#my mountain of writing that's overdo gets bigger and bigger

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Before changing ownership a decade previous, Tony’s Taphouse had been a biker bar called the Civic. Notorious for its rough clientele and routine bouts of violence, and for harbouring regulars who acted like nocturnal animals, most locals knew it as the Zoo. It had been the preferred haunt for the Hell’s Angels, who had long since been banned from the premises. 

“It took us a long time to turn things around,” my boss told me one night, while I manned the door for a Val Kilmer and the New Coke concert. A crowd of twenty-somethings were smoking all around us.

“Whenever we tried to get people to behave they’d say ‘don’t you know this is the Zoo?’ And I would say ‘yes, and I’m the new zookeeper’.”

My boss reminded me of a small child in an enormous body, slightly immature and with a propensity for breaking stuff. He had a reputation for overdoing things, to the point that the Nelson Police Department had nailed him for multiple assault charges. The other bouncers told me he was well known for choke-slamming unruly patrons into unconsciousness, which was the reason he was no longer allowed to assist us when we ejected the city’s shitheads and drunks. The guy was easily 300 pounds, and scary as hell when provoked. The rest of the time he was an amiable teddy bear, quick to laugh and always game to sing “Chocolate Salty Balls” from South Park at karaoke, much to the chagrin of his embarrassed wife. 

Most of my shifts were spent alongside a fellow ginger beard named Luke who liked playing bad cop to my good cop. During the day he worked at a pet food store, and he was well-known as a huge softie when it came to animals. While I had a tendency to treat Tony’s like my own personal Cheers, he was monosyllabic and ominous. Late into the night we would hang by the entrance swapping jokes and taking turns shovelling back lettuce wraps and chicken strips, clad in all black.

Eventually I suggested we should update our uniforms. There was a local barber named Chris Brach who bounced at Spiritbar and I admired how he dressed and carried himself like an old-school gentleman. We ultimately settled on matching vests with dress button-down shirts, with each bouncer choosing their favourite colour. I chose a blood red that was almost purple, while Luke went with sky blue. Eventually the whole team adopted this new look, making the whole place that much classier. 

Working at Tony’s gave me a whole new perspective on Nelson. I knew who was doing drugs, who was cheating on their spouse, and who was banned from the premises until they came grovelling back to the owners. The Nelson Leafs were preening and omnipresent as peacocks, and in the early hours of the evening I’d encounter the more wholesome members of society as they engaged in events like paint night. Sometimes people would approach me with the latest issue of the Nelson Star, commenting on stories or complimenting me on the cover photo. The print edition was becoming increasingly irrelevant, but Tony’s was one of the few places I could regularly see people consuming it alongside their beer.

From where we stood during our shifts, we looked out at a sports bar that took up the ground floor of the Adventure Hotel. Because we were open later than any other establishment in Nelson, we would watch as the late night crowd funnelled in our direction. Crowds of drunk twenty-somethings would march diagonally across the intersection, ignoring the cross-walks, and it was our job to interpret whether or not they could come into Tony’s based on their lurching gait. Some would nod solemnly when we denied them access, while others would whip themselves into deranged frenzies. They would scream their threats to the uncaring black sky, or demand to talk to the owners. These people pissed me off.

“You’re a good bouncer and everyone loves you, but the other staff have told me you have a tendency to go from zero to sixty pretty quick,” my other boss told me, during a performance review. She was the owner.

“We don’t think it’s a problem, but it’s something we want you to watch out for. Obviously this job can be stressful at times, so it’s up to you to keep your temper in check. It’s about customer service.”

Though there were plenty of threats of violence at Tony’s, it was rare that we actually had to put our hands on people. Most were cowed into submission by our size, and knew they had to play nice if they wanted continued access to the bar. We tried to kill them with kindness, calling them cabs and reassuring them that they’d be welcomed back once they sobered up. More than once I found myself consoling despondent drunks who were horrified by their own behaviour, going through a break-up, or grieving. Some were so confused and inebriated they didn’t know how to get home. I came to love these idiots, or at least most of them, because I considered them part of the Tony’s family.

