Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Out for the Count

Hello family, friends, and fellow writers,

I just wanted to let you know that for this week and this week only, Mar-Queso will be out. But no worries, posting will resume Tuesday, January 3rd, 2017. I wish everyone happy holidays and a happy new year. Thank you again for your support.



Best Wishes,

Mar-Queso

Thursday, December 22, 2016

No Sleep Until Found

Anchor

“Thank you Dan for the weather, and now for continuing coverage on the recent disappearance of Dr. Warner. Angela has more on the story.”


Onsite Coverage

Thank you Walter, if you are just tuning in, you can see I’m standing just outside of the home of Doctor James Warner a former FDA agent and pharmaceutical technician who just a year ago created a drug that if taken would eliminate fatigue and drowsiness for extended periods of time. Simply put, one pill would keep you completely awake for the period of one month. The Drug is called Alertex and was still undergoing several checks and balances with the FDA before it would announce it’s official release to the public. However, just yesterday the neighbor of the house next door reported a breaking and entering and witnessed several men entering through the front doors and walking out with what has been reported as the kidnapping of Dr. Warner. Authorities have not yet confirmed any leads to who might’ve been responsible. We take you back to the key witness of what happened.”


Eyewitness Account

“There were a couple of jet black sedans pulling up real quiet to the curb of his house. I saw through the windows that his front doors were smashed through with a battery ram. Next thing you know, I’m hearing shelves knocked over and some yelling. And then silence as they walked out of his house with a body bag. Only thing is, I knew he wasn’t dead, because the body bag was moving as if he were kicking himself free. They tossed him in the trunk of one of those sedans and drove away all stealthy. Meanwhile, I’m on the phone talking this through to the 911 dispatch lady:”


Emergency Call Clip

Man on phone: “THEY JUST TOOK HIM!

911 Dispatch: “Where are they taking him, sir?

Man on phone: “HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW, THREE BLACK SEDANS PULL UP AND TOOK HIM”

911 Dispatch: “Ok sir, I need you calm down and give me as much information as you can, nearby units are already en route to your location, stay with me, what did they look like?
  

Onsite Coverage

That was the clip from the recorded dispatch. We were also able to locate Dr. Warner’s partner in the development of the Alertex drug and show you this brief clip on finding out about any possible leads.”


 Close Colleague Interview Clip

“Dr. Warner and myself were developing the drug together over the timeframe of a couple of years, honestly I would never suspect anyone to have had any grudges with him. I mean even the FDA still regarded him as one of their own. It doesn’t make sense who would take him. I mean it was a little uneasy the projection of how much money this drug would make, that I can say would raise some attention, like we’re talking several million and were even projected to sell stock publicly. There are no competitors, but come to think of it, I did express my concerns with creating this.”

“What were your concerns going through with developing Alertex?”

“Well I used to joke with him about how its like we were creating the first flying car and how the tire companies would be conspiring our death, or like how the diesel engine was originally made to run on peanut oil, and look what happened to that guy, you know?”


Anchor

“Angela, we are just getting word on an update that authorities have just received an anonymous tip on Dr. Warner’s whereabouts. Local authorities are en route to possible location.”


Onsite Coverage

“Walter the police are vacating the scene at Dr. Warner’s residence. From what it looks like, they are keeping a few officers behind to monitor and continue with the investigation here while the remaining units are following up on the recent information. We should have more on story in the next few minutes.”

    

Tuesday, December 20, 2016

Chapter Three-ish Sample of Gallon City

The massive courtroom is silent – filled with lawyers and chief judges focusing in on one man – Janus.

“State again what your cause was to the defense of the East Quarry?” The lawyer asked Janus as he sat there replaying the events that took place at the fuel quarry already weeks ago, a source for harvesting millions of crystals to provide fuel and energy to the city.

“We were attacked, and we took our positions in defending the site. Some of them breached through our defense and we lost a few in the fight.” Janus answered. He knew what really happened though. He put the care and concern of the workers over the welfare of the site. In consequence of this, several brownouts took place due to the fuel supplies being taken by the creatures from the elements. 
Recently they’ve been coming from the deserts. Routine attacks from the desert have more than tripled in the last year, even before Janus was rescued and started working for the Fenton Corp. as an outlier worker making close to nothing.

“Someone has to be financially accountable here for the loss of production.” The prosecutor paces the floor slowly like awaiting his prey.

“OBJECTION! My client, Janus was protecting the others from being killed. Those workers are still alive thanks to this hero, and you are just going to point the finger and hold him liable for a couple of flickering lights in the city?”

“Overruled.” Called out one of the judges.

“What’s your angle, Janus? Why do you care about those you saved? So what if they get to be with their families? Do you even have a family - someone to belong to?”

Janus at this point looks troubled and struggles to answer, “I really don’t remember anything about my family or what happened to me. I thought I was traveling somewhere, I mean I think there were children of my own, but…”

The prosecutor walks up to Janus holding out a type of contract with rows of signatures enclosed in a plastic bag. He waves it in front of the judges for them to see.

“Gentlemen, we all know that these workers knew what they were getting into when they signed up to work for these quarries. They were well aware of the risks involved even if that meant losing their own lives to these beasts in the wild. The energy that our cities require are your top priority and nothing else. It is evident that what should have been executed was to defend production at all costs. Janus, remember that you are under oath, did you or did you not willfully violate your employee contract by saving a couple of lives over production?”

Janus remains silent.

“I will repeat myself,” Said the prosecutor.

“Did you or did you not…”

“I did,” Janus answered. “Yes, it’s true. I saved those men in direct violation of my contract. Because 
of that, Gallon City and the surrounding townships have suffered power failure for the past few weeks.”

The prosecutor stands back with a satisfied grin, “No further questions.”


Thursday, December 15, 2016

Sad Songs

“Is this the place you said he’d be at?” Someone in the backseat asks frustratingly. “What did I tell you before? YES!” We sit there crammed in a Geo Metro (the rare four door kind) waiting to supposedly beat someone up who keeps showing up at the hotel parking lot trying to break into our cars. He's been at it for a couple of weeks too long. And now it’s come to this. All twenty of us waiting in our cars for this kid to show up. He’s already stolen a set of golf clubs from one of us.

