About Me

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Writer, soldier, thinker, and science fiction lover. I just can't seem to find a way to divide my adventurous self of constant outdoor activity and exercise from my nerdy self playing games and going to conventions. So why not just be both?

 I am a young professional living out of Tallahassee, Florida for the past five years. I have been on a deployment with the United States Army and continue to work outside of my other occupations to better myself mentally and physically. My passion for writing is driven by my passion for everything I find entertaining in life, and of course by my friends and family.

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

So many writing options... so many struggles...

Have you ever had so many exciting options that you couldn't decide which one to choose from? I haven't until now. I am currently brimming with excitement on two different pieces I really look forward to writing.

One is a horror story
the other is a realistic adventure story.

I love my horror, and on a few free moments I've already laid the ground work to work on it, I know where I want to go with it, I have my outline set. I wrote the first two paragraphs and then had to stop because, well, life.

I always read though, it's one of the requirements to be a writer, to read from others. With D.J. Molles books (surprisingly fun books, highly recommend them), I got inspiration to start working on my adventure story, one of which I've already dabbled with here. I have a more general idea of where and what I want to do with the story line. I have the sculpt of several general characters, but I'm not committed to them yet. The enthusiasm however is enormous.

Now I'm not a paid writer, which is why publishing the two books I have done has been so slow, I really do have to finance everything myself (drafting, editing, re-editing, reading, re-reading, editing, rewriting etc. etc. etc.) and it's expensive, pure and simple. I refuse to release a half rate product to the market. So this makes writing things that I'm excited about even more difficult.

Imagine if you will being a wood worker, you can produce beautiful pieces of furniture, but until you sell your entire inventory you can't continue your next several pieces of work. Now the logic would be, if they are beautiful, people will buy. That's great, except you're surrounded by furniture warehouses that are cheaper, and stocked to the brim with inventory they can't move while you try to carve out an existence among them. That's pretty much what it is like. The writing market is saturated, and rightfully so. So the need to be even more exceptional in even greater.

To give you an idea of how difficult it is, I've been writing here for nearly 2 years (plus or minus) and have been writing privately for even longer. Of that, I have exactly 20 followers I know will read what is posted (Blogger allows me to see my stats). Then I know I'll gain another 10 or so of people who read every so often. From there, I might expect to find another 10 randoms who just read and move along (unfortunately if you subscribe by email you are not reflected on Blogger's 'followers' for me to easily track). So, two years of writing and struggling has gained me 30 readers. I appreciate everyone of you, and for you other 10 I hope to see you back soon. But even 40 people is not very many, it's not even a drop in the bucket of the population that is targeted.

So you can see the difficulty, and I will continue to write regardless of the outcomes, but I won't allow that to lower my expectations for my products. If I release something, that unlike here where the material is free to read, and expect to charge people even a single penny for the product, then it will be worth it to the highest standard possible. So I know I have said it before, bare with me, my writings will continue, and the books will come.     

Monday, February 6, 2017

Why the Election was lost (7 reason from the average voter)

My friends and family know right where I fall in the political spectrum, I don't try to hide it. I do; however, try to keep it out of my writing. The reasons are numerous, but just as this is a place of escape for some, for me it is a place to create with only interests of the outer world getting in. I figured it would be fair though, to give insight on the previous American election.
 I read the news, and I don't stick to just one outlet, I read from as many sources as possible, and I take that information and internalize it. I take it, and see it from my own perspective, and what is going on in my life and the events going on around me. So it was with this that I thought I may share a perspective from the average voter on the election.
 Now first let's clear a few things up before I begin. I stated I would share from the average voter, NOT the average American. You see, in America, despite what the media would portray, the vast majority of Americans don't vote. We can go into whatever causes that, but the fact remains, most Americans don't vote. So before someone decides to become a keyboard commando and claim anything I said doesn't represent the American people, I'm not talking about the American people. If the American people wanted a fair representation, they would take civic duty upon themselves and vote. To give you an idea in numbers, America has 318,000,000 people. 231,556,622 voted. Of the voting population, that's about 60 percent, and it is of that 60 percent I am writing about.
 Next, I recognize the legitimacy of the Electoral College, and I don't care about popular vote. For those of you who do not know, or do not remember, the reason the Electoral College exists is to give every state a fair voice in the direction of the country goes. If this was not the case, the only states that would matter during an election would be Texas, California, New York, and Florida. The rest of the country, the other 92 percent, would not matter. For example, if you removed all of California's votes, Donal Trump won the popular vote across the nation, that is why the electoral college is essential to a fair representation.
 So now, love it or hate it, Donald Trump is the President of the United States, and former Secretary Hillary Clinton lost the race. Why did Hillary Clinton lose, and why is the Democratic party in trouble?

