What the Hell is wrong with me?

I’m running a Call of Cthulhu game at the College of Staten Island next week, for their Gaming Club’s party.  I’ve done it a few times; they are a great bunch of kids.  Most of them become my play testers for the material I publish.  Anyhow, I play with these guys often, which presented a problem.

Most of them had played all of my most recent short scenario, suitable for a four hour game.  I had to dig up something that NONE of them had ever played.  So I went digging in my old archives and found something I hadn’t run since probably 2007, a nasty little reactive game called Life After Death.

It’s a modern game, which I seldom write.  It’s set in a cemetery and the players take the roles of the traditional bad guys in the adventure.  Three of them are members of a small ghoul pack, one is a serial killer and the last is Kevin Meep. Kevin is a character I created, a madman, and probably one of the strangest individuals I’ve ever created.  I hadn’t thought about him in years, so when I re-read his description… well… I was a little surprised.

Yeah, I wrote this, I remember writing this… that wasn’t the confusing part. 

But as I read it I could only think…  Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?!?!?    So, I’ll share Kevin’s description, on his character sheet.

Kevin Meep - You didn’t have what you’d call a happy childhood. Your mother was a drug addict and your father ran out on you both. You grew up in foster care, never spending more than a year with one family.  Anyone you felt a connection to would always eventually leave. Love was a myth and a lie. That all changed the day you found the cheerleader, Mary Joe Wattle, dead in that wooded area.  She’d been missing for three days and it was clear she’d been strangled and raped. She looked so beautiful, lying there naked, like she was asleep and waiting for you. She was waiting for you! At last you found love, a woman who would never leave you, or hit you, or say bad things that made you feel small. After visiting Mary Joe for a week you buried her telling no one of what you had done. Now you knew there was love, real love and that it could only be shared with the dead. The dead don’t leave; the dead love you for who you are. 

            Getting the job at Oaklawn Cemetery was the best thing that ever happened to you.  While you didn’t make many friends you worked hard and eventually made it to acting caretaker.  Your job gives you many opportunities to find love and also led you to the only real friends you ever had, the ghouls. The ghouls accept you; they don’t judge you and they appreciate your help.  They are much nicer than people.  About a year ago you and the ghouls made a new friend, the serial killer Ramani.  She’s nice, she helps out by bringing her victims to the ghouls but she’s not like the lovers you find at work. 

            If you get fired, the ghouls will starve, Ramani will probably go to jail and it will be much harder for you to find love.  You can’t allow that to happen and you won’t!  You belong here, among the dead, and anyone who tries to change that will be sorry they did.

Yeaaaaah.  So, what the hell is there inside my head that possesses me to create a sympathetic necrophiliac PC?

It’s weird being a horror writer…

Reviews from R'lyeh: Empire City Fears

Reviews from R'lyeh: Empire City Fears: New York stands tall in Call of Cthulhu canon. Not only are numerous scenarios set there, such as “Dead Man Stomp” from the Call of Cth...

Learning to Swim, The Hard Way

I haven’t updated the blog in a while, I’m sorry about that.  I’ve been totally focused on finishing something I had no idea how to do.  It’s not the first time; I suspect it won’t be the last.  So, let’s talk about this.

There is a school of thought that the best way to teach a child how to swim is to hurl them into water over their head, thereby giving them no real alternative rather than learning to swim.  They can drown, or they can swim.  The water rushing up their nose, down their throats and the utter terror they feel as their physical well being is threatened used as a teaching tool.  It’s Darwinism at work ladies and gentlemen.  I am sure people learn to swim this way, a few of them probably die, but hey, that’s progress.

 

Learning is important.  Gaining new skills is probably the only thing really worth acquiring. I’m all for learning new things, with a good teacher, taking notes, asking questions, a little hands on instructions, maybe with a couple of cups of coffee and some breaks to clear your mind.  I’ve had good teachers, I’ve learned a lot… I’ve also been hurled off the boat into water way over my head.

No, you don’t have to be angry at my parents for the way I learned to swim, I am talking figuratively.  

