your journey,

Aid for you and others; be guided, home.

We are the night.

And Now For Something New: An Excerpt of a New Project

Superheros. They’re in comics, movies, and all that jazz. However, there aren’t any in a religious sense, or many that touch upon the supernatural/paranormal aspect. So, what if? Well, that’s what I am doing.

Hey, everyone.

So, I am actively doing other projects, while still doing the other main dishes. I know some people don’t know the scope of exactly what it is that I have going on. Life has me busy. It’s fine and dandy, but I really like to keep up with cranking out the jams…er, the stories.

Anyway, I wanted to share the start of a new project I am doing. It is finished, however, this is not the final representation of it. Also, I don’t have an exact title of it, thus, I decided to do its name as an in-house assignment: Sinclair Gets His Rolex.

What’s it about? Superheros. Not just the typical route though. You know, lab accident, or an alien. Nope, we’re going a different route. However, with a supernatural/paranormal twist.

I hope you enjoy it. If not, well, too bad. 😉


A WIP Excerpt: At the Moment In-house Titled — Sinclair Gets His Rolex

By Robert McCartney

I can’t die here. Not like this. I. . .I just. . .can’t.

All life had begun to leave the man as he gasped his last breath; his long pale face at first contorted in the most agonized expression, faded to the most peaceful. Crimson poured through the short-sleeved white button-down shirt, from his neck and chest (once profusely and profound, now drew to a standstill), giving a crude silhouette of the thin, already burnt out Mark. His short curly black hair was ruffled; definitely from the day’s nonsense and from the scuffle some moments ago. A woman, at least it was the silhouette of one, propped his head under her sandy leather handbag; designer really, but whatever it was, was surely ruined by his bloodstains. More people rushed to his side, but it was all for naught; he had already started to embark to the other side. Those sons of bitches even stole his shoes too, but at least he still had his black dress socks. His black dress slacks now further stained by only God knows what on a subway platform, blood and his own bodily waste. His brown eyes slowly gave way; the light gradually faded to black. His ears picked up the notes of a song that slowly died along with him.

There was no magic film reel that played out his life. All that there was, was darkness and the naked frigid touch of death—for it was total and absolute. He reached out to the vast void, only to find nothingness. . .and loneliness.

“Hello?!” he shouted, “Can anyone hear me?!”

He was alone, and here he sobbed heavily into his invisible hands. He shed invisible tears, took invisible breaths, maybe it was all in his imagination. He yelled profoundly to the dark hysterical obscenities. Before long, he was praying to an imaginary god, back to the root of his faith. Nobody and nothing answered. The thought then occurred to him—maybe I am not completely gone. He clung to this small glimmer of hope, as tight as his invisible hands could muster.

A brief warm sensation coursed throughout his person, one of which he knew well—the warmth of life!

A soft, gentle and reassuring voice then spoke to him from within the abysmal sea of black. “I know you, my son. For you are but lost in a sea in-between everlasting life, and damnation. You reside, here, in the void of the nether; where you exist, but do not.”

“But why? Who. . .who are you?” Mark inquired.

“You are neither living nor dead. In the mortal world, your body did die, however, your consciousness and will to live; to serve those whom you love, to gain vengeance on those who did you wrong, to be. . .something more in life. What you felt, my dear son, is your will, and the raw emotional power, the ties to Earth – this is what is keeping you afloat; lose it and you shall sink. . .sink to damnation.” the voice continued to propagate.

Mark’s imaginary heart fluttered with fear and anxiety with these words. His eyes still searching for this invisible majestic being, albeit, he felt he knew whom he spoke to.

The invisible host spoke soothingly, “Ah, do not be afraid, my son. I know you seek answers; for your questions, I can see are jumbling, vast, blurred at the speed and span of eons. Know this, you are safe—for now.” The voice then turned stern and censure. “You’ve fallen quite the fall in life, my son. You denounced your faith, believing it to be a child’s fairytale, making a mockery of those whom would practice in private. Yes, yes, I know; prior you used to wave your beliefs around like a big stick, and forced it upon others.”

“I was young and but a fool! Had I known then what I know now. . .” Mark pleaded.

A hearty chuckle escaped from within the void, “My son, do not take me for a fool; for I am not one. For countless millennia I have heard that remark.” Mark then heard what he believed to be a sigh escape from the voice’s imaginary lips. “I suppose, however, that being born into sin has that. . .problem.” Imaginary eyes fell upon Mark’s imaginary person. “It is in death, yes, in death, in which you shall rise and become the herald—my herald, dear Mark.”

Vast feelings and emotions began to surge through Mark—of bewilderment, joy, excitement, life, sadness, uncertainty. . .fear. His eyes darted back and forth in the darkness before rising upwards, to where he believed the voice came from. “What would you have me do?”

An eerie chill ran down Mark’s imaginary spine as he floated in the sea of nothingness. It was far worse than the icy touch of death he had already become accustomed to; for this one felt of pure divine. . .and of absolute wrath. For a moment, he thought as if he could see a giant magnificent grin in the ‘heavens’, something that warranted his hesitation.

“My son, I shall bestow upon you the blessing of everlasting life; for you shall be raised from the dark, frigid fingers of Death and bless you with the assets and aspects, in which, you, deem sole worthy.”