1. She ran off status quo. No presidency is perfect, and no amount of favoritism could save former president Obama from the fact the United States wasn't going through the grand recovery he had promised. Unemployment + out of workforce + underemployed = An unhappy workforce. (For those of you who don't know, unemployment is only tracked for so long such as 24 months, you then disappear and just get grouped in out of workforce which isn't counted in unemployment oddly enough). So, Clinton provided no narrative of this, the American voters saw it. She didn't need to blame anyone, she just needed to address it as a major issue, but that was no where to be heard in her platform. This makes any candidate look  out of touch.


2. The memory of the elephant. If you are, or you talk to a fanboy of the Democratic Party, something you may hear is how the last 8 years were scandal free. Well, unfortunately this certainly is not the case. In 2012 the IRS was used to target conservative groups based on political activity. In 2016 the IRS was revealed to be targeting Tea Party groups and members. Making the IRS an armed wing of the administration scares people, and rightfully so. Yet this was never acknowledged as an injustice, and so voters held this in mind when going to the polls. More scandals included Fast and Furious, the smuggling and arming of Mexican Drug Cartels which cost the lives of several Americans, including border patrol agents, and finally the infamous Benghazi Attack on the anniversary of 9/11. Hillary Clinton had to clean her name of the any scandal but couldn't. Especially the Benghazi Attack, she could not shake that from her name, and demonizing widows and Americans directly tied to the attack only sank her even more. There were plenty of scandals, and those who knew, or were on the fence during the election went into the voting booth with those scandals on their mind.
(Also, funny thing about memory. Robert Byrd was a known KKK leader. Do you know which candidate praised him? If you said Hillary Clinton, you'd be right.)

3. Internal corruption. Probably the nail in the coffin for HRC was the revelation that she had insider support to defeat Bernie Sanders, if you ask a Bernie supporter, she straight cheated him. If this is the methods to dealing with your own internal party, how are you going to treat the entire country? And with that question in mind, voters went to the polls. One thing you do not want to face in any election is an internal divide, once the DNC had selected their candidate, that should have been the end all be all. But instead, this was revealed, and she came off as blatantly attacking her own voting base by manipulating the system. By all means, everyone involved in the scandal from the media on up is just as guilty, but it was her election that was on the line.  

4. Scapegoat. You can look back and find numerous politicians in American history who did really nasty things, or really stupid things but were still elected because they took ownership of what they did. Not always the case, but in general, people like a leader who owns up their to mistakes. Hillary could not do that. The investigation into her use of her email server drilled a hole into her vessel at every turn, and her conduct during the hearings was unprofessional to voters who were on the edge of casting their vote. How many devices did she claim used the email? One. How many were found by the probe? Eighteen. She claimed to have handed over all the emails, another 30,000 were found, servers were found to have been wiped with specialized programs. She said nothing classified was on any email. The hearings showed plenty of emails had classified content. But the few times she was asked about it, it wasn't her fault. It was someone else for recommending it, or she wasn't told (which being is a lie as she attended those required training sessions). How hard was it for her to say, 'yes I did it, and made a mistake and will take whatever consequences come from it.' But there was no integrity regarding the situation. Then there was the blame of the Russians hacking her email, despite that the actual perpetrator (Julian Assange) came forward, the narrative stayed on the Russians. Then it was found that a former Bernie Sander's supporter assisted Julian Assange but still the HRC group tried desperately to blame the Russians. Even when phishing malware was found, it wasn't located in Russia, nor associated with Russian IPs, nor was it any modern method found. It was outdated tech used, and the only person to blame was the users of the email server to allowed a breach of their own sensitive information.

5. Alienating voters. If you were a voter who wasn't sure who to vote for, and you questioned a HRC supporter or position, you were attacked with extremely accusatory insults, "racist", "xenophobe", "sexist", "homophobe". Completely unfounded insults which stifled discussion and spun rhetoric. Sure, there were insults from the other side, but it wasn't focused on alienating anyone who questioned a position or a reason. When the supporters of HRC come together, their answer back to a questioning voter cannot be an attack, but it was. And this all comes from leadership, if not HRC herself, from those running her campaign. As an example, John McCain stopped a woman who accused former President Obama of being the anti-Christ, a small example, but none exist where HRC or her staff opposed the view that anyone not voting for her was a racist, sexist, xenophobic, homophobe (remember when Trump came out on the RNC floor with a gay pride flag? Why would a supposed homophobe do that?). Well, from a voter who was on the line, if that's the option, they won't engage in conversation with the HRC side, and that turned away a lot of voters. I'll say, as a personal antidote I would completely stop listening to someone's argument the second one of those phrases was stated. It wasn't true, it was accusatory, and I was tired of it. That hurts your argument if the person you are trying to persuade can't listen because you can't stop the false attacks. I'll never vote for someone's side who's first response to criticism is to call such accusatory names. 
I would go a step further and even claim that how often these insults were hurled, devalued their meaning, but that's a conversation for another time.

