The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is Now Available

Hey, folks.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is now available. It is also free to Kindle Unlimited users.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal
Suicide has many forms.

The tale of Bob and his asinine ways of killing himself are readily available for all to read. It is cool to reread something, whether it is your friends or your work. It also offers reflection: state of mind, memories, thoughts, and so on.

Suicide has been in my life for a long time now. It has affected myself, my family, and a lot of my friends. This “group” is not even 1% of what goes on in the world. Whether it’s homeless folk, students, celebrities, military, hell, even animals. It’s in our lives, sometimes staring at us right in the face. Most folks though turn a blind eye or sweep it under the rug. Alternatively, folks will jump on the bandwagon after a famous person’s death (i.e., Robin Williams, Chester Bennington, Chris Cornell, etc.) and it’s just an “Oh, hey, yeah I care…” Then they stop and fall off. It shouldn’t take a well-known person’s death to stoke the fire. It’s all around us; it could claim your family, friends, either directly or indirectly. Everyone’s affected.

I’ve struggled for years with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. I’ve done the medicinal routine (didn’t work) and figured one day, somewhere, someone else has it just as bad. I can’t pray for something to be done. I can’t change anything that happened, and I sure as hell can’t do anything if I am sitting around. That was the beginning of the change. It was a domino effect, because then I started to quit smoking, stop drinking soda, and eating better. The depression and dark thoughts were (and are) still there…just a lot more manageable, and under control. My temperament is vastly superior to what it once was, and overall I feel a lot better about myself. I like myself. Before? I used to hate myself. Big change.

Writing helped fill in some of the voids that I felt. It helped purify my thoughts and channeled them into something that I wanted to pursue eventually. Thus, this story, even though it may seem pointless and dumb to one, it is a sort of projection of thoughts any one person can experience and something we do.

When I transitioned out-of-state and was left with the feeling of having no real friends (that I left behind), and combating alcoholism (which, alcohol with depression + anxiety + PTSD = Not Bueno), I was beside myself. Nowadays, even in prior generations, the man must be “a man.” You know, don’t cry, don’t show emotion, be tough; the stereotype that was set up for us so many generations ago. So I kept a lot of my thoughts and feelings in. I hardly shared how I felt, I would try to bear a lot, and just be. It was unhealthy.

Finally, I got back into writing and found a great therapist. After which, while seeing my new therapist, I had then begun a process of “killing myself.” That is, writing down ways I would kill myself, or ideas that I had thought of. Thus, The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal was born and is what is available today.

So, I invite you to pick up a copy and read your heart out. If you like/love it, excellent; alternatively, If you hate it, well, that’s your choice. Life is full of them.

I will still be continuing to donate and advocate Suicide Prevention and Suicide Awareness, so when you purchase a copy, it’s going to go and help people in return.

That’s about all for now. I wish you all well.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255

Help Support Suicide Awareness and Prevention With Bob

Hey, folks.

The release of The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is fast approaching (this Thursday in fact). But first, I want to talk about Suicide Awareness and Prevention and why it’s important to me.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal
Suicide in one of many forms.

One reason why I wrote this story originally was that it was an outlet to drop a lot of my dark thoughts. Personally, I struggle with PTSD, anxiety, depression, and have had plenty of suicidal thoughts…and attempts. Now, of course, I am glad that they weren’t successful and all that hubbub, but what about those who are still fighting?

There is someone we know who has lost someone they’ve loved to suicide. Whether it be family, friends, co-workers; the cycle goes on…and it’s vicious. It doesn’t relent, nor does it stop with just those who have left. While I have plenty of things I deal with and fight myself over, there are many who struggle day to day. It can be crippling. While everyone’s experience is different, we must know we are not alone.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is more than just a telling of Bob’s misadventures, his quips, humor, and reoccurrences of suicide. It’s putting suicide there, right in front of us. Making death very visible. Though, in a fictional aspect, you’re seeing what becomes of a man who’s very twisted and has lost his way. It’s about finding yourself, getting the help you need.

Help is something we all need, whether it’s a small gesture or grand. My primary focus is on our veterans. So many of them come home suffering from the loss of their comrades; their family is torn apart, or disfigured from a wartorn land. That’s why I am donating to Mission 22 in support of helping our veterans get the help they need. I am also giving ALL pre-order sales of the Kindle edition of the story to Mission 22 as well. The donations will be sent out in December. For Paperback and hardcover copies sold, I will donate 22% continuing.

I invite you to join the fight against suicide and to stand together. To let others know they are not alone. Together, we can truly help one another. If you cannot purchase a copy, forward or share this. Let’s help with suicide awareness and prevention.