 I learned how to manage projects, put together manuscripts and publish books, along with my dear friend Tom Lynch.  We were learning how to do all this from an older, knowledgeable mentor named Keith Herber, as he formed his new company Miskatonic River Press.   We all put out a book together, which was well received, and started work on several others.  It was all going great and then, quite suddenly without any warning, Keith died.  It was a tragic loss.

 

So there Tom and I were, on our own with Miskatonic River Press adrift.  We could continue on or walk away to watch the company fade into the mists. Tom stepped up and took the wheel of the company, I had his back the whole way helping out as much possible, and we learned how to run a company.  It wasn’t pleasant, it wasn’t easy, mistakes were made and we got burned more than once by our inexperience but ultimately, in time, Tom and I learned how to do this.  Miskatonic River Press is still putting out great material which the critics like, the fans appreciate and that the company is proud to stand behind.

Now, several years later, I’ve started my own company called Golden Goblin Press.  It’s been going okay so far, I got a team together, approved pitches, assigned art, managed the project, did some promotion… chugging along just fine. I started feeling my way through starting a Kickstarter funding campaign, unfamiliar territory but I have great people with experience teaching me how to do that…  Nice, calm, organized… until.

So… You need a video for a Kickstater campaign.  You don’t need one, the way you don’t need a life boat or seat belt, but you CERTAINLY want one.  The people willing to help me do this were unable to.  Some who were able to help me were unwilling to. I wasted a couple of weeks calling for help, as the water rushed into my nose and my anxiety rose.

So I started trying to swim.

I downloaded some free video editing software, got a new SD card, played with my camera, and borrowed a tripod and digital recorder, read some online guides…  I learned because I had no choice BUT to learn or fail.  I did some test videos, downloaded some copy rite free music, some art owned by my parent company, uploaded some photos, recorded some voice over’s and learned how to edit film together.  I played with video effect, learned how to do things, forgot how to do them and rediscovered it again.  I lost a quite a few hours of work because I didn’t save my project.  I filmed myself, alone, and was told the footage looked like a kidnapping ransom video.  I got advice from helpful people, who were really too far away to physically help me.  Finally my wife stepped in to help me re-shoot the last half of the video, and we flailed and fumbled through the final process together. 

Overall it was a brutal, demoralizing journey outside of my comfort zone. But the video is done.  Is it going to be the best video on Kickstarter? Nope. But the team agrees it’s not bad at all, all things considered. So, I now have a few new skills with filming and video editing.  Did I want these skills? Nope.  Did I need these skills? Yes, unkind ungrateful universe, apparently I did.

Sometimes having no choice is the moment when you have your greatest victories. However, those can also be the moments when you utterly fail, unprepared for the challenges placed in your path.  Dreams are worth fighting for, they are worth suffering for and we are all as resilient as we choose to be. Victory and failure may be variables ultimately out of our control, although we can do much to skew the odds in our favor. Surrender and quitting are choices.

I’ve never run a kickstarter before, or for that matter a publishing company on my own, but I have people helping me with that.  There may be moments to come where I will have to face things on my own which I am totally unprepaired to deal with. When those moments come, I'll deal with it.

Hey universe, I’m still standing and I’m not going anywhere.

 

Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which like the toad, ugly and venemous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

 

 

Dreams of Endtimes.

            I’m a horror writer; I have a bit of an imagination.  I know I dream because it’s a scientific fact that we all do but I seldom remember mine.  Last night was an exception.  Before I get to that, a dramatic set up.

There’s this show I love called “Stranded”, where three regular people get stuck in a haunted location for five days and are tasked with investigating the paranormal.  One episode a guy lost his nerve and couldn’t follow some mysterious sound into the dark.  He was frozen in place by fear, and hated himself for it.  He said, “We’re supposed to be investigating this stuff and we’re running from it.  We’re the worst paranormal investigators ever.”  At the time I found it very funny.

Now, onto my dream - It was New Years Eve, I was home with my family and the world was about to end.  I knew this, as well as I knew anything.  I had no doubts; not even the comfort of suspecting I might be insane.  I knew, and I also knew there was nothing I could do about it.  My daughter had a few of her pre-teen girlfriends over; they were making noise and painting nails, having a good time.  My son was in his room, on his computer, probably on Skype with his friends.  My wife was going to watch funny videos online. 