6. Dirty associates. This is something that is ultimately almost impossible to avoid (for example, do you know anyone who was ever arrested for anything?) But you can do a pretty good job vetting people and not getting pulled into personal scandals that don't involve you, even more so, if you have a current administration with negative publicity you should generally select you own people instead of using their people. Instead HRC did neither. The culminating event? Anthony Wiener getting investigated for sexual misconduct and having several of HRC's emails that weren't handed over, on his server. The negative attention from Huma Abedin was bad enough, but to have this tacked on near the end of the campaign created more obstacles to an already uphill battle.  

7. Childishness. Former President Obama said our elections could not be hacked. Former Secretary Clinton said anyone who tried to undermine the election with a recount was a danger to our democracy. But when HRC lost it was "our elections were hacked" and funding Jill Stein's recount to undermine the elections. The only indication of any hacking to our elections to turn up has been from the former administration (Obama) into Georgia, and the recounts gave more votes to President Trump, and less to HRC. Where you think it should have stopped, HRC also wasn't prepared for a loss, she had no losing speech for her supporters, instead chose to go into reclusive hiding after her loss. This certainly isn't helping the Democratic party. But now the marches and the insults continue, a good point has been brought up by multiple online commenters stating they don't remember the marches and riots after former President Obama won. Simple fact, if you are going to label a party as the party of "hate" and "division" you should have some really good examples, because riots no matter how hard you claim is a peaceful protest, is seen as a huge negative by the voters you're trying to win over.
 Hypocritical statements are blatantly obvious in the age of information. President Trump signed multiple executive actions in his first two weeks, but this is common of all presidents. However, claiming there's a "Muslim" ban is not just false, but also a slanderous lie. The ban, and this is easily researched, is not a ban on any religion, it's a ban on people from 7 listed possible hostile regions. Those regions were identified by former President Obama. More so, it's also very difficult to claim this was some horrible act when former President Obama instituted similar bans for much longer (President Obama did a 90 day ban, President Trump did a 60 day ban). 
     

I highly encourage you to research and read about the individual incidents refereed to above. Partisan feelings aside, it's not hard to see a vote against HRC. There should be no media shock, and the polls were clearly biased (for whatever reason). As a voter, who took time to look into claims on both sides, why would I ever vote for HRC? I have not seen any factual evidence given, and again, the second I am attacked for this line of thinking, it just guarantees a vote against the next party candidate. 

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

A New Kind of War (Revelations)