“Why do you always listen to sad songs, what’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?” Someone else questions the driver’s taste in music while showing mild sympathy.

“Nothing! Why does everything need an explanation? I like the subtle sound and the mind opening feelings that come with it, is that a crime? NOTHING HAS TO BE WRONG – I JUST LIKE IT!”
The driver shouts while the melodic spacey music continues in the background.

“Alright be cool, man. It’s just getting me down when I need to be more alive. We are about to give this guy violence of action and I can’t get in the mood with this ‘lost-memories-Julia-where-did-you-go’ stuff. What does that song mean anyway?” The same guy from the backseat asks.

“Can't you see how the songwriter is in pain from the past? He's is pleading with time to take him back and relive those happy moments, but can't. This gets me so sober and clears my head of any distractions. You know you didn’t have to sit in this car. You could’ve went to John or Steve’s car BUT NOOO, you chose this one, so deal with it.”

“What’s this album called anyways?”

“Junk,”

“Figures, rightfully said.”

“No! The album’s name is Junk, but it’s not, it’s beautiful. I bench more than you weigh, if I were you I’d –”

“There he is!” I shout to everyone. An older teenage boy is seen wearing all black with white gloves. He peaks through each car window unaware of our silent angry mob waiting for him to show up.
All the car doors quietly open up. “…okay, we’re just going to scare him, right?..right?”

“FREEZE!!! Our driver pulls out a .357 cannon like from Dirty Harry - pointed at the kid. “WHAT THE HELL?? NO NO NO! WHERE DID YOU GET THAT GUN??” I shout to him.

“IT’S MY DAD’S. HE’S GETTING AWAY!” He shouts as the kid pulls out the middle finger and runs for his car parked on the other side of the street. I reach out to lower his hand – trying to divert his aim from the kid. A shot is fired, missing him. The kid’s car turns on with the tires screeching. Two more shots fire, one of them misses and the other hits one of his tires.

“YOU SHOT HIM!” Someone shouts. “NO I DIDN’T! I SHOT HIS TIRE, BUT HE’S STILL GETTING AWAY!” Sparks fly up from the recent flat as he continues speeding away. The car leaves the street in a tilted fashion. His window is rolled down while shouting out, “I’M SUING EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!”

We stand there in the parking lot looking at the shooter in shock. Some bail the scene while some of the hotel lights come on.

“…So…we need to get out of here, right now. We could drive to Waffle House while listening to more sad songs?”

“SHUT UP!”


“No I’m serious, I really am getting used to your sad songs.”

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Progress Report - Queries

Queries, I often think of Michael Jordan's quote to help me cope with the overwhelming feelings of "you are not enough" when it comes to sending out query letters to pitch your book to the elite and unforgiving literary agents. His quote was this:

"I've missed more than 9,000 shots in my career.
I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I've been
entrusted to take the game winning shot and missed. 
I've failed over and over and over again in my life, 
and that is why I succeed."

So cheer up! That's what I would tell myself anyways. After making copious edits to the query letter of my project, I finally trimmed it down to the bare message and delivered "the hook" not giving away too much while referencing the usual taglines such as the "what if's" and "imagine a world...". Every word at that point had a purpose and was not just there to fill up space. And wouldn't you know it? This was the reply that I received in response to my query:


Now keep in mind, nothing did come from it. I was still rejected - BUT the query did cause her to actively respond with requesting more information. To me that was a victory. Something in there did spark an interest to cause her to request more. This leads me to believe that I am on the right track (query-wise). I still have a long ways to go - like a really long ways. If you were to compare this to the Lord of the Rings journey, I am still in the kitchen packing supplies and trying to find someone to watch over my dogs. But that's ok, like Michael Jordan said, the "failed over and over and over..." is necessary to hone in on the success. Have you had experience with query letters? What are your thoughts? 

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Chapter One Sample of Gallon City

“Where did he come from?” Asks one of the miners as he reaches in the unconscious man’s pocket. 

“No wallet, nothing.” Two more show up at the scene. One pours a bucket of water on him.

“What?..Where?..” The man starts to sit up looking very beat with blood shot eyes and several cuts and bruises all over.

“You were lucky we found you when we did.” Said one of the rescuers. The evening desert wind kicks up causing the others to secure their belongings on their wagons while he remains sitting up.

“How long have I been out?” Asked the rescued man,

“Couldn’t tell you, those two there rescued you from being beaten to death by raiders.” The man attempts to stand up but falls over unable to support himself completely. The others join in to get him on one of the floating carts with one of them staying with him in the covered wagon.

“We weren’t able to find any information on you and you weren’t tracked on the DNA scan system. Where were you headin?” The man hesitates to answer but remains silent for a moment, looking confused

“I…don’t remember. I thought I was heading to the east end of one of the Crescent Cities.”

“No, you must’ve been beaten pretty badly. The Crescent Cities are on the other end of the continent. We are taking you to the outskirts of Gallon City. It’s somewhat safer there. Do you have any family? Anyone who we could contact for you?” He asked the confused man looking skeptical as if it was pointless to ask this.

“I don’t know. What did you say happened to me?”

“What about your name? Do you know your name?” The cart shakes as the jets fire up. “Nothing huh? Well, how about I call you Janus for now, until you can remember your real name.”


The party gathers up and tethers the remains of Janus’ belongings as they move west toward the once abandoned Gallon City.  

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Fellow Park Goers Via Telus

“Hello?”

“Hey! What are you up to?”

“Oh I’m just sitting here…in the park. Nothing too fancy. Doing some bird watching. So how is it at your new house? Aren’t you in a rough area?”

“You’re people-watching again, aren’t you? Well guess what? So am I, at Stanley Park. What are the odds? The new place is fine. Yes, I might have to actually start locking my doors now, but what are you going to do? Are you at that Jerry park?”