I decided to go to time square, Ground Zero for the first of thousands of portals that were going to open all over the world.  In the front yard of my neighbor Mario Ortiz, I saw the outline of a small portal already gathering power. Mario knew too, for some reason, I guess we had talked.  He asked if I was going, I said yes, and he offered to drive me to the train to get into Manhattan.  He also offered to give me his rifle; he doesn’t own a rifle in real life. 

I thought about it a moment.  I wouldn’t get a rifle anywhere near Time Square on New Years Eve.  I didn’t know Latin.  I didn’t know any spells.  There was nothing I could do at Time Square, other than see how the Endtimes all begins. 

I looked back at my house; saw my wife at the window, looking sad that I was going into Manhattan without her on New Years Eve.  I saw my daughter, screaming and laughing with her friends.  I thanked Mario, but refused the ride and the rifle.  I went home to be with my family, to watch funny cat videos with my wife.  They didn’t know the world was about to end, I hadn’t told them.  Why?  They were happy.  I wanted to be happy with them until it all just stopped.  One of two things was going to happen, the world would end or it wouldn’t, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

When I woke up I realized I would be the worst mythos investigator ever.  An investigator faces those odds, to try to save everyone, even if it appears totally hopeless.  I’m not an investigator.  I just wanted to be with my family as long as I could, see my wife laughing at videos of people falling down, hear my daughter screaming with her friends, knowing my son was safe in his room.

 

 

I’m not going to do any writing today.  I’m taking my kids to the Metropoltian Museum, maybe somewhere nice for lunch. Tonight, I am going to take my wife out to a surprise romantic dinner (it's okay, she probably doesn't read my blog).  Today I am going to be thankful for the small, but beautiful things in my life.  Today I am going to celebrate one more day, and live, pushing my dreams of Endtimes far, far away.

The smartest Investigators in the room.

Colin Powel once said - Surround yourself with people who take their work seriously, but not themselves, those who work hard and play hard.

It's very true. Good players will make you a better keeper, and if your writing your own scenarios, a better writer. They'll keep you honest, call you on your shit, and make you write outside of your comfort zone. You'll love players like this and you'll want to impress them, because they challenge you as an artist. When you find a player like that, it's an amazing moment. I've been lucky enough to find more than my fair share of such players, but today I am going to talk about one in particular.

Dr. Ryan Roth, the smartest investigator in the room.

Yes, he's a doctor, a physical engineer. I sort of know what he does for a living but it's hard to wrap your head around. He's one of those guys who's going to perfect the artificial intelligence that'll start the robotic rebellion that ends humanity. Yeah, he's one of THOSE guys. He’s a super-nerd, made in a libratory out of the parts of lesser nerds. He's also one of the best friends, who I love like a brother.

We met across the Keeper's screen, playing Call of Cthulhu at a six week gaming event called Gotham Gaming Guild. I was running Tales of the Sleepless City, a campaign set in 1920's New York. He was playing Theodore Caldwell III, a lawyer and political activist. We played, "A Family Way" (a great game which I'll probably NEVER publish due to serious content) and moved onto "The Tenement" (which is now published by Miskatonic River Press, part of their Tales from the Sleepless City book).

I won't give away any spoilers, but let’s just say there comes a time in that scenario where the war between the investigators and the bad guys is getting very heated. Then, the bad guys seem to blink; they invite the investigators for a sit down and a non-violent resolution to the issue. They are willing to give the players what they want, and a way out of the war between them.

In this game all the investigators were by then terrified. They were ready to leap at this offer, end the conflict and save their lives. All but one... Theodore Caldwell. Ryan calmly said, "No, we can't do this" and everyone stopped to listen. He made a dignified, passionate argument that this wasn't about one building, but exposing a slum lord to public scrutiny. He said it was about knocking down his house of cards, dragging all his dirty secrets and dealing into the light of a court of law.

Everyone was silent, including me. The players all took a deep breath and followed his lead. They rejected the meeting and continued the war. They won, but not without casualties. The meeting was a trap, and Theo kept them from walking into it. They finished the war, on their terms, not their enemies.