 His body a husk of its former self. A cutting chill had shivered down his body. His exterior felt nothing, but inside there was pain, incredible pain. He could feel things wrong inside of him, wrong in ways that were frightening, panic-inducing, because he knew that they could not be fixed. They were broken. They were in shambles. He could feel muscles spam as his innards leaked and ruptured. Hector raised his fingers, they were glossy, velvet like wet paint, bright red paint like substance. This couldn't be happening. Didn't he know who he was? Everything that depended on him? Were the creatures really that sadistically evil? Hector tried to move but he found himself paralyzed,from his chest down. His head tapped the hard metal and soaked in the rising water. Evil, what an archaic concept, by the weak, this, thing, was just stupid.
 Clark stood over the lean dying man. He watched the eyes go glassy and stared a moment longer at the man's face. He stared at he location of the face but he looked far beyond the face, the catwalk, the water, the concrete. His mind trying to piece together what it had seen, experienced, had heard and believed was so vividly real. Had his own men and then the agent not falsely claimed he murdered them, he would have bought he was cracking, falling victim to his own actions. And it wasn't until those words arrived that something reminded him of what Coppola had said.
 "Doc, you there?" He called back into his radio.
 "C-captain? Yeah, w-what's wrong?" He thought for a while as he was about to key back but decided he didn't know want to know. He didn't want to hear something else.
 "Just checking the communications. I'm about to move to the rail-gun."
 Clark moved through the door passing over the dead Hector. He found himself at a border of a massive room. Somewhere farther down, around the next corner he could hear the light splashing of water. The air was chilled, naturally, not artificially, the room must have a opening somewhere. Clark rounded the corner into a gigantic chamber, a brisk air met his face. Water lapped near the edge where a walk way disappeared into dark waters. A massive bay expanded most of the room. Twin sets of rails an the entire length of the tunnel, just above the waterline with twenty feet between the two sets of rails.
 The epitome of the room was centered, back, between the sets of rails and ports for submarines. A giant spherical shape of conglomerate machinery, with a thick pole that protruded outwards a short distance before meeting a nape in the form of a satellite dish like structure. The long staff like pole ran out further, separating from the base and body, the long distance in which  would carry the deadly payload beyond the borders of the sky. It sat, dark, and alone, ready for a user to give in a command to rush out, erect and fire on its heavenly targets.
 At the base of the spherical body a lone console column stood out. Clark moved towards it. A single steady green line waited for him there, next to a slot. Clark knelt down and removed the CD, he took off the protective case, and checked the slide on the little disk for damage. The smooth plastic composite was unaffected by all the trauma and damage that had occurred in the past few hours. Inserting the disc in the steadily glowing light blinked at him once and continued to be steady. There was an internal hum that picked up in intensity, a hungry child consuming the information, but it continued to a low hum. The light blinked, winking at him, waiting for him to take the hint.
  "So they actually sent you after all."
 In a single smooth snapping turn Clark had done a 180 and gained a sight picture. A husky bearded man stood with a calm cool demeanor with an equally accurate sight picture along a pistol directly at Clark. The man's features were cut, and worn from experience and actual work, he held the pistol as an extension of himself, one solid being. He was a spitting image of Clark staring back at himself.
 "Yes, your eyes are not playing tricks on you." Zane stood without waver, solid, stone just as Clark remained kneeling, statue like.
 "You can't stop what is already in motion, but you can be a part of the change." The shot was well outside of twenty five meters. To prevent being struck by a dead-man shot Clark would need to sever the spine with a single shot, a shot he wasn't confident he could make. "You and I are brothers." Clark tightened his finger. He felt a massive rumble come.
 "Bullshit." The rumble grew stronger under him.
 "I didn't believe it either. You and I were purposely separated at birth. Our father opting us for experimentation to see if the government could sculpt the perfect operating soldier. Clones, clones of our father's DNA, bred in vats. Is it really so hard to believe? Haven't you always felt led to this life?" Clark didn't respond. He recalled his mother too fondly, the only question was why Zane and he looked so similar. And then, the platform began to move. Clark stumbled. The rail-gun was moving along its tracks. "You can't stop it now. But you can be a piece of the change. Your government has lied to you, used you, used all of us. The cold war is a ruse! The two governments puppets for a single dominate body. You find your own path, and you'll find the truth.
 The rail gun shifted and the speed was steady, no longer clunking, and Zane was beyond effective engagement. Clark lowered his pistol as did Zane who grew smaller and smaller as the gun moved along its course.
 Clark looked back beyond the rail-gun, light was visible at the end of the tunnel. He switched his radio over to the General.
 "Hound 6, this is Dog 6."
 "Dog 6, this is Hound 6..." The transmit button was held on the other end. "I'm so glad you contacted me, I was just thinking of you." Reflexively Clark looked at his radio, his eyes spitting poison of disbelief.
 "Hound 6, I've installed the disc and the rail-gun is still moving to become operational."
 "Dog 6, your mission has changed, you are now to move in a intercept German liaisons to Japan."
 "Hound 6, Hound 6, you are coming in incoherent." Clark knelt down pressing his radio into his ear. He steadied himself, annoyance boiling up through his brows and pressing his scalp.
 "Dog 6, you know the devastating affects of the nuclear blasts on Japan? They say the face of several villagers were melted to their skulls. Just black gaping maws left of their mouths as they stumbled, unsure and scared of what happened."
 "Hound 6, you're not making any sense."
 "As I've mentioned, we've all been quite content to demean government, drop civics and in general conspire to produce an unaware and compliant citizenry. The unawareness remains strong but compliance will rapidly start fading." Clark pounded his fist into the server. Still the gun continued its trek for annihilation. He switched his radio back to Gregory's line.
 "Doc its me."
 "C-Captain, what is it?"
 "Listen, I've put the disc in, but the gun's moving. I don't know how to stop it."
 "The-the disc takes time. Where are you?"
 "On the platform, the gun's almost out of the tunnel. I can't coordinate a strike, my higher isn't make sense. It's like I'm listening to another conversation altogether." There was silence for a long while. "Doc, did you hear me?"
 "Ugh, yeah, yeah. Um, C-Captain, who is your commander."
 "I can't transmit that."
 "Ugh, well I'm going to assume it's General Giacchino." The pain came through in the doctor's voice. "T-the s-server, on the rail-gun. It had a nickname, GG. Ugh, the name comes from General Giacchino, each server is named, ugh, after a real person to create confusion."
 "What does that have to do with stopping this thing? I'm almost out of the fuckin' tunnel!"
 "Well, that's the thing, you haven't been talking to the General, you've been talking to the server the whole time. Ugh, you're getting odd transmissions because, ugh the server is getting corrupted."
 "So it worked?"
 "Well it's, ugh, working, I don't know how long it'll take to be um, you know disarmed. I'm on my way down there. Ugh, I don't know what to do."
 Clark looked at the massive opening at the end of the tunnel. He could feel the stinging wind blasting across his face and the flurry of snow that whisked back and forth, taunting the rail-gun to come out. The barrel swayed through, breaking exit first out into the open. The massive machine lurched forward, defiant to Clark's wishes and needs. The snow picked up, angry puffs falling as Clark was dragged out with the rest of the massive weapon out into the open.
 The movement came to an abrupt stop. A catwalk was extended from the shore on the right to provide access from the weapon's platform to the main land.The snow was undisturbed as the massive rail-gun swung into position like an executioner preparing to drop his ax. Clark looked to the heavens and awaited the fateful moment.
Silence. The boom never came of the projectile, the projectile remained encased in the tomb deep within the rain-gun itself. Clark waited longer, the pounding within his body growing, heavier, his ears strumming. The gun remained silent, more snow fell. Clark exhaled, a thick heavy plume of breath obscured his view, and the gun still stood silent, a monument of destruction. The breath blew and cleared with laziness. Silence. 