“No, I’m at the Parc la Fontaine again”

“That sounds snobby.”

“Don’t criticize a park name with a little French in it.”

“Did you get my samples yet?”

“Which ones? The spoken-word one or the fast-paced punk sounding one?”

“Well yeah, those too but the…”

“Oh wow, there they are again!”

“What? What’s going on?”

“There’s this family that always comes out here to have a picnic, but they usually always get interrupted whenever their neighbor comes out with his dog who tries to eat their food. And right on queue, here comes the neighbor!”

“Are you serious? Same here! Just kidding.”

“I know you’re kidding, you always do that.”

“Do what? Holy hell, I just saw a zombie takeover at the aquarium!”

“No there isn’t.”

“Sara! If I die, let my songs live on forever!”

“Are you done? What!? The father just grabbed the dog’s hind legs and swung him around and now the owner is shouting at him, uh oh the authorities are now involved.”

“Man, those Montreal-goers can get pretty vicious. Or is it Montrealiens?”

“What are you talking about? No idea, oh I didn’t tell you, The Bank next my apartment had a robbery!”

“No they didn’t,”

“Seriously, I’m not doing this for attention. They held up the entire bank and had to evacuate everyone out onto the streets, they were saying how there was a scary bomb guy in there.”

“Scary bomb guy?”

“Well, those weren’t their exact words, but yeah.”

“Have you learned any French yet?”

“I can basically order the Panini and to say no tomatoes. What? Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing, I just – oh, no time now, the zombies are gathering at the picnic benches and now they’re singing while one of them is manning the grill.”

“Probably brains,”

“Or Ball Parks.”

“Oooh Guac Dogs, that sounds so good right now, with Velveeta.”

“Have you finally unpacked or did Emi break down and do it for you?”


“Hey now, don’t crowd my space with your shenanigans. And yes, I finally unpacked everything in my 500 square foot place, now I just need to figure out where all my books are going.” 

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

Progress Report - Motives

As writers, we all have motives for what we write. We have memories to re-live and issues to work out through stories, memoirs, essays, and so on. A very famous author once quoted "Tears are meant to be written down." With that I once went sort of mad trying to take on way too much in such a short amount of time. Years ago, I felt that I might've taken it too far, too deep and way too personal. Although, that can be argued as the best way to stick with a project, for me it felt like I wasn't ready. Like Ian Malcolm from Jurassic Park said, "You willed it like a kid that found his dad's gun," Moving forward, I have learned (the hard way) to write responsibly.

Originally my motive was to get the story drafted, edited, queried, represented and mass distributed all within six months from start to finish already on the shelves of every bookstore out there...yeah that didn't work for painfully obvious reasons. On top of that I also had this looming fear that I could die at any given moment without finishing my story and that the world would never know of it's existence. Pretty dramatic right? Writing can be difficult, it demands honest effort, time and most importantly, it's supposed to be fun. That was the main thing that I was lacking at the trailhead of the journey. And because of that, it was excruciating. My work ethic was strict, but my inspiration was plugged up.

However, due to life and the busy demands that come with it, I have been forced to delay many opportunities to dive into it and smooth it out. Because of that, I have been able to mature as a writer and gain perspective and go back to correct the many mistakes that I overlooked. I had learned that I was running faster than I had strength and that writing can be very subtle almost unnoticeable but that it requires consistency. To this day, I fight to remember moderation in all things and as I have been told by a wise old friend, "just be cool."

Have you ever experienced that anxiety of giving yourself deadlines? What are some of your thoughts? How do you keep yourself in check of not flying off the handle? Go ahead, I'm listening.




 

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Hold on, Time Out for a Second

Hello everyone, fans and friends alike! So for this post I decided I wanted to do something a little different than from the usual shorts that I post. As some of you may know, my ultimate goal someday (in a galaxy far far away) is to become a well-known writer. Not sure how well-known, most likely within the secret confines of the indie world of literature, but well-known.

And because of that goal I created this blog nearly three years ago to create a name for myself. My genre is still undetermined but teetering between young adult fiction to commercial fiction. The intent for all my stories would be to help move people to action. In other words, inspirational.

With that said, I am currently working on a project that I started almost four years ago (still in production). It is a three-piece self-help book illustrated as a fictional story with fictional characters in a unique setting. I have relayed this story countless times to my good friends and family (bless their hearts and tolerance). For that, I have experienced the leaps and bounds that all writers go through when embarking on such projects. True, we all have our own ways on how to write from point A to point B, but this does not exclude the wailing and gnashing of teeth when jumping back and forth with plots and conflicts, deciding the storyboard – staying fresh with the ideas, or scrapping THEN reviving old ideas into the story.

Even just sitting there at the desk with that lonely lamp illuminating the blank word doc, paper, typewriter, or whatever your choice of weapon to write with is while grinding out every possible idea and motivation that remains – I’ve been there and continue to be there. That is the glory of what this craft requires…PERSISTENCE! Staying with it.

My point is, I would like to share from time to time the progress of my work. I won’t necessarily bore you with all the nitty gritty details…or maybe I will? However, I would like to keep you involved with this process and share with you the breakthroughs and disappointments that this all entails.

As for you all, how can I thank you for being so diligent as readers and followers of my work? Without you as online readers, I wouldn't be so driven to keep writing. After all, you are the sole reason I am even doing this, really. Also for these “progress posts”, I would like to open it up for discussion and would love to hear from you on suggestions and ideas that have worked for you in the past as fellow writers. Please feel free to drop a line anytime and share any ideas, comments, or suggestions you may have.

Be sure to check in since I will have more shorts, features and many other cool things coming to you in the not-too-distant future. TTFN (that’s a Tigger reference for saying goodbye :))


   

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Mar-Queso Feature: ANTONIO POZO



It is with great honor to be featuring Antonio Pozo, an artist and creator of vibrant works. He was born and raised in Malaga, Spain and grew up already acquainted with the language of  expressive drawing and painting. Since he was an adolescent he has honed his craft and has had his work featured in several exhibits including the Lyceo Frances in Malaga, the Nautical Club El Candado, and the Cultural Centre for Contemporary Art.  He currently resides in London where he has his own studio and has been recognized and selected as one of the top artists by the Huffington Post at the Untitled Artists Fair in London 2014. 