The most interesting employee was a behemoth brute named Gordo, a holdover from the days of the Zoo, who looked exactly like a bearded Bobby Baccala. The female staff adored him because of his gentle, benevolent presence. He made people feel safe. He wasn’t a bouncer anymore because, like my boss, he’d gone overboard a few too many times. He lived downstairs and oversaw the daily operations, and was only called to help during emergencies. He was the type of guy you didn’t want to fuck with, ever. He loved Tony’s and everyone on staff intensely, and if violence was needed he was more than capable of dispensing it. I’d never met someone with such a fascinating mix of kindness and malevolence to his personality, and I admired how effectively he funnelled his anger in appropriate directions.

One night, during a slow period, he stood out on the street and regaled me with stories of his bouncing days in Toronto. During those years he’d been stabbed and shot multiple times, a fact he delivered with a shy chuckle.

“This one guy was shaking my hand, right? And with his other hand he stabbed me right here,” Gordo said, pointing to his rib cage.

“So I pulled him close to me and snapped his elbow backwards, just like this.”

Gordo recreated the scene with a smile on his face, demonstrating how the guy’s arm had bent the wrong way while the bones snapped and popped. He’d regained control of the situation while the knife was still plunged hilt-deep into his side. He laughed and wiped his eyes, remembering.

“I was a lot bigger back then, if you can imagine that. So the knife didn’t end up doing much damage. It didn’t hit anything significant. Meanwhile this guy’s a puddle on the ground in front of me, whimpering like a little girl.”

When I wasn’t on the door, I would work my way slowly through the lounge area and out to the back patio where people were allowed to smoke. There was a row of comfortable couches and a long counter where people could pull up stools and drink under the gaze of Elephant Mountain. At times I couldn’t believe I was being paid to socialize, and the dance floor playlist introduced me to a new favourite artist: a young Swedish woman named Tove Lo. If we’re talking body, she sang, You got a perfect one so put it on me. If you do me right, we’ll fuck for life, on and on and on. 

Paisley had finally moved home to be with her parents, and her absence had proven to be a boon to my mental health. I still missed my dogs desperately but I was finally free to move on without her constant surveillance and gossip. I decided early on that I wouldn’t date anyone on staff, but there was no shortage of young women who would find excuses to linger by the door or stand outside smoking, sizing me up. Most nights I was still ending up at Natalya’s, where I would crawl into her bed and cap the night off with an early morning fuck in the dark. She’d leave her front door unlocked and we’d pant through our routine without speaking a word. She’d resigned herself to the fact I wasn’t interested in anything beyond that, and she never bothered me with small talk. We had what we had, and that was it.

The sleep deprivation involved with working at Tony’s ended up meaning that I spent most of my weekends asleep, recovering in Brendan’s basement and only leaving the house for necessities. Sunday was my only day off, and I needed that down time to get in the right headspace for the Star. I had a couple of ambitious series going on, including one about the Columbia River Treaty, and I needed my mental faculties operating properly to adequately approach these subjects. I could sense that Ed was growing tired of my rock star attitude and reluctance to put in a full 40-hour work week. I kept finding myself asking why I was still there, but I didn’t have another option available. Both jobs and housing were scarce in Nelson, and I was barely holding on.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” I told my friend Tia one night. She worked at the Hume Hotel but had started her own business called Wurst Dog. We’d been discussing whether I could find some sort of entrepreneurial gig to transition to once I was finished with journalism.

“You just have to take a chance and jump, kid,” she said. “Then see where you land. I’m sure there’s all kinds of people in this town who would give you a job doing social media or something.”

“Or maybe I could be a full-time bouncer and write on the side? Finally finish my manuscript? I dunno.”

Tia smiled and mussed my hair.

“I believe in you,” she said. “You’ve got this.”

The Kootenay Goon

[higginbothampublications]

Book Bits: “A Bit of a Pickle” Chapter Three

Book Bits: "A Bit of a Pickle" Chapter Three

Thank you for joining me for Book Bits. In this episode, we will begin to read the book "A Bit of a Pickle" by Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue. This is the second book in the Simmons Series.

Enjoy!

A BIT OF A PICKLE

WRITTEN BY NICOLE HIGGINBOTHAM-HOGUE

COPYRIGHTED BY NICOLE HIGGINBOTHAM-HOGUE

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER THREE "Ihave to pee," Edna said, stirring Gertie from her relaxing mindset. Gertie had been driving for what seemed like hours, and she was sure that they had to be close to their destination. "Can't you hold it?" she asked, looking around. There were no gas stations in sight, and the sun had started to set, making everything in the distance look like a dim gray outline.