 "It, ugh, worked." Clark turned, Gregory had crossed the catwalk and looked up at the silent gun. The thumping of distant rotors pulled their attention away. The long sleek body of a Russian Hind slipped away into the clouds off in the distance. Knowing eyes, watched down on them in disappointment.

A clicking went off, Clark looked at his radio. The doc was with him, and supposedly the General was gone, a figment of a corrupted computer.

"Who do you think that is?"
"I, ugh, would assume it's your real commander, um, the real General." Clark clicked the radio and listened.
 "Any U.S. forces, last call, this is Hound 6, respond."
 "Hound 6, this his Dog 6."
  "Dog 6, situation?"
 "Mass casualties, multiple enemies engaged and disengaged,..." He let off the key to the radio.
 "Ugh, what is it captain?"
 "I just want honesty."
Across the radio came "Dog 6, I need a full SALT report." Clark looked at Gregory's scarred face and, for once, Gregory swallowed hard and looked hard and definitely back.
 "Hound 6, I need answers." There was a long pause. No voice came. Clark yanked the headset off and tossed it.
 "Not across the net." The voice was loud without the headset, working like a handheld radio again.
 "No! Answers, I need them. I need to know what I just saw, about the man claiming to be my clone brother, about the things happening here." Again there was a pause. He could feel Gregory's eyes drilling into him and the radio, but he was alone in frustration, trapped in the closing claustrophobia of his mind.
 "Dog 6, is this secure on your end?" Clark looked up at Gregory.
 "Yes, I'm alone." With the headset off, Gregory could hear the communication fine.
 "The defector Zane is not a clone, nor are you." There was a break. "You are both; however, brothers."
"Jesus, it's-it's true." Gregory mumbled to himself.
  
            

Monday, November 28, 2016

It is done! "American Crime Tale"

November's writing is over for me, and I have completed a second book as promised! It is a crime thriller following the rise of a drug lord in the US.

With that completion I will return to writing more regular blog entries. I hope to have more updates regarding the status of my two books in the coming weeks.



Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Silent Hill cosplays

So I wanted to do a Pyramid Head cosplay for myself and have my girlfriend go as one of the nurses. So for nearly two months I worked to create these two creatures.

I started with a 36' by 48' red cardboard display board (the kind you see at science fairs). I chose red because my two options were white, or red at my local store. I figured red would be easier to cover, and if it did end up chipping some or peeling it wouldn't throw off the look too much. I wish I still had the photos of my early work because it's almost impossible to understand the simple starting platform it all came from.

The first step was to get a shape. I needed three triangles, one for each side of the head, and one to create the back of the helmet. I knew 48 inches was the smallest and for my frame unfortunately, the largest I could go while still getting that look. I worked around getting the angle just right. I can't recall the number that worked, but once I got the first cut, I just used the first cut as a template for the second cut, and done. Now I had to fill the back with the third piece. This was extremely difficult to get right. You could make two pieces as others have done, but I didn't have a clamp soft enough to hold the two I already had, and I'm thankful I didn't try because I spent a good hour just trying to hold it up. I had to do this twice. I messed up once, thinking I could just use the back as a template. I somehow ended up with a piece too small to fill the gap. So I used that piece to create one I knew would be too large, and then shaved it to fit.

This sounds simple, but by the end, just getting it to a point where it was ready to be stuck together took almost four hours by itself. I used painter's tape to hold the form as I went to town on the entire structure with a hot-glue gun. I knew the end product would cover up and make the glue look good so I just filled any edge with glue that I could.  It dried well, and was surprisingly sturdy.