MQ: Was art something you discovered in your younger years, or did you always know you liked it?
AR: As far as I can remember, I was always drawing, painting and creating. My imagination was always supported by my family, they enrolled me in an art academy when I was ten to develop my skills six days a week for almost eleven years, and I loved it. It was my element indeed.



MQ: I noticed on your bio that you went to University to study Industrial Engineering. What a contrast. What was your reason for that field of study?
AR: My family always supported me in the arts, but I was quite a gullible person when I was younger and I thought it would be impossible to make a living of my art as my friends used to tell me. So because I was a very good student, I decided to study engineering.



MQ: Following that question, how did you find the time to paint given your demanding schedule and managed to keep up with your daily studies and an aggressive career?
AR: At Uni, I barely painted – basically I quit. I did some commissions but it was really hard and I was working to make my style more commercial and popular anyways. At the end, I think I made it. People started to ask me for my own creations afterwards.



MQ: Do you go off of current emotion, or do you clear your head prior to painting? Any routines?
AR: I can’t paint if I’m not inspired, that’s really true. I’m quite compulsive and many of the ideas come to me when I least expect it whether I’m dreaming, travelling, in great situations whether sad or happy ones – and I always have my notebook to draw them. I try to work on my message in my own style of positivity. Be good – be in peace with yourself. Routines for my daily painting session are classic music, coffee, litters of tea and one home-made vegetable smoothie to purify my body.



MQ: What pushes you past failures, what keeps you driven – on track?
AR: I’m living in the present, enjoying it to make a better future and I’m already trying hard. Living in the city of London and painting here is already a dream come true. Any past failure is in the past. I couldn’t care less. In fact, I think I haven’t really failed at all because I’m here now and that’s what I always wanted since I was a child, something I did apparently worked!



MQ: Tell me about London and the art scene there.
AR: London is a great place to be if you are an artist, that’s obvious. So many great artists around here. On top of several of the world’s best galleries and museums. You have to be competitive, you have to learn non-stop and try to stand out from the crowd, which is almost impossible.



MQ: What is the most rewarding thing about craft and the most challenging?

AR: The most rewarding things is the fact that I’m creating a piece of art from my imagination and that one day someone will own it and this artwork will last for years even when I’m no longer here. It feels really amazing, and sad at the same time, but I’m quite sensible about that – I’m such a weeper! The most challenging thing about being an artist is already trying to make a living with art, it’s very difficult.

For more information on Antonio Pozo's latest work, go to antoniopozo.com.  

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

The Diner Date

Her name was the headline to several films of that genre. Nathan's story was the other end of all this. Nathan, the one who was guiled into the scene of this ungodly world, ever chained to the confinements of his “self-made prison”. Was this supposed to be closure for him - becoming an accomplice to doing something that could bring all of it to its rightfully-timed-destruction? He exited down the cold staircase, passing the mailboxes, through the storefront doors, and onto the extra wide sidewalks in the shadows of the tall hi-rises of mid-town. The coffee shop was in view from where he was standing. It was a dark early Thursday morning, around 5:32 at Joe’s. 

Nathan entered in the quiet café only to spot the scattered stragglers from both the closing graveyard and early bird shifts.

“So . . .” Her eyes look into his, locked and eager to start on this rendezvous. “…where are you from?” The nervousness fades quickly as the conversation gets going.  He takes his seat across from her. “Me? Seattle, Washington.” He barely got all that out there trying to not let his voice crack like some pre-teen rookie not sure of himself.

Her hands surround her cup of coffee as if it were a hand warmer. “Aw, that’s nice. I’m well. I was born in Easton, PA. I was raised with four older brothers.” He removed his coat while she continued talking. After more conversation, it was apparent to Nathan how this woman led a legacy of torment masked by the glitter and cameras. In her countenance, it was noted the absence of inner rest and that she was forever tired from it

"You know this could be really dangerous, especially if you get caught even attempting this. Where would you begin? There are so many avenues to how people make these - all over the web! I mean, we're talking a multi-billion dollar industry here. They probably could pay off the nation's debt in a couple year's revenue." He said to her almost scared for her, but knew that she was a big girl and could take care of herself far better than anyone could.

"I have my ways of doing things. I have several contacts and connections that can aid this cause wherever in the world. When I say I'm bringing this down - I mean it. And this time, I'm not going to let them up for air. They are going to pay for what they've done."

After she spoke, Nathan pushes out a small silver tape recorder to the center of the table, "You sure you want to do this?" He asked her while clicking on the record button. She tears up looking at him with fiery indignation swelling up from within as if holding back for a question like this,

"If that means that I am here to pay back the deeds that have been done on me and to overthrow that unholy empire for the tens of millions of casualties who have gone before me and who will after me for the lucrative offers that enslave the gullible, then yes, I am so ready. Play that damn tape."     

"Go ahead and state your name and what you're planning to do," Nathan said after leaning into the recorder.

"My name is Lisa and I am overthrowing the industry. Here is how..."


Thursday, November 10, 2016

Too Cool for Stalls

Reading the scratched out death threats on the stained tile wall, while hoping no one who actually needs the handicap stall will come by is not my idea of a good time out. Somebody must’ve slipped something in my drink, I’m not up to par with the night life right at the moment. Thanks girls – tonight has been riveting so far. 

The front door of the tiny restroom swings open with the door smashing against more stained tile. The steps are mismatched – sliding across the floor. The pair of boots come to a halt against a porcelain wall. It is here that I realized that I am so messed up, that in a blurred rush, I must’ve stumbled into the men’s.
               “If you’re a zombie – GET OUT NOW!” 
Yeah that was definitely a man, unless I’m now hearing things too. Since we are the only ones in here, I’m assuming that was for me.