"No, I have to go right now," Edna insisted. "Pull over."

"Edna, I told you to stop sipping on that camelback," Gertie replied. "It was a good gesture, but I knew that you would overdo it with the fluids."

"Well, maybe you were right," Edna replied. "But if you don't pull the car over, we are going to have to deal with a problem bigger than my excessive hydration."

"Fine," Gertie retorted, swinging the truck over to the side of the road. She wasn't fond of the idea of her wife urinating in public, but at this point, she saw no other choice. "Just hurry, Edna. This is a little embarrassing."

"Will do," Edna said, stripping off the camelback and flying through the passenger door.

Gertie sat in silence, looking around the truck as she did. The last thing that she wanted was for her wife to get arrested for indecent exposure.

"Oh no," a cry sounded from outside the truck.

Gertie looked and saw her wife running across the roadside with her undergarment flapping beneath her. "Edna Simmons!" Gertie lectured. "What on Earth are you doing?" Gertie waited for her wife to stop, but she just continued to run, and Gertie let out a deep sigh and got out of the truck to chase after her.

Running at full speed, Gertie caught up with her wife, who was panicked and screaming. "What's going on?" Gertie asked, looking to the roadside as a truck blared its loud horn.

"Look down," Edna cried. "It's tangled around my foot."

Gertie looked at Edna's foot and saw a long, dangling object. "Is that a snake?" Gertie inquired, trying to look closer.

"Yes," Edna cried. "Get it off of me."

Gertie looked around for a stick or any kind of object that would help her perform the grueling task and finally found a large branch that had fallen from a nearby tree. "Hold still," she commanded as she brought the stick closer to Edna, who was now taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself down. Gertie slowly edged the stick closer, preparing for the snake to fight back, but the operation went smoothly, and Gertie managed to extract the small creature without any backlash. "There," Gertie said, grinning at her wife. "Now, do you want to pull up your drawers. Those truckers over there have been getting quite the show."

"Well, I'm glad that I could be their source of entertainment," Edna grumbled. "Because that snake damn near scared me."

Gertie smiled at her wife and looked over at the snake on the end of the stick that she was holding, but the snake wasn't moving at all. "Are you sure that this is a snake?" Gertie asked, squinting and bringing the object closer to her face.

"Be careful, Gertie," Edna warned. "It might bite."

"I think that I will be okay," Gertie mused, a look of recognition on her face. "This isn't a snake, Edna. It's a piece of a tire."

"Don't lie to me like that, Gertie," Edna told her. "It's not nice."

"No really," Gertie grinned. "It really is a tire. Look." Gertie picked up the long material at the end of the stick with her bare fingers, wiggling it in front of her wife.

"No kidding," Edna sighed. "This whole time I was running from a piece of rubber?"

"Only you," Gertie smiled, throwing the piece of material into the wind. "Now, come on. We need to get there before the sun is completely gone. I don't have the best of night vision."

"Alright," Edna said. "But next time that I have to go to the bathroom, we are stopping somewhere. I don't think that I could handle having another experience like the one that we just had."

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is image.png GERTIE ROLLED INTO the hotel parking lot and stopped the car. She couldn't see her surroundings at this point, but she knew that something was different. The air had grown cooler as they neared the city, and there were some signs that indicated that there might be mountains around them. Gertie got out of the truck, stretching her legs and walked to the other side to help her wife out. She was ready for a good rest after such a long drive, and she knew that as soon as she got their luggage inside, she was free to relax.

"Gertie, can you grab the bags?" Edna asked, yawning. "I'll go inside and check in."

"Sounds good to me," Gertie replied. She really wasn't in the mood to hold a conversation with anyone at the front desk, and the idea of just being able to go straight to her room put a smile on her face.

Edna smiled and walked into the hotel, and Gertie waited for her wife to enter before turning her attention back to the task at hand. She wasn't looking forward to carrying Edna's bags. Her wife had gotten a bit excited and gone overboard with the packing, and Gertie knew that it would be a struggle carry them all in one trip. Nevertheless, Gertie wasn't one to give up that easily. Where there was a will, there was a way, and she knew that if she could get all of the bags up to the room, she wouldn't have to come downstairs until morning.