The next step was to cut out eyelets. I am a big fan of being able to see, so I cut massive eyelets which would cause me issues later. I now I had a simple head created.

I knew I wanted to create armor looking plates, like they were welded together, so I used EVA foam strips, cut them into rectangles and spray-painted them black with black textured outdoor Rustolleum. I will admit I also screwed up on the side piping, I should have made it come out on its own, but I just took a pvc pipe and painted it black, and glued it on. Crap work on my part. Now with the EVA strips painted I put a coat of black across the head. With the first coat of everything dry I glued the EVA parts around the edges to do two things. 1) Cover up the carboard sides 2) Create plate like look. Worked great. The foam with glue looked like welded metal. I took bolts and screws and glued them on and it finished the look I wanted. I took copper paint to add to the look, I knew painting wasn't done yet, but wanted to get the base to look solid first.

The next step here that gave me a headache was covering the eyelets. Remember I said I cut them large, I figured I could get a thick screen material that was one way and put that across and it would be dark enough. Wrong, I double layered it and it was still very easy to see through. I had to think of some way to address this, I also needed to add a base trim, more coats of paint, and worse, it wasn't level, I needed a counter weight!

Here is the attempt at the helmet to this point.
 To solve the weight issue, I took real copper water pipes and painted them black. I used them on the back to create the industrial look, and they worked well. Their weight was perfect and kept the helmet centered. I put two more coats of paint on, and began to add brown and red to put in that old blood and rust look. I also cut two strips of cardboard for the trimming and put them along the bottom. I Then took a dremel to shave them to fit right.

I was really upset with how it was looking. Also, I found out that when wearing it the back was showing my hair, and I have short cut hair meaning my head was peaking out. To solve this I ended up taking another piece of cardboard and increasing the length creating a plan like look hanging off the back. I literally screwed it on which helped give it a good look. I also got another dark sheer material which I used to line the inside.
I then decided that shoulder cuts did not look right when I wore it, instead of giving up on the project like I wanted to at this point, I did something similar to what I did to the back. I created armor plate covers.
I needed a break from the head. So I went to work on both his apron and on the nurse outfit. For the apron I bought two white aprons from amazon, a short and a long. The long would be used for the back and the front would be used to cover the front. For the nurse outfit I found a supplier of simple nurse uniforms for nursing graduation and bought a white one. All three items would get three soakings in hot coffee to create an aged look. I also added the first wave of paint coloration on my apron to start creating that grit look. Liking what I saw I took a butane lighter to the edges of both outfits. I then proceeded to mark it with charcoal, paint in both brown, red, black and copper. I used red mixed with brown for old blood, and used special effects blood for fresh smears.


Next was to begin working on the head of the Nurse. I thought at first I would just wrap my girlfriend in bandages and then paint the bandages, but I wanted something that could be kept and reused and have the same look. So I went with plaster. Buying three rolls of thin cut plaster, I then took a plastic bag which I used to cover my girlfriend's head as I dipped the strips in water. I created the base of the mask by putting a X across her face and then simple wrapped her head in haphazard laps to create that bandage look. Carefully pulling the semi dry mask off her face, we placed the mask on a foam head and allowed it to dry over night.

Using a base of black acrylic paint I created dark edges where blood would be added and lots of black around the eyelets to help conceal the eyes when it was finished. I used red mixed with brown to start creating a dried blood look and placed that in areas that I then blackened. I used more black on a brush with light drags to create burn like marks across the plaster. I did attempt to burn the plaster with a lighter, it did not work very well and took too long, so paint was the only way.


 I then bought special effects blood that is made to dry looking wet. I filled in the opening with this gel and made the eyelets darker with red. I let my girlfriend continue to paint and add blood as she wanted since she would be the one wearing it. She added more black, more red, and had fun adding blood across it all.
Now I had to return to the pyramid head. I decided to blast it all with more coats of paint, focused on adding small rust detail with brown and copper. I then took random combinations of red/brown/black and smeared it across the areas with my hands. I then took the special effects blood from the nurse above and just allowed it to be poured across it at random.

I was much happier with it at this point.
Now we needed to add the finishing touches to it all. We took out outfits and using cheap halloween blood in a squirt bottle, we blasted the outfits with blood splatters. I bought a cheap fake spear, and using the bronze paint and blood repainted it from grey to brown. My girlfriend used a halloween hypodermic needle with a glow stick in the middle for her weapon. She also added a nurse hat to the top, she aged it the same method as we did the tops and aprons.

To give our own skin the ghastly look, we used white body paint, a water activated makeup set to make our bodies pale. I soaked one hand in blood and felt good about it. And that's it!