His boots turn around and slump out a couple yards to the sink from what I can make out being stuck here in the stall. Now I have to stay here due to more people coming in. Not that anyone would probably care.
               “Listen you! If you don’t have the goods by tomorrow, I will shoot Ricky – in the face! DO YOU HEAR ME?”
I see four pairs of shoes. The two pairs are facing each other with the ones closest to the wall slowly levitating against their will as they wiggle in fright.
               “I swear to you, Johnny said there would be enough for everyone. Don’t take it from me, ask Phil! He knows!”
               “Looks like those college days aren’t paying off after all, huh buddy? You see what happens when you forget to carry the two over and move the decimal? Huh? Do ya?”
The door swings open again with more determined footsteps marching up to the pairs of shoes.
               “Let him go, it turns out he was right all along. C’mon, let’s get back out there and enjoy the party.” The levitated pair of shoes comes back to earth as now all three of them exit out the door. At that point in time I decided to make my getaway that was until the door flied open again.
               “TELL ME WHERE THE ZOMBIES ARE!!”
               “THERE!! IT’S IN THERE!!”
My stall door is being tampered with and these people sound very very very and oh yes, very drunk and could mean harmful intentions unless I kick out the door hard enough to make my escape. The door smacks them both on the ground. They fall flat on the floor unconscious. One of them even starts to snore. I take a wide step over the two while reminding myself never to come to this place ever again.  

Thursday, November 3, 2016

The Great Wall of Static



A man is seen running through the frozen tundra encircled by swirling winds and ice. What would be a normal summer day in other parts of the world is actually a dark hellish blizzard in the great Antarctic. The man pants and chokes on his own breath evading his unwanted followers,

“Audio journal, Day 134: June 20, 2043 – Saturday. Location, just a few kilometers outside of Byrd Camp, one of the last Antarctic bases before getting to the Wall. I have been traveling for over a third of the year trying to find this place. My expedition has not been the most enjoyable seeing that I have faced great tribulations, hunger, thirst, and fatigue. Regardless, I am driven to find the truth about our world. The public would never outright admit this, but they don’t want you to know – what’s really going on here. I have been stabbed at, beat up, shot at, stalked, chased – everything! This journey is on the brink of coming to a close as I have used the last of my rations and precious metals at the boat drop off from Chile…”

He stops at a summit of a couple hundred meters and stands at a small lookout point – enough to see in the near distance a bead of awesome white light stretching infinitely from the east to the west. Beyond the beam of light is a void of darkness, no trailing blizzards, no cloud cover, no stars – nothing. He starts to cheer and jump up with his arms in the air. Immediately searchlights sweep through behind him with motors and engines that can be still heard through the winter storms.

“I have done it! My theory has been true all along. To whom it may concern, I am minutes away from exposing them for who they all are…liars. For those who do not know, I spent my entire life covering up for these ‘Iron Giants’. The ones that would silence the naysayers, the quote on quote RADICALS. They have their agendas that are passed overnight and would rather leave you distracted from learning more about what is really going on. To them and the conditioned society, I am a loon who has lost his mind and am a threat to the public. Lies have been spread about me and for that I have been cut off from any support and have been chased and threatened for attempting such an expedition as this. My name has been tainted by their posts and propaganda, but no matter what, I am driven to video document and link up to the Net the truth for everyone to see. Even if it kills me.”

The man barrels down the summit towards the wall of light as several vehicles trail behind him plowing through the mounds of harsh snow. The light of the wall gets brighter as he is now merely half a kilometer away.

“If this is correct, that would mean that the earth is…”

The man is shot at. He quickly digs a pit to crawl into and hides.

“I will now start the transmission and start recording on several different frequencies. They may try to cut me off, but at least one signal will get through.”

Black aircrafts come in through the blizzard night. One loses control and flies out past the static wall but crashes immediately into what appears to be nothing but something imaginary. Aqua rings ripple from the impact against the voided face above the static wall. The man in his improvised snow cave resumes recording,

“There really is a dome barrier!”  

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

A Drive-Thru Romance

“Hi welcome to All Burger, how may I take your order?”

Sheila rolls down her window while in tears and proceeds to lean over to speak into the mic. However, nothing comes out and she trembles with her lips quivering.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

“JAKE IS A GIANT PIECE OF ….” Sheila screams into the intercom while incessantly honking her horn, drowning out her own voice. A pause goes by as he is trying to figure out how to react to all of this.

“Umm…well uh…”

“Oh nevermind! You wouldn’t understand what this feels like – no one does. It’s just that I gave him two years of my life and for what? So that he could just dump me and chase after Vanessa? Really? Vanessa!! WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS? SHE DOESN’T EVEN GO TO OUR SCHOOL!” Sheila now resumes crying into the intercom. Luckily no cars are behind her.

“Look, I’m terribly sorry and trust me when I say this, but we suck. In fact, I apologize on behalf of the Male gender. We can be real dogs sometimes.”

“I know! More like all the time!” Sheila shouts before going into more tears.
A couple of cars pull into the parking lot, still none behind her in the drive thru. After several more episodes of Sheila’s wailing and gnashing of teeth, the man on the intercom manages to respond.

“Tell me about yourself,” Asks the man’s voice on the intercom. Her tone changes as she is thrown off guard.

“Oh umm, well, I graduate next year and am looking into Brown.”

“Nice! That sounds great! What do you hope to study there?”

“I was looking into Oncology, I lost my Aunt to it and I want to help others.” Sheila answers now with more fervency in her voice as she calms down. She now turns her car off to conserve gas seeing that it is currently 12:36 at night and there was for sure no sign of any cars coming to give orders.

“What about you?” Sheila asks the man on the intercom.

“Me?”

“Well yeah, I told you a little about me. So, now its your turn.”

“I graduated last year from Mount Pleasant, and I was saving up for California, but yeah that’s not going to happen.”