Gertie opened the door to the cab of the truck, backing up as a group of bags bounced out of the truck and onto the ground. Edna had definitely overpacked. Gertie shook her head at the mess, knowing that she should just get the task over with and began to pile the bags on her arms. She had just about gotten every one of them, when she noticed a small bag in the back of the truck. "Dang it," Gertie said, wondering how she was going to get it, but at that moment, she noticed a dark shape by the trash receptacle and her mind was at ease. "Sir," Gertie called towards the stranger. She didn't usually like to ask for help, but at this point, she saw no other option. "Sir," Gertie called again, but the stranger didn't respond.

Gertie struggled with her bags, trying to inch closer to the mute stranger, hoping to get a response. "Sir, I know that you are probably busy, but I just wanted to ask you if you would help me with my bags. You see, my wife overpacked, and though I've managed to get a majority of her belongings, I can't reach the little bag that is deep in the cab of my truck."

Gertie watched as the man came closer but thought it odd when she saw the gentleman lower himself to his hands and knees.

"Never mind, sir," Gertie said, wondering what kind of lunatic she had just contracted to help her. The man was beginning to creep her out a little, and she certainly didn't want to pick up any weirdos while they were out of town.

But the burly man kept coming towards her on all fours, halting just a few steps in front of her. Gertie squinted her eyes in the moonlight, hoping to get a good look at the gentleman in case she had to report him to the authorities later for some sort of crime, but as her eyes focused in the dark setting, she realized that the person in front of her wasn't a man. In fact, she hadn't been talking to a person at all. Instead, the recipient of her communication was in fact a black bear, and the animal didn't look very happy.

"Oh," Gertie squeaked, not knowing what to do. She debated whether she should run into the truck or if she should just stay right where she was. "Sorry to bother you," Gertie said to the bear, hoping that the animal would back off and leave her alone. "I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner."

The bear looked at her blankly, and Gertie stared back, wondering if this was her final moment. She took a large gulp as the bear began to move and sighed as the large animal walked away from her and back to its trash can. Gertie closed the doors of the truck quietly, the bags in her hands and inched her way toward the front doors of the hotel. Edna would have to wait for her last bag until morning. There was no way that Gertie was going back.

Thank you for joining me for this episode of Book Bits. Stay tuned for the next installment, and until then, be safe and well.

About the Author

Growing up in a small town, Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue spent a majority of her time reading and writing, so when she was granted the opportunity to write full-time, she didn't have to think twice.  Since beginning her writing career, she has managed to pen several lesbian romances, while adding a little action and adventure to spice things up. As a newly graduated MBA student, she plans to use her recently discovered free time to craft the art that she loves. For more information on Nicole's new releases or to find out what she has been working on, sign-up for her newsletter at higginbothampublications.com.

Also by Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue

Jems and Jamz

Don't Tell Me Twice

A Second Chance

To the Beat of Their Own Drum

Finding a Voice

A Fan to Remember

Aspiring Affection

A Stepping Stone

The Jems and Jamz Series: Books 1-2

The Jems and Jamz Series: Books 3-4

The Jems and Jamz Series: Books 5-7

The Jems and Jamz Series Boxset

Simmons Series

A Brief Debacle

A Bit of a Pickle

The Catnip Conundrum

The Simmons Series: Books 1-2

The Avery Detective Series

Sentiment to the Heart

Heart's Content

Complicated Heart

Thank you for joining me for this episode of Book Bits. I look forward to seeing you next time.

#lesfic book reading

[writinggeisha]

Writing:  How to Describe a Room I’ve noticed lately in the stats that people have been actively searching for “how to describe a room.” Even though I had done a writing prompt that called for using the description of a room, I never did go over the particulars of describing locations.  So for anybody looking for some specific answers, here are my thoughts on describing interior settings, for fiction and prose.

First and foremost, you got to ask yourself, what importance is the room or setting to the story or characters? If the room is only there for a brief passing scene, it may just suffice to say “so-and-so went into the broom closet.  It was dark, cramped, and loaded with brooms.” That may be all you need.