Thursday, October 13, 2016

Hurricane Matthew

Hello everyone, my writings were delayed due to the hurricane that swept through the East late last week. No worries, my area was not hit; however, I did get activated to responded to areas that were affected by the hurricane. Fortunately for Florida, the damage was minimal and as of yet, there has not been any deaths in Florida. I wish the best for our fellow Americans in Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina who were hit the hardest during the hurricane.

Updates on what is going on here:

I announced my second novel! This novel is crime thriller, similar to my short about Catherine the serial killer, but following a completely different premise. I believe this will be the most thrilling writing I have done. You can follow or even join me at NaNoWriMo and see the writing get finished by the end of November.

My first novel, yes it is complete, as in all the words are put together on pages. I have a peer edit happening now, looking at story line and content. From there I will be sending it to my new editor, I have decided CreateSpace's editors will be the best option for my venture because 1. They are corporate and personal issues will not conflict as they had with my first editor 2. They offer a relatively cheap three round editing session which hits all the major areas.

My short stories here will continue to be written, but with November quickly approaching, this blog will take a side step as I focus on my newest novel in the hopes of finishing it by the end of the month.

My cosplay, still working on new ones. Hopefully I can post my finished products for the month of October here soon. I am working on two Silent Hill cosplays and am very excited about showing off the hard work that has gone on for two months.

ALIENS! I have a very nice collection of Alien figures and since they are currently just post very cool, I thought I'd take a swing at creating a diorama for them. The end work will be displayed here.

Friday, September 30, 2016

A New Kind of War (Inner Workings)

 The Regret knew what had happened. It wasn't that hard to foresee. The universe had a cosmic harmony to it. Everything ended, but that moment had not been the end to him, to Juan, yes. Just like the deplorable Americans and their sense of rights and liberties, everything has a end though. The Americans never realized theirs ended decades ago, just as the man as he is now does not know his time has come. The Regret would use his supreme ability to show him the faults of his ways, and convert him.
  At at time, someone like him would have been proclaimed to be royalty, sent from God. Of course, religion was only a means to control the masses, and in the last century it has become much simpler, with the singular exclusion to the arrogant American public. But soon enough, they too would be subjects, as truly, the 99% of the masses belong, subject to a singular righteous body to do as it saw fit. Hector, The Regret would be among the elite. Of course, neither the SoA or any singular government would understand. This was a global movement, done by the very select elite and carried over and worked on in each era.
 Now they were so close. And he would be The Regret's perfect pawn to tip the balance. He needed strong pawns to be the iron fist. People need to be subjugated, controlled, and especially disarmed. Even for his loyal work with the SoA, they did not fulfill his personal quest enough, the Soviets had almost done so, but since the death of his dear friend in 1953, the Motherland was never really the same.
   Hector sealed the door behind him. Turning he faced a long corridor, the walls were concrete, the center walk way was a grated metal catwalk over a body of water that should have been stagnant but in the last hour had begun to slightly rise. The water was just reaching the point to which it was touching the catwalk. In the next half hour he expected it to be ankle depth. But he was not concerned about the rising water, his guest was about to enter through the door at the opposite end of the catwalk.
 The door squealed and water poured in at the step.

 Zane saw the last submarine off. He didn't see Hector Kajima on board, he doubt he missed him. The bastard was still around somewhere. He had other issues to attend to. His small contingent and himself remained behind to attempt to learn as much as they could on the secret server. The server, if his commander's suspicions were correct, were more important than the rail-gun itself. The potential of  holding the facility after they cracked the server was complicated by several structural breaches that occurred after the main passage was destroyed. Now the holding tanks for the facilities weapon develop sector was leaking into the general water passage and maintenance corridors. Too much was at play against Zane and his SoA contingent, but information was power.
 Zane had to swallow a tough pill, even for a combat veteran. It wasn't easy first learning your origins had been a lie, the learning most of your life had been orchestrated, but lastly to learn his creator had no other motive other than 'they could.' His actions weren't any more treasonous than Eve's had been in the Garden of Eden.
 The next hour he'd be on his flight, to his first steps of freedom, and the first attempts at a world freedom as well.      