Mark’s mind ran rampant with a childish glee, rummaging through the old childish thoughts of superheroes. Strength – the strength to be as bold and righteous, to avert harm to my family and friends; to defend those in need. The power of healing, that no matter how severe my wounds, I can be the righteous beacon of light; to be able to save myself, so that I may save those dearest and near. Speed and flight! That I may be quick to respond and be there, always, for the ones I love and hold true.

The voice continued on strong, bold and sound while Mark continued with his ‘wish list’. “Ah, you seek to be virtuous, and the reckoning force of righteousness. I can give you these boons, however, the given mantle, and tasks you will perform—will not be of ease. Time will come; for it shall pass and henceforth, carry out its circle—you will mourn. Let the good deeds you do here, now, carry on in your name for tomorrow. For tomorrow is here today, and it shall never, ever go away. For when you grow weak and weary of the given duties, you shall reside in everlasting paradise.” The imaginary voice paused, poising for its deliverance and judgment. For even in the darkness, Mark could almost feel the wrath of the high heavens, the magic of creation and destruction course throughout the abyss as the voice spoke. “If you should ever break the covenant, you shall be stripped of your mantle and the boons I have granted upon you; that your life will be forfeit and shall be left to my choice of punishment for all of eternity. Do not ever think me for a simpleton, that I can just as quickly extinguish your life’s essence then you can possibly imagine.”

Mark was in awe. He was presented with a second chance and knew of the consequences. The words had already formed and escaped his imaginary lips, “I accept, full knowingly and aware.”

A magnificent and beautiful pure golden light appeared high above him. It was so warm and inviting; Mark felt as if he was being picked up and cradled. The feelings and thoughts that ran explicitly wild in his mind – he couldn’t grasp a single one. The abyss had become enveloped in a white-gold. The frigid sensation had been rid from his being and was replaced with such warmth he was familiar sharing with his wife. Everything was about to change; everything, he believed for the better.

“Close your eyes and receive this blessing.” the voice spoke as the light slowly aligned itself within arms reach from Mark; completing the request of the specter. From the glorious emanating light that bathed the darkness anew, there stretched a red right hand that fell upon Mark’s forehead. The voice spoke again, more hoarse and chillingly chaotic, “Return to the World of the Living, and rise. . .” a surge of pure evil slightly escaped, but Mark thought nothing of it. Probably because he was now on the fast track to being alive again.

— End Excerpt–

So, there you have it, folks. This story is completed. However, I am still honing it and I still have to get it ready for its debut. I hope you enjoyed this first glance at this story and what it will shape up to be.

Until next time,

RJM

Monday…

Monday’s… they can be a blessing or a curse. Today’s a busy one, and I’m still recovering from a short weekend. So, I’m going to run by what’s going to happen/ what’s coming up.

Hey, folks.

It’s Monday…again. I had some things I had wanted to post up, but I had more important things to do. As such, it never came, since I was exhausted.

Monday is here, and it’s been busy outside of the writing world. I’ll be taking the day off to prepare for the final post for Bob; and doing this new story outline I have an idea for…

There will be another Diary of The Wasteland Bear God post. I’m thinking of canceling anymore “writing r(e)volutions.” Sure, they seemed fun… to me. Not many care for the mashup series, so I’ll just go back to posting I can, of I can. I think I’ve given enough ample look into how that series has come to be/evolved.

Johnny Nightwalker… that’s what will be next. Then, it’ll be the book. I have other titles I want to get out. I’m debating if want to post them first, or go straight to press. Master debating, folks. It’s a thing.

I suppose maybe I’ll start going into my drives and seeing what else I’d like to put out. I still have my timeline; some things to be added or adjusted accordingly.

Ah, yeah. Now I remember a few that I wanted out. OK. We’re going to run with that. I’ll start sharing those with you folks, soon.

Anyway, until at least tomorrow.

RJM

Preparations. . .

A brief post about stuff happening, a pot of chili, more stuff, and The Bear God taking the rest of the week off. Mow that lawn, you bastard!

Hey, folks.

Dropping a line regarding this week. There are things to be done—things that take precedence, and as such, I am pre-emptively attacking next week. So much, that I have sunk its battleship.

What the hell does that mean? Well, in lamens terms I am taking the week off. Go me. I got a pot of chili brewing, stuff to do, and next week all planned out as far as what’s coming. I have just a few more things left over to do, but it’s doable while jumping on one foot. I have a short story that I will be posting soon as well—either tomorrow or Friday.

The recap wrap-up for Bob is coming up. New Johnny Nightwalker. New recap for The Writing Evolution for The Diary of The Wasteland Bear God coming. New stuff.

Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle. . . Well, folks, I have something to say. I will be releasing an Author’s Cut of the book, which includes a chapter from the next book. It will have the cover as is and there will be a limited run of another cover. It may stay, specifically for paperback and kindle, while the other is only in hardcover. Things!

 

The Lodestone Files—book formats coming up. I am planning appropriate sizing for the boxset, along with a pretty damn good price.

Stuff. Is. Happening.

In any case, you will hear from me soon enough. Regardless, I wish you all a happy weekend. Shine on you crazy diamonds.

Until next time,

RJM