For more significant settings, where you really do want to paint the picture in the readers’ heads and firmly establish a sense of space or ambiance, then of course you’ll want to dig into more details.  The key issue here is that you don’t want to overdo it.  Unless you’re typing out an architectural report or something, there’s no real need for a reader to understand the full dimensions of the space, or what the composition of the walls are, or anything technical like that.  You will want to cover the overall impression of space, color, mood, atmosphere, furnishings, props, and anything else, as long as it’s distinctive, relevant, and contributes to the story or image in some way.

The objects in a room - furniture and stuff - may or may not factor into your scene.  If you say that people are in the living room, chances are that the reader will automatically populate the room with their own idea of what a living room will have:  likely a sofa, a TV, etc.  So there may not be a need to describe what furniture is in that room, especially if such furnishings are not going to be actively used.  On the other hand, if the characters are going to use something, it may be necessary to establish such things early in the scene, so the reader can understand that the given thing exists and the characters aren’t just making it materialize.  For example, if characters are in a room with a gun on the table, and one of the characters grabs the gun and uses it, it’ll help to explain right away that there is indeed a gun on the table.  Otherwise, it’ll sound like the gun just magically appeared on the table.  It may not be necessary for some things (grabbing a knife from the kitchen would be self-explanatory), but this kind of thing should be set up for everything else that isn’t so obvious.

You’ll also want to describe things if they’re not usually associated with a given place.  For example, in Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, some living rooms had expensive lawns in them, with actual soil and grass growing in the middle of the room.  It was important to describe them, because the characters used the indoor lawns, and even commented on them.  Later in the story, one of these lawns was ruined.  It serviced the story (plus, an average reader will not associate grass in a common living room).  For sci-fi and fantasy stories, where settings are imagined and re-imagined more vividly, more description may be necessary to paint a picture of a futuristic or otherworldly setting in the readers’ heads.

Another thing to consider will be what the items of a room, or its decor and layout, says about the characters.  If the room is messy, you can conclude that the character is disorganized, and thus you find another way to show a character trait.  Or, if the room has expensive art, you can infer that a character has refined tastes (or maybe he just pretends to).  The possibilities on this level are limitless; if a detail is relevant to a character, you will want to capitalize on it.

In the end, however, all of this will depend on your own personal writing style.  Different writers will write settings in different ways.  Wordy writers like Stephen King or JRR Tolkein could spend pages and pages talking about the stuff in their rooms; James Patterson never seems to describe any of his settings, especially if they’re common places.  Really, the best advice I could give is to simply approach the scene naturally, and write out the first things that come to mind.  If nothing comes to mind, just proceed with the scene in the given setting with sparse details; chances are that you don’t need details anyway.  If you’re compelled to say more about the setting, then try indulging in such details as your imagination allows, and see what comes out.  It should be a natural occurrence; if you’re stuck on describing a place, it might be best to just skip ahead, write the next scene, and go back in the rewriting session to see if you really need to add anything more.

And when it comes to your own writing style, there is no set way to describe a place.  It’s not like you go through a room step-by-step to introduce the walls, floors, furnishings, etc to a reader.  If anything, this will come off as dry, long, and uninteresting.  If you have to explain every little thing about a room, it would be better to break up the exposition with action or dialogue; you have to keep the story moving, and lingering on interior design may stall plot progression.   You also don’t want to make the language describing the room overly dry or overly flowery; just use your natural narration.  

In summary…

Do:

Keep it simple.

Talk about colors, patterns, decor, and unique architectural details, if they’re relevant.

Talk about furnishings and props, especially if characters use them.

Talk about anything in the room if it reveals something about the characters within.

Talk about space.

Talk about unique details that readers may not usually associate with a given place (especially for sci-fi and fantasy works, where the settings are purposefully different anyway).

Describe it naturally with your own personal writing style and sensibilities.

Don’t:

Get technical or overly-explicit.

Divulge in unnecessary details.

Tell about room’s atmosphere or impression; show it instead.

Overthink or overdo things.

Dump details in one long paragraph.

Describe things in a dull, dry, choppy, or uninteresting manner; use your natural narrative voice.

Describe things that the reader will already assume for a given place, especially if such things don’t contribute to the story.