“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J. R. R. Tolkien

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


*The new hardcover design will be unveiled and available as well.

To all the men and women serving (and who have served), thank you for your service.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255

Look: A Lovecraftian Horror Short

Look: A Lovecraftian Horror Short

By Robert J. S. T. McCartney

Picture by VViktor

My voice is silenced. My breath is still. I cannot look to my left. I see something…maybe even someone… there… lurking. They’re shrouded in mystery. How they came into my chambers, I do not know. By morning’s light, I pray them gone, and this nothing more than a nightmare.


I am afraid.

It remains. Curiosity piques me. However, I dare not look left. It could be many of a thing—things. An entity, born not of this world, but from the void of the cosmos. Darkness covers it wholly, save for strange fluctuations of what may be its eyes. Still, I am to remain here. Someone will surely come for me.


I am… frightened.

One of the clergymen came to me, but I sent them away. The mysterious stranger—they…it…tells me things. Things that do not make sense; they cannot, they remark absurdities. I close my eyes and nod my head in acknowledgment. Hoping to appease it—that by chance they may go away. Please, let this nightmare end!

Still, it lingers. Still, it stares into the very being of my soul. It’s eyes—black eyes (I think it to be; of my peripheral vision. No, no, I dare not look) fixated on mine.

I see movement. From the darkness. Fluid, graceful. Ah, so majestic. No, no, I mustn’t…I mustn’t look!

It speaks to me. It’s…indescribable—the words. They’re profound, and nothing of this world. “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”

Terror grips me now, and I am frozen. May the light from the morning come and save me from this plight!


I am contemplative.

A day or so has passed and so have the whisperings. Truth be told, I am saddened by the departure of such a mysterious visitor. I never saw them. Still, there is something, there, that lingers in that place where they once stood. I cannot quite put my finger on what.


I am contempt.

They’ve returned! While I was reading some scriptures at my desk, they appeared beside me.  They speak to me now. Their voice is as if a choir of angels was playing a heavenly symphony. Ah, and so beautiful are the words. They promise of an everlasting place and that I have been chosen. Me! Me… A proud man. One of the people. They claim they know me well, and that I have caught their eye. That my spiritual works have warranted their guise and I am to be justly rewarded! Thus, they have visited me and personally offered at His feet.


I am…heartfelt.

My heart is full, and I swell with the belief of His will that has at last chosen me to be His herald. Those once strange words and mutterings that were—so hard—to understand are now fluent and so precise, and second nature; only to eating and sleeping. Still, I dare not look, for I might sully their sight and perhaps disgust them with my mortal shell.


I am dedicated!

The return is nigh! He is coming! He has awakened! Ah, at last everyone will finally see with their own eyes the majesty that is His! The blessed will finally revel and be brought to His house. Such splendor! I cannot wait to share this with the congregation!

I must look…I must!


I am…not quite myself…these days.

My eyes are dark and grow darker. My skin has become gray and rough. T’is the start of His blessing I am informed.

We are all that remain… He and I. The congregation—nay, the village was…not so quick to welcome and accept Him. Rest assured, they paid for their blasphemy with blood. He has been most pleased with my continued service. As such, He has vowed to bless me fully.

These new voices that have come to me tell me that what I did was wrong. That I ate children’s brains, hearts, and strung their intestines around like some misshapen scarf. Pah! Nonsense, I say! The elders and fellows of the clergy tried to intervene, but once I showed them they worshipped a false god—once I showed them His image and He brought down His gaze, they were quick to please. He significantly enjoyed driving them to the path of righteousness; to cleanse them of their sins you see. It was such a spectacular sight. Their flesh and blood will nourish us well for some time.

I have looked and seen the end; humanity was made to serve—to serve Him.

Today, I am to be fully converted by Him.


I…am…terror.

[The rest of the text is illegible and cannot be deciphered]

You can also check out great reading material for a cost of a king size candy bar with the A.B.Normal Publishing and Media Group Black Friday Extravaganza!

My Fantasy

My Fantasy

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

 

Lust. Love. Sex. Drugs. Power.
So many fantasies we, as people, do we create by the hour.

We fake.
We break.
We quit, wilt, and die.

Too often are we forced to bend a knee or be pressed down onto the firm mattress and be ravaged by life’s atrocities.


In my time, I’ve been led to a world wonder. Where I’ve experienced an intimate relationship between lovers: life and death.

Caught often in a lie, as we lie entangled in a mess of sheets and heat.

Where do we profess and confer our love and become engorged on each other.

Tasting a sample but taking the package, we wallow in this momentous excitement.