Clark heaved, the door creaked, squealed and water poured from around his feet into the next room. At the far end of the long room stood a thin man. Clark locked his arms out, steady and squared up ready to fire his pistol. The figure didn't move. Clark eased off the trigger. Maybe he was another scientist who made it?
 "I've been expecting you." Clark kept his muzzle pointed at the man. His eyes narrowed. He knew something was wrong. The walls began to bend at his peripherals, no he ignored it, focus on the man. Clark said nothing in response. "You look just like him."
"Who are you?"
 "You can call me The Regret, and I want to see all your sins." The man flung his arm out. Clark almost squeezed the trigger, but the man's hand was empty. Just an empty hand pointing out to him. There was a nothing be silence between them.
  And then it began.
  An ear piercing whistling, like a dental drill being dragged across a blackboard inside of his head. He wavered, winced, pressing against his skull to get the noise to stop. He fell to his hands and knees, the water soaking into him and the noise stopped.
 Clark stood, blinking his eyes from the tears that watered their edges. He found his footing, and blinked at the images that were coming to him, trying to blink them away. He was no longer in the artificial caverns of the facility, but in wet soggy riverbed.
 The banks were steep but short, thick lush prehistoric like plants were hindered from reach him only by the barrier of water he stood in. The water was moving, a soft stream just over his ankles. The water was murky, clouded and impossible to see through. His legs felt weighted, and a heavy fog rolled across the stream before him. Too much fog rolled across the top of the stream between Clark and where the man who claimed to be the Regret had stood to be seen. Yet all around Clark he could heavy the heavy breathing of the man, like the trees were speakers blasting the sound around him.
 Clark took several step forward, he felt heavy and burdened, carrying weight that didn't belong.
 "You are a murderer." The man's voice came from the fog and from within him simultaneously. Clark looked behind him but he was alone, and in front of him, there the fog swirled. The fog swirled and hardened in thick lines, heavy arms and a disfigured face. "You convince yourself doing so on behalf of others isn't murder, but that makes you a liar." Clark took another step forward, dragging his right leg with him. The fog had created the image of the reptilian man he had faced. The figure floated, a phantom given form. The thing lunged, Clark  threw his hands up last second. The hit never came, but his gut tightened and a knot gripped his body. The figure was gone. A chill rose from within his bones, worse than when he had awoken in the snow fields, a knot grew tighter in his stomach.
 Clark moved forward. The fog swirled and more shapes began to take hold. Clark tried to move faster, faster to the end of where ever, to where ever but his legs moved as fast as concrete pillars.
 He saw other faces, faces of old friends, Army buddies and faces of enemies around the world begin to form. The was suddenly Randal, and old Birdman standing at the side of the banks. He stopped and looked at them, their semi-transparent figures looking at him from their sides and then down, disgust and disappointment painted across their features.
 "You could have kept us alive." But neither of their lips moved. Neither ghostly figures moved, even if they could see, they wouldn't look at the hurt that was in his eyes, they only sought to worsen it.
 In the center of the stream ahead he could see the man, The Regret, Hector Kojima, he two was ghostly but more solid, more present. When he spoke, his lips moved.
 "Look at all the pain and suffering you've caused."
 Another figure began forming among all the dead that surrounded him. Behind him his entire team had formed and stood silent. The Jackal, the woman formed, her death marks still there where they had stopped her heart beat.
 "You look just like him, a demon, a demon!"
 A final figure formed, it was Coppola, the agent, the mannequin man standing with his face just before he died. Clark's grip was loosening on his pistol. He sagged some, his head weighing him down, wanting to topple his body. He put his hands on his knees to hold himself up.
 "You killed me." He heard Coppola call out. Clark shook his head. Mumbling to himself, I didn't kill you. I didn't kill the half of you. The ghosts closed in on him, all except for Hector who stood stoic, but gleefully so in back, of the group, but with a clear path right to Clark.
 "Look at your sins. You can repent now, and attempt to fix them." Clark shook his head, it wasn't right, Coppola, Birdman, Randal, he didn't kill them, they didn't belong. "All you have to do Captain is work for us, for me, I can lead to you reason. Rational is a group objective. The individual does not matter, only the whole of society, and you've fought too long and hard against the whole of society."
 Clark only shook his head again in response.
  "Your delusions of good and evil have only made you a pawn to a system of oppression. You, could, fix it all right now."
 Clark shook his head. His grip tightened on his pistol. He looked down at it in his grip. It was real, it was real, it was truth. His body stopped shaking, something he became aware of only when he stopped. The silence of words brought his eyes up to Hector who eyed him.
 "Well, if you won't join what you know is right, then you could set yourself away from doing more harm. You know your damage is irreversible. Go ahead, use the pistol demon. Caste yourself away, or do what is right for the greater good."
 Clark pushed off his knees, his back still hunched from a knot that was only slowly dissolving. He would use the pistol, Hector was right. Raising it as his grip tightened, the silent audience around him of all those dead, the false dead around him.
 "Fine, use the pistol, end yourself, demon." Hector spoke, a smug grin as he clasped his hands behind his back watching Clark.
 Clark looked down at the pistol. The slide smooth, and nicked from years of use. He looked up at Hector, the smug content look. He snapped the pistol up at Hector.
 "Wait..."
 He fired.
 He was back on the catwalk. The river gone. The dead, gone, dead as dead. Hector lay on his back. A single hand's fingers twirling above a bubbling hold in his chest.