For some examples, here are some excerpts from my own projects, with varying levels of description (not to mention varying levels of skill and nuance).  I think you’ll find that I’m very light in details, and just give just enough to keep things flowing.  Chances are that I may break my own rules above (I’ve always been pretty bad at “showing not telling”), because it’s as much of a learning process for me as it is for everybody else.

From Rider of the White Horse, Chapter 25

I wrote this story as far back as high school; I’ve always felt this was a very amateurish story with a weak writing style, but it’s serviceable and got the job done.  The description here is pretty bland, doesn’t say much, and quite understated.

Kurt walked towards the old man, and he followed him through the ruins of Tokyo to a squat abandoned building a quarter of a mile away.  There, the old man led Kurt into a relatively clean room with cupboards, a single mattress on the floor, and a low table.   The old man lit a candle that was on the table with a makeshift lighter.  The candle illuminated the room, revealing the old man’s face to Kurt.

The old man went to the corner of the room, where a tub of water sat idle.  Kurt noticed that the man rigged a purification system over the tub, allowing him access to relatively clean water.   The man took some water and some leaves he had stored in a cupboard.   Then he prepared two cups of tea, working diligently with trembling old hands.  Kurt sat at the low table and watched as the old man prepared the tea, observing the man’s technique as he mixed ingredients and stirred them in wooden cups.

From Perfectly Inhuman, Chapter 3

This is one of my most recent works.  I did take the time to describe this area in bigger detail, to give the reader a lavish and futuristic picture.  It reflects on the power and wealth of the Mayor and his government.  Hopefully, you’ll get the impression of wide-open spaces, luxury, and cleanliness.

At the topmost floor, the city became a mere map beneath Mary.  The doors opened, and the guards pushed her out.

She found herself in a large lobby.   The floors were made of colored tiles arranged in jagged patterns, and the walls were made of glass, revealing additional views of the city and the mountains to the east.  A frosted glass partition separated the lobby from a private office.  Silk banners hung from the ceiling.   Polished stone pedestals held golden and silver statues portraying nude men and women.  Everything in the room was rich and lavish; Mary found herself awed, and envious that she never had a place so luxurious.

The guards guided her through a set of glass doors in the frosted glass partition, and they passed into a wide open office space.  The office looked much like the lobby, only instead of statues and banners there were holograms and display screens.   Contrasting with the bright floors and the bright exterior view, there was a black desk on one end of the room, made of a rare dark organic wood.

From Ouroboros:  Demon-Blood, Chapter 11

This is one story I’ve worked with on and off; I’ve been a little wordier with this series of stories than with most others, to try and immerse the audience in a more detailed fantasy world.  Hopefully, you’ll get the feeling of seeing something different and fantastic (and possibly wicked) with this segment.  Note that the term Svartálfar comes from ancient Norse myth, referring to a race of Dark Elves.

In the middle of the woods, the Svartálfar had constructed a large settlement.  It was surrounded by a thick wooden wall, studded with huge wooden thorns and metal spikes.   The area around the wall was cleared of all vegetation, so that it could not be scaled with nearby trees.  There were trees on the other side of the wall, which had platforms and turrets for guards to stand watch on.  The settlement’s gate was a thick wooden door with iron supports; it swung open for us as we approached.

Inside the settlement, the Svartálfar used most of the trees as buildings; they were all hollowed-out to serve as homes, stairwells, storage, and stores.  They also had small wooden shacks and huts in between the trees.  Some buildings were also constructed on the sides of trees and on their branches.  There were scores of elves bustling around, trading with their craftsmen, mentoring their children, and practicing with their weapons.  When I entered the town, they all stopped to gawk at me; I met their gazes with my own look of contempt.

In the middle of the settlement, there was a larger tree, surrounded by a wooden wall with turrets all along it and a single gateway.  I was led through the gate toward the base of the tree, which had an expansive hall jutting out of its bark.  Passing into the hall, I stepped across a polished stone floor; the hall’s curved walls were ornately carved with elfin runes and mosaics.  Twisted pillars held up the ceiling.  At the end of the hall was the throne of the Svartálfar king, Lord Hygric.  It was a large throne ordained with pieces of gold, silver, gems, and there were skulls hanging above it.

#advice #tools #links