Sheila now gets out of her car and sits on the hood, “Yeah, I am at Hope,”

“Oh, you’re one of those people.” The intercom’s voice changes as if he were smiling on the other side.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well its just that the College Hill and Blackstone crowd tend to just get their way with anything in life.”

Sheila starts to laugh to herself, “Ok, don’t get it twisted. I know people think that that area is really rich and all, but I’m from the rougher part.”

“Rougher part? We live in Rhode Island. Name me one rough part.” The intercom laughs.

“Ok, ok. I thought I could keep it real, but you got me.” Sheila sighs while looking up. The intercom buzzes from the back feed static.

“So what about California, why isn’t it ‘going to happen’ for you?” Sheila asks while turning her head toward the intercom.

“I’d like to get into film, but I’m far from ready on trying to chase that dream.” The intercom replies.

“Have you made some stuff already?”

“Yeah, I’ve released some online and there is actually a piece I submitted for a festival down in Cranston.”

“Well it sounds like you are already on your way. Don’t quit on yourself.” Sheila answers soberly. There is another pause with the distant crickets and the still midnight air.

“Well, hey umm…this might sound really lame, but would you like to go with me? It’s this Friday.”

Sheila sits up – completely off guard.

“Umm...Are you asking me out?”

“Well, I figured it was fate that you came here out of all the All Burgers in Providence and just so happen to –“

“Sure…I’d love to. Oh and uh, can I get a number 3? No pickles, please?” Sheila starts to laugh.

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Mar-Queso Feature: VIVEK SHRAYA



It is with great honor and pleasure to present to you an exclusive interview with Vivek Shraya. She has well established her name in the world of literature having thus far received several awards and recognition for her work such as God Loves Hair, She of the Mountains, and Even this Page is White to name a few. Most recently, she has been a three time finalist for the Lambda Literary Award as well as the winner for the 2015 Toronto Arts Foundation Emerging Artist Award. Her most current book, The Boy and the Bindi has just been released as her first children's book. On top of this, she has broaden her talents as a public speaker, an essayist and has worked in film and music having made several records such as Breathe Again: A Tribute to Babyface, Girl It's your Time, I Could be Good for You. She is currently touring with her most recent project Too Attached as a duo with her brother Shamik on the #LY2D tour with Shura and Tegan and Sara. She currently resides in Toronto.

MQ: This might come off as sort of a broad question, but how would you define yourself as a writer, artist, and musician? Is there one motive, or do you wear several hats when jumping between music, literature, and art?

VS: I like the broadness, the limitlessness of ‘artist’. Artist encapsulates the many hats I wear and the art forms I have not yet explored.


MQ: I remember one of your posts a while back on how you would have anxiety over the ‘what if’ moments as in what if you didn’t finish your book (She of the Mountains, at the time). I guess with that said, how did you push through the ‘creator’s dark moment’? And with that, what drives you as a writer and has it developed into something different versus how you wrote in the past?

VS: I think I am largely driven by the pain of an unrealized idea – I am unburdened by the actualization of the idea.


MQ: What contributes to your success?

VS: I think there are a lot of factors that contribute to success in general but in my case, I would say the elements that seemed to have been most essential are a strong work ethic, persistence, taking risks and good old fashioned luck.


MQ: How do you stay fresh with projects?

VS: This is challenging because like most artists, I am drawn to similar themes. My way to counter this is to always ensure that I am approaching any idea, including a reoccurring theme, with a fresh or different perspective.


MQ: What would you like your readers to get out of your books?

VS: At the core of a lot of my art and books is self-love and my hope is this inspires readers to be able to do so as well.


MQ: Being so involved with ongoing projects, touring, creating your music, writing, and collaborations…how do you find the time? Or better yet, what do you do to balance it all along with family, friends, relationships, and personal time?

VS: Art is a discipline. Making art involves making the time to make art. This sometimes means making sacrifices – blocking off time to make art as opposed to seeing the new Jason Statham movie. But I do also work hard to prioritize my relationships. I think balance is found by understanding that art benefits from breaks and from leaving the house. And that relationships are just as important as making art.





MQ: With Too Attached, how do you and your brother Shamik work together? Do you collaborate together or separately?

VS: Shamik is the producer, so often he will send me a beat or sample he has been working on. I will ask him what inspired him or what he was thinking about when he composed it. Then I will try to build lyrics and melody on top of the sounds. Because we live in different cities, a lot of our collaboration happens over email. Too Attached is very millennial.


MQ: What has been your favorite experience thus far while out on tour?

VS: The opening night of the #LY2D tour was surreal. It was the first night of the tour, which always has a certain magic quality, and even though my brother and I have been playing music separately for years, I haven’t played a lot of giant theatre spaces like TCU Place in Saskatoon.





MQ: Congratulations on your latest book The Boy & the Bindi that just came out. Tell me a little about it. What was your inspiration in writing it? What were some challenges and rewards?

VS: While a lot of my day job and art work explores gender, I wanted to create a project that would explore gender at a younger age and in an innocuous manner. The biggest challenge was not knowing if a publisher would pick up the book especially as my publisher was not accepting children’s picture book manuscripts at the time. It was rewarding to have them take a chance on this project, their first children’s picture book!



Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Closing Up



I look at the calendar and see my name is up for closing tonight. Not a big deal, I think to myself. I check my watch, quarter to 6. “JACOB!” That’s my name that the boss from the other office down the hall is shouting. That’s the big man – literally, he’s huge, built like a rock. Nothing could stop him. He clicks away on his keyboard while never looking up at me.

               “Have a seat.” He says with almost a grunt. His office is decorated with family photos and several hunting trips and dirtbikes with what looks like maybe…his grandkids? The typing stops and a slam of one of his desk drawer snaps shut.

               “Alright Jacob,” His voice now is softer. “This would be your first time closing up. We are expecting three more truck deliveries to get in tonight around 11, so it’s your lucky night to wait for them to get here. We’re expecting over five thousand pounds of copper scrap coming in. Normally I would do it myself being that we are the only scrap yard east of the Mississippi that processes and resells that kind of material, but tonight I need to be in Pittsburgh.” He resumes clicking away at the keyboard some more.