I'd never seen such a powerful moment at a Call of Cthulhu game, before or after. There wasn't even a monster or combat involved. Theo was fighting against fear, fighting to raise the moral of a group of completely demoralized investigators who just wanted to survive the scenario at that point. But he showed them that survival was less important than doing what was right and making a difference. Not for any reward or recognition, but for the greater good. Theo is a true hero, and I was proud to write him in as an NPC to the published version of the scenario.

Ryan and I have been friends every since. I've probably invited him to every single call of Cthulhu game I've even written since then. He's smart, very smart, and it's often difficult to challenge him in scenarios. But it's something I strive for, because that’s the art, the dance, the relationship between players, keepers and scenario writers.

Countless players across the world owe Dr. Ryan Roth their thanks from the streets of 1920's Arkham to the sewers of Ancient Rome. Good players make better keepers, and better writers.

Thank you Dr. Ryan Roth. Ia Ia

  

The Murder of Mateo Luna

For years people had told me I should be writing down my adventures and trying to get them published, but I just didn’t have the confidence to try.  If you try, and fail, your dream is dead.  If you never try, you never fail, and your dream never dies.  It’s kinda emo, and a total cop-out loser philosophy; but it’s one I had all through my 20’s.

When I got a little older two major things changed.  I stopped playing AD&D 2^nd Edition, because 3^rd edition came out and I WAS NOT buying all those freaking books again.  I started playing Call of Cthulhu as my main RPG.   The other major change in my life was entering the world of Medieval Reenacting.   Yes, for several years I got dressed up in medieval garb, ate weird food, became an archer, fought in a reenactment of the battle of Hastings (as a Saxon Archer, we lost, again… L  )  I stormed castles, shot arrows, became the Baron of Tyre, a royal Seneschal and the Captain of Archers. I was known as Mateo Luna. 

The thing that I am most proud of during my life as Mateo Luna was bardcraft.   I entered the bardic guild, quickly rising through the ranks to become a master bard, and then the Master of the Bardic Guild.  I didn’t sing, or play music, like other bards.  I was just a story teller.  Bardcraft came easy to me, in the classic Celtic sense.  Bards were part of the Druidic Faith; they were the voice, living history and spirit of their people.  They were guides and teachers, the living connection between the three worlds.  It was taboo to harm a bard, for fear what they could do to your reputation with satire.  A bard could turn a warrior into a king, and a king into a mythical figure.  I loved being a bard, I learned how to tell a story, how to hold an audience, how to pace things, and I started writing my own stories and satires. Dressing in a full length tunic, telling an ancient celtic story to a packed hall lit by hundreds of candles was magic, and several times I felt the power of the ancient druidic faith flowing through me.   I guess most artists feel that way when they are in the zone.

But few, if any, found bardcraft as interesting as I did.  For many the re-enactment group was a place to socialize, to put on armor, grab a stick wrapped in duck tape and beat on people weaker than themselves.  The group had a lot of bullies, both intellectually and physically.    For example, I had prepared for weeks to take my bardic trials, which had to be judged by the three sitting masters.  One of the three masters left the event early after he spent several hours fighting in armor.  He just left… sorry Mateo, I got better things to do... maybe next event.  

Then the end came.   I was at an event, telling a story.  The room was filled with people, many of whom had spent the day fighting mock battles.  One woman, a stocky fighter bigger than most of the men at arms, began talking louder and louder at her table.  She was drunk, stinking and unwashed from her battle, and angry.  Soon she was yelling across her table, and then yelling at me, telling me to tell my story more quietly because the people at her table were trying to have a conversation. 

If we were going by the rules she would have NEVER DARED do such a thing to a bard.  I should have written the worst, more horrific parody of her for the next event, shaming her and tarnishing her name for all time.  But she was a “fighter” and the group would have never allowed it.  She was “important”, I was not.   To this day it makes me angry, as a bard I curse her name, even though I no longer remember it.  I still think of that horrific, disgusting woman, screaming drunkenly at me in her dirty stinking tunic. She remains one of the most revolting people I have ever encountered in my entire life.  Bards are trained to feel, everything around them, deeply, to be raw nerves and open to the world around them even at the emotional cost to their own well being.   I left the group and medieval reenactment altogether, shortly thereafter.  Baron Mateo Luna was dead; there was no place in the Kingdom of Acre for me any longer.