Ten years, it’s been ten years since I’ve become gluttonous on this punch drunk love diet.


Where sometimes there were suppliers of supplements that offered a chance at a change of heart and soul.

Opinions made and traded, save for those whose face was a cancer in our alleged “detestable and fictitious” love affair.

Savage, were they and the threats made, we moved far. Where we ought, and brought not the reprehensible acts, nor stayed the course of that which tarnish our voyage.

Still do, I feel the same; still do I look you in the eye; still, do I feel the fire within.
Still does my heart beat; still does my breath stop; still, does my heart belong to you and only you.

For there are many fantasies that we experience every hour…
But none may compare to the one I live every passing moment I am with you, nor can words be formed into the sentences to describe the euphoria; yet bittersweet life I spend with you.

For I know… that one day it’ll end. Therein lies, though, hope…
That I’ll find you again in the waking mortal world.

 

For my wife on our 10th anniversary. —Rob

Coming This Fall—November in Fact

Hey, folks.

So, we’re not doing a cover reveal yet…but The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is finished.

I wanted to share an excerpt from our beloved suicidalist on one of his many escapades. In addition, here are some other points to address.Paperback may be the only print format available—at first. If anything, there would just be a limited amount of hardcovers, which would include a little something extra about Bob. If you like the story and how it goes, trust me, it’s something you’ll love.

Format: Paperback may be the only print format available—at first. If anything, there would just be a limited amount of hardcovers, which would include a little something extra about Bob. If you like the story and how it goes, trust me, it’s something you’ll love. As always, if you buy a print copy, you get a digital copy for free with us (and Amazon).

Pricing: $3 flat. It could be less or it could be about the same. The chances are high that it’ll just be $3 flat.

Cover: It’s gonna be sexy. At least in our eyes.

Surprise! If you want a digital version of Lilah’s Guide to Hoyle for free, just go to the store, set out to buy it, and enter in the coupon LILAHFREE. Boom. Done. You can then download it as many times as you want…or even gift it.

You can also nab The Lodestone Files: The Things in the Shadows and Abnormal Side Effects for free too.

Anywho, without further ado… Here’s a brief excerpt from The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal.


Episode One: The Chronic Suicidal

Have you ever had those moments where you’re sitting there (or hell, driving) and just thinking, “Man, I could totally kill myself right now.” Or maybe—and work with me here—you’re sitting at the dinner table with your family. You know, your spouse, perhaps your parents, kids, siblings, whatever. Then the moment you break bread you’re just like, “Fuck it!” You slam your palms down (or fists, or do a table flip, I don’t fucking know), grab that steak knife, and . . . slit. You know? Slit your own throat? Literally. Right there. At the dinner table. You got blood spraying, gushing out, dripping down your clothes, all over the furniture, the walls, the fine China, the mashed potatoes, on your folks, in your kid’s eye.

Well, if you’ve ever had moments like these, where you’re compelled to do the unthinkable, you’re not alone. Hell, I do it all the time. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Bob Barnen, and I am a chronic suicidal.

Christ, it sounds like I’m at some AA meeting, or in the confessional or something. Yeah, well, I’m not. The truth is, I dunno where I am. I mean, I do, I just don’t know where exactly I am. I guess I could be dead, dreaming, in a coma. I tried asking others: my wife, my kids, my folks, my friends—hell, even my dog! No one has a goddamn clue what the hell is going on. What I do know is this: every time I commit suicide, I’m put right back in bed, safe and cozy.

I guess I could start by telling you about the first time I had the impulse, and why I did what I did.

Now, lemme tell ya, I had no regrets. Not even a letter. I loved my family, an’ hell, I still do. It wasn’t their fault that I wanted to end it. I was just done. Just done with life. I couldn’t handle the stress of a transfer out of state, of meeting people who were culturally different, and honestly, of not knowing a single goddamn person. I mean sure, the pay was good, yeah, but what good is the pay when you bust your balls and ask all the boys at the cooler—“Hey, Pete, Bill, Shaun, guy—to get a drink after work and don’t get a single goddamn word in reply? Instead, they give you this look like, who the fuck are you? Oh, it’s the new guy! Bah, fuck ’em. I’ll tell you what, those sons of bitches who say that they’re there “if you need help,” or some “reasonable accommodation,” or their “door is always open,” they’re lying sons of bitches. They don’t care about you. They don’t care about no one except their own goddamn selves and their fat fucking wallets.

I do apologize, I seemed to have run off there.