               “No biggie really, you just need to stay awake, periodically check the monitors and sign off on the deliveries. Too easy.” He finishes with a short pause. “Oh and uh, do you like clowns?”

               “Excuse me?”

               “Clowns!”

               “Not particularly,”

               “Well, you’ll hate these ones. Unemployed idiots come around the site dressed like maniac clowns. They’re harmless, the police already know about these sightings, just call it in if you see them trespassing, but yeah. Any questions?”

No biggie, I think to myself. I excuse myself and leave the office and head back to my desk.

The last man leaves the trailer for the day. Immediately after, I unplug my headphones and let the music play fill the room. I respond to the ding from the microwave and pull out leftovers. My watch now reads 7:40 pm. Monitors show nothing out of the ordinary. I catch up on some TV – enjoying the quiet.

Currently it is now 9:10 at night, I re-check the monitors again. One of the screens show the entrance gate was never locked. No biggie, I think to myself as I go into the far end of the trailer to find a flashlight. Outside is a little windy with some street lights dotting the open yard with shadows of piled material forming small dark mountains. I speed through the open towards the gate much like how some might take the trash out at night. Once there, I quickly lock it and then the trailer door behind me in the distance, slams shut. Don’t get crazy, the wind is picking up. My eyes play tricks on me thinking there are silhouettes standing by the mounds of scraps in the dark. No, that’s impossible the dogs would have barked if they knew someone was there. And just like that, the dogs start to bark with the wind picking up. I bolt for the trailer door. Inside the trailer, I end up psyching myself out by trying to remember if I left the lights off in some of the rooms or not. I’m quickly losing it.
The furnace for the water heater kicks in inside the closet next to the bathroom. Nothing is in the trailer! Just cool it! You’re a grown man! I snap myself out of it. 

It’s now 10:23 pm. I go back to watching TV calming myself down until I hear the horn of a semi-truck from outside. I unlock the trailer door and head outside towards the headlights as the diesel engine gets louder.

“You got some trespassers coming in and out of your yard here!” The trucker shouts over the engine. I scared them off but those punk kids’ll probably be back.”

“Yeah, I heard the dogs barking....” The man looks over down the road and sees something in a black gown wearing a white mask. The trucker and myself are frozen in place. 

“You are trespassing – you shouldn’t be here!” 

The figure walks backwards slowly disappearing into the tall crop field. I sigh while thinking to myself, they don’t pay me enough for this job.

     

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Paramedic Urban Legend

“No, no, no, no. That’s not how it happened. Look, I know – I was there!” Eddy says while cradling his coffee and glancing out to the night-lit streets.

“Well then how about you tell the story wit-a-little-bit-of-truth, huh? Stop making stuff up.” Paul comments.

“How many times do I have to tell the story while yous can’t keep ya mouth shut, huh? Seriously, who invited dis guy?” Eddy shouts for everyone to hear.

“Eddy, Eddy. It’s just dat we’ve heard it so many times that it’s kind of like white noise at this point, you know? No disrespect, but I think I could rehearse it better than you can, in fact, I think I’ll tell it at the wedding of my third wife.” Paul finishes while giving Eddy a pat on the back with the rest laughing around the booth at the diner.

“Who’s the kid?” Eddy questions while taking another sip of his coffee.

“Oh uh, this here’s Kevin. I thought I’d let him on our little spot here at George’s, you know being new to the PM shift, that’s all. I figured he’d be with us until he’s ready to leave the nest, besides a little bit of the night life would do him good, huh?”

“Hey kid, which responder did you transfer from?” Eddy asks

“Brooklyn College EMS.” Kevin finishes before taking a bite out of his tuna sandwich.

The dispatches comes over their radios, “ Calling nearby units, traffic incident - corner of Eastern Parkway and New York Ave, please respond.” Everyone checks their watches and motions to get out of their booth until Eddy waves them to resume sitting, “Listen, listen” The dispatch continues, “ This is truck 335 in pursuit, ready to respond, en route via Atlantic,”

The paramedics take their seats again. 

“So Eddy, Kevin is a little new to your, uh, predicament of a story. Why dontchu share what happened exactly? The real version, Eddy.” Paul suggests with the rest snickering.

“Ok, ok, ha-ha very funny. But I know what I saw.” Eddy points to every single one of them.

“Alright kid, so we are in the business of saving lives, right?” Eddy asks Kevin as he responds with a nod.

“Well who do you think is trying to take them away from us?” A few cars with their taillights swish past on Coney Island Ave outside of the diner storefront windows.

“Who?” Kevin asks at the edge of his seat.

“Death, my friend. He is real and I saw him take one of my patients – right in front of me.”

“I’m sorry, did you say Death, like the Grim Reaper?”

“Oh yes, it was ten years ago. I was just like you, taking on every shift they gave me. It was in Gowanus off of 3rd and Union. I was giving a man CPR with my buddy in the other room calling in the vitals and dat’s when it happened.”

“What? What happened?”

Eddy leans in closer, “A very handsome man in a three piece walks around the co’ner – smiles at me and apologizes. He says, ‘Sorry I was late, I didn’t think you’d get here so soon.’ I then says to him, ‘hey mister you need to let me do my job.’ And then he replies back, ‘No, you need to let me do mine.’ I had the defibrillator ready to go and then his hands go on his chest and he said something that I will never forget…”

Suddenly dispatch comes on over their radios again causing everyone to flinch,

“All nearby units, multiple collision located at Interstate 278 – mile marker 23 – northbound. Be advised engine 3 already en route.”

This time everyone gets up, “That’s our queue!”

Kevin hurries with his coat while trying to get close to Eddy, “Wait, wait, what did he say to you though?”

Eddy throws cash at the table and turns to look at Kevin, “He says, ‘You’re a very good man. You’ve saved many, but not tonight – it’s his time.’ And just like that, he left and I couldn't find him in the apartment building, the streets, he was gone.”


Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Halloween Commercial Pitch



“Look bottom line, we’re not doing so well with our ads and with Halloween coming up, we’re out of ideas. Eric, as requested, I’m giving you two minutes to pitch your commercial idea. I don’t want to hear another ‘running down the street, racing the streetlights at night’ bit,” The man in the suit sits back in his chair overly confident that Eric will botch this. Eric remains seated while taking a light sip of his water. The room is dead quiet. He proceeds to button his jacket while standing up. To someone who doesn’t know Eric, you would think that he is very driven and confident in what he does.

“Alright, so here’s is something we haven’t done before.” Eric approaches the head of the table, standing in front of a large projector. He gives a quick nod to someone on the other end. The lights go out and the screen lights up. “We are a shoe company for runners,” He laughs quietly to himself while continuing, “I guess I’ll shift gears and ask you this, so during Halloween, I’m sure when you were kids, you would watch all those slasher and chainsaw movies under the covers – scared out of your minds for the female actress getting chased all the time, but here is something that I noticed after recently watching a few.” The board members remain silent.

“Why is it that the girl in the horror movies always gets taken by the killer or monster?” There is still silence. The screen in the background shows old 80’s horror movie scenes as he continues talking.

“No one, really?”

One woman raises her hand, “Because she slept with the love interest and now she isn’t a virgin anymore, isn’t that like a rule you can’t break in horror movies?” 

The audience starts to laugh with another hand going up, “It’s probably karma, she was mean to all the other girls?” 

Eric stands there puzzled by the answers. “It might be because she is always alone – away from the group.”

“Well these sound like pretty good reasons, I would have to say that you are all wrong.” Eric finishes while the screen behind him changes. It shows a woman tying the laces of her new runners.“It’s because she didn’t have the right shoes on.” Some lean in to fully grasp the concept.

Eric goes on, “My commercial would show all of the old school zombies, vampires, goules, slashers – one scene after the other trying to chase the girl. The camera would focus in on her new shoes and that she can’t be caught.” The big man in the suit speaks up, “Eric, while that sounds like an interesting idea, how would you present this?”

Eric moves beside the projected screen, “I’m glad you asked that, she would be sitting in a cabin living room with some friends and then trouble happens and she runs into the next scene with other monsters chasing her, and goes through a dark house and through corn fields and then she would run across that football field scene where the zombie hands would reach up from the ground trying to catch her, but she would do one of those high-knees-going-from-tire-to-tire bits and at that point there would be like 20 of these monster/killer bad guys trailing behind her with their knives and chainsaws and eventually there would be a finish line that she would be sprinting to with all the police and FBI officials waiting to take down all the bad guys once she finishes the race of her life.” Eric takes in a deep breath as the lights come back on and the projector turns off.


“Well, what do you think?” Eric asks. 

Thursday, October 13, 2016

Should've Disconnected the Phone

The rings are getting louder and louder. My hand slips out of the covers fishing over in search of the receiver which ends up knocking everything else over but still no phone. The rings persist. It was too good to be true that I took today and tomorrow off from work. For some reason, I knew that call was for me. Finally, my hands meet the receiver – bringing it to me under the covers much like how a threatening predator drags its prey back to the lair. So blurry eyed, so tired. After a long yawn comes a weak, “Hello?”

               “Emi! Oh thank the world you’re up!” The high pitched voice makes me wince in pain caused by the late night blur of events prior. I lift the covers and see that it is still dark and only 6:19 in the morning.

               “What do you mean?” I ask reluctantly.

               “We have an emergency. Jackie went into labor. John and Christi are AWOL and we need someone to come in and fill in for the registers. We are so understaffed today!” This would be the assistant manager. She did me a solid once and now I am forever branded as her...

               “What time do you want me to come in?” I ask as I roll to the other side of the bed, still trying to come out of the veil of sleep.

               “I need you here as soon as you can, and I only trust you to close with me tonight too! I know today was your day off and all. I’ll make it up to you. I’m so sorry. So much for relying on others, right?” She tried to laugh at her own joke but I could hear her cutting herself short seeing that she isn’t very good at bearing bad news to people.

               “Ok fine,” Why did I do that? I’m just too nice.

Later that day I realized that I should’ve disconnected my phone as I tried to break up a dispute from some customers fighting over the bins with all the clothes being dumped in. Once that was settled, one of the bathrooms clogged up. And as if the day weren’t exciting enough, there just happened to be three attempts of shoplifting all from different people. We usually have a security person on site but today they were just on call. I can’t say I wasn’t warned when I made the transfer to the donation store all the way in South Philly by the 95. And then it happened…out of all the days I was here, it had to be today,

               “Emi, can you deal with him again? He’s back.” An old man walked up to me partially dressed for church but wreaked of old alcohol. I think birds live in his pocket, not quite sure on that.

               “How much do you want for the blue car outside?” He asked me with no control of his tone.

               “Sir, for the last time, those cars are not for sale. That is the store parking lot.”

               “Dammit! I want the blue one! I’ll pay whatever price you’re offering! Here, here…” 

The old man dug in his pockets leaving some pieces of papers, Frosted Mini Wheat cereal, some screws and a book of matches on the checkout counter.

               “Now that’s my final offer! You tell those corporate slugs that I’m not getting pushed around any longer and that I am a loyal customer and deserve only the best. Now get on the phone!”

I humored him by picking up the phone. I tried to dial for the on call security that was until I saw him already outside smashing open the driver’s side window of the ‘blue car’ he wanted.
              
“Call security now!” Someone shouted as I ran out there.

“Yep, she’s a beaut!” He says as he sits there with his flat hat and sunglasses still on.


            “Hey! That’s my car!” Shouted the owner coming out of the store. 

By then, the police came and forms and witness statements were being filled out. After all of that, it was 8 in the evening. I was already tired. Jamie the assistant manager, now owed me and let me go home for the rest of the night. And that was how I spent my day off.