But I’d learned so much.  I was a bard, spiritually connected to the cosmic forces of creation.  In my heart I’d always be a bard, I had stories to tell and lessons to teach.  I started writing, in a serious manner, and was soon publishing Call of Cthulhu scenarios.  I never lost the bards love of history, the art and magic of storytelling or the importance of teaching through my art.  I stopped being Mateo Luna, I started being Oscar Rios, I never gave up thinking of myself as a Bard.

Growing, Brewing, Cooking and the Call of Cthulhu

So I need a break today after a busy week of editing. 

I decided to set up the seedling boxes for my family’s backyard garden.  Last year we got seedling, but the choice was limited.  This year I picked up the seeds, boxes and soil to do it myself.  I got sweet Spanish onions, two types of tomatoes and two types of peppers.  My wife asked about cucumbers and zucchini, but I don’t really like those vegetable so they weren’t even on my radar. It was nice and relaxing, working with the soil, counting out the seeds, watering everything and finding a sunny spot for it all in the front window to let nature do it’s magic.  It got me thinking.

I like plants, always have, since I was a child.  I own a spider fern; I’ve probably had it for most of my life.  It’s from a cutting of my mother’s spider fern, which is a plant older than I am.  Those things never die, if you take care of them.  Water, soil, sun, it’s a peaceful thing caring for plants. It’s not quick, or flashy, but I really like it.  It’s comforting, Zen I guess. 

I’m passionate about other things too, like coffee.  I own a coffee maker, but I only use it for big gatherings.  No k-cups for me.   I have a well stocked coffee corner, with mason jars of beans, a grinder and a French press coffee maker.  Every morning I grind my beans, get the water to a rolling boil, let everything brew slowly before depressing the plunger and finally enjoy a few really good cups of coffee.  For me it’s a beautiful ritual, like a Japanese tea ceremony.  It slows you down, makes you really appreciate that cup of coffee.

Then I was thinking about the plants I'd chosen, onions, peppers, tomatoes… and realized I'd unconsciously chosen the ingredients of another of my passions, making Chili. It took me years to perfect the art, and it is an art.  Not from a can, not from a package of mixes, but honest, homemade chili.  Yeah, I use beans, I’m an easterner and that’s how we make it here. It takes a LONG time to make, cutting, browning, mixing, chopping, seasoning and slooooow cooking.  I stir every 15 minutes, for 3-4 hours, after about 90 minutes of just getting everything into the pots.  No two batches are every the same. I am very proud of my chili.

At that point, something dawned on me… 

My last edits were harder than usual, because my editor wanted me to add a big shocking gross out scene early in my scenario. I didn’t want to argue about it, but neither did I want to add it.  I’ve played scenarios that start with explosions; my friend Dan Harms wrote one like that which I was lucky enough to be a play-tester for.  Those scenes are great, effective, enjoyable… but that’s not how I do things.

My scenarios start slowly, trying to allow the players to get a feel for things.  I want them to calm down, to role play, to live as that person they are trying to portray, to let their guards down before anything dangerous or unnatural happens.  Then, when bad things do start happening, it’s often a more brutal shock.  Players go, “What that HELL?!?!” and I point to the Keeper’s screen and smile.  “Oh yeah, we’re playing Call of Cthulhu” they sometimes say.  I don’t say my way is better than scenarios that start with a bang; it’s just not how I like to do things.   Not my style… 

I grow plants.  I brew my own coffee.  I’ll spend an entire day making pots of slow cooked chili.  I write scenarios where the suspense and tension build slowly.

I love seeing my plants grow and enjoying the vegetables they sometimes produce.  I adore a cup of freshly brewed, freshly ground coffee.  A bowl of homemade slow cooked chili you made yourself is a meal beyond compare to any other.  The reaction of a player who’s slowly gotten into character, been teased by properly maintained tension when the monster finally does attack, or the ghost manifests, or the person they are talking to drops their mask to unveil a face made of tentacles… that’s priceless. 

For me, it’s all connected.  People say I write a lot but I never really rush things.  It all happens as it’s meant to.   For all things there is a season and a time for every purpose under the sun.