So here’s the deal: job transfer out of state. I’m a desk jockey at a firm that deals the stock market. Been married for thirteen years, four kids. I have a nice house, decent pay, fucked-up neighbors. I got a car, dog, and some cats. What’s there to be wrong? Probably absolutely nothing, and I get that. What happened was pretty simple. I jumped. I jumped right off the roof of the office building right smack onto the cars and curb below. I say “and curb” because I think—I’m pretty sure at least—that my feet snapped on it and shattered. I dunno. I can’t say I remember anything other than a giant forceful knockout that, well, knocked the shit out of me.

You might be asking, “What were your final thoughts?” Well, for starters: “Oh shit, oh shit, bad idea, bad idea.” Followed by, “I’m flying!” Then, “Holy shit the ground is coming up fast.” Next, “Why am I doing this? Who’s going to take care of the kids, and my wife? What the hell am I doing?” And then, some guilt, anger, sadness, love, happiness. Finally, nothing. Pow! Lights out.

Now, hindsight being twenty-twenty, yeah, it was pretty fucking stupid. Do I regret it? Yes and no. Yes, because I was dumb to leave my family alone in this fucked-up world. And no because, well, I can’t die. OK, I can die, but I can’t die. I’m like Bill fucking Murray in an extreme, uncensored version of Groundhog Day, but it’s been going on now for . . . fuck if I know. Either way, nothings working, and truth be told, I’ve started to actually enjoy it. If this is how I get to spend the rest of my days, so be it, I guess. I get to see my wife, my kids; that’s good enough for me. Still, I can’t shake the thought of there being more to this. For now, I’ll just get dressed.

By the way, if you haven’t figured it out yet—I recently killed myself at the dinner table.

—END EXCERPT—


So there you have it, folks. I hope you enjoyed this sampling of Bob’s meaty loins.

Until next time,

— RJM and Friends

Johnny Nightwalker: Beyond Good and Evil

Johnny and Omega exchanged blows with one another. They were evenly matched now. However, Omega still had the fighting expertise and size over Johnny.

“You are nothing more than a gnat to me. Insignificant. Petty. You aren’t even fit to be in this world,” said Omega.

“Obviously, I was the favorite compared to you,” Johnny quipped back as he charged up an electrical attack that landed square on Omega’s jaw.

Omega’s gaze became fiery. He grabbed hold of Johnny and began swinging him around like a rag doll.

“How does it feel, boy? To be second rate, second best? The sloppy seconds? A bastard that was never loved by anyone or anything? You’re nothing but space taken up and wasteful shell of a ‘man.’ You failed your family, your friends, and you failed humanity.”

Omega laughed as Johnny hung limply in his grasp.

I can’t let it end this way. I have to do something. Johnny tried to come up with strategies, but nothing seemed concrete.

Then a blinding light emitted from where he last saw the Guardians fighting. A wave of energy rushed in all directions, vaporizing the nightmarish creatures, and sending Omega tumbling to the ground.

Johnny rolled too. He slowly got to his feet and looked over where the blast originated from. There, in a now broken triangle, rested the bodies of Red, Chico, and Pierre.

He felt the last few remnants of their energy fade as it passed through him, and into the air. He turned around and stared on with tears in his eyes.

“No, no,” he stammered. “No, please, don’t go,” he dropped to his knees and began to sob. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Omega shook his head and slowly got to his feet. He dusted himself off and set his sights on Johnny.

“I’ll give it to the little beasts, they could pack a punch with that little trick of theirs.”

He stood above Johnny, who continued to cry. “Pathetic. Reduced to a sniveling and whining piglet. Yet, you were to be the better soldier? Ha!” Omega spat on Johnny.

Johnny felt the energy and presence of the Guardians.

Lad, we’d never leave ya. Well, willingly, in any case, he heard Red say.

We’re a part of you now, Johnny, stated Pierre.

“Our power is now yours. Not just us though, everyone. Together, we’ll be what beats Omega… Because you’re the embodiment of all. You can do this, Johnny,” said Chico.

Johnny clenched his fists. Time, it seemed, stood still. The push he needed had at last come. He stood up tall and looked Omega in the eye.

“I am not the Alpha, the Omega, or the Beta. I am the one who walks in the shadows. Where the light does not pierce, for I am the light in the darkness.” Raw energy began to course through Johnny. Arcs of the elements, bouncing, flickering, and colliding. His eyes radiated with the powers he assimilated and that of the Guardians. “I am the Nightwalker!”

JOHNNY “NIGHTWALKER” IS AN ONGOING A.B.NORMAL PUBLISHING EXCLUSIVE STORY BY ROBERT J. S. T. MCCARTNEY. CHECK HERE FOR MORE POSTS.
Previously

The Nightwalker ToC

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