Akting Out

San Francisco, California

Fourteen Years Ago

If you catch the last train running to Colma and exit Civic Center, you may find yourself directly in front of a 24-hour Carl’s Jr. You may call it Hardees. I called it home.

There is a waist- high, gray concrete, u-shaped border that surrounds the staircase leading to and from the underground station. You could almost feel the unsettled energy as you stepped onto the red brick pavement between the train station and the restaurant, some fifteen feet to your left. By day, hundreds of tourists pass through. By night, the residents made it a battleground. It was my first.

This night, as always, the restaurant is not so busy. The truly homeless seek reprieve from the streets by hustling up enough to buy a meager burger, hoping they can sleep all night. The security guard, a robust, soulful man named Daune (pronounced Dau-Nay, but you can call him D) Paul Colvin III, usually doesn’t care about the homeless sleeping as long as they don’t stink.

As always, Daune’s post, to the immediate left of the store’s entrance, is surrounded by the usual crowd.

There’s Terry, who would be in his forties now. He was struck by a bus in his youth and lost partial use of his left side. He also had the common sense knocked out of him, you’d think, because it wasn’t uncommon to see him suck the toes of random women–before he took them home. Tall, lanky, black, eternally hilarious and relentlessly loyal, he was the mainstay of the group. His mother insisted he get out of the house each night, and he’d end up here to shoot the breeze. There were worse places to go.

Terry was also the best scrapper I’d ever seen. He could throw that left like it meant nothing. Once, during a sparring session, he knocked me straight to the ground. It was the last time I ever underestimated someone because of a physical disability. Other than myself, Terry was the butt of everyone’s jokes, but he could give it right back.

There was Chad, who, for some reason, I always likened to Guile in the Street Fighter series. Save for the hair, they could’ve been brothers, and Chad could take some monster shots. Come to think of it, when he fought, he very rarely took a step back. He never had a use for kicks, but had supreme use of his fists and no end to the amount of punishment he could take. He was my first real boxing influence.

There was Lee…and Lee, well, Lee was a trip. He was a high school teacher. He was bisexual and thought we all didn’t know (Funny story there). He was black-white, in excellent shape, very easy with the ladies and could shoot his legs to Heaven. He took me as kind of a little brother and sharpened the tae kwon do I already had. He was always smiling.

Christian was a wannabe goth, but he was one of the most decent people I’d ever met. He could only fight, but when he was angry. Then again, when he was angry, I saw him get this eerie, toothy grin that would’ve made the Joker shudder. Half-asian, six feet tall and always dressed in black. Christian didn’t fight as much as he inflicted pain on people.

Emalio, a young hustler who had endured a horrible childhood. He was quiet, shy, and the smallest of us. If you brought harm to him, you had to answer to D. You didn’t want to answer to D.

And me?
I had known the group about four months. I was the rookie, the untested one. I could fight, but these guys were on a whole other level, who happily kicked my ass repeatedly. D would randomly reach out and slap me. Didn’t matter where I was in proximity to him. He always a polite little smack upside the head. When I learned to block, it didn’t make a difference. D was an aikido expert. He taught me well.

So this night, things are a different. It’s Thanksgiving.
This night, we’ve all compiled our money and created one big pot to order a bunch of food. D went out of his way to inform me that my homelessness did not make me exempt. If I wanted to eat, I had to contribute. Luckily, the bang-on-the-change-machine scam had worked well that day, and I had fifteen bucks to my name.

We ordered KFC, Pizza,chinese food from right across the street, BBQ from across town, and enough stuff to where we had to unite two tables. Something for everyone.

Naturally, I was the first to reach for all of the food (slap). D ordered us all to take hands, lower our heads, and pray.
This shocked me; D was muslim, I was Christian, Chad was agnostic, and I wasn’t even sure what some of the others were. I asked D who we were supposed to pray to.
He looks me in my face and says; “Does it matter?”

I remember how good I felt when I heard that. I didn’t understand until I had seen more of the world.
We prayed. We prayed to who we believed in.
And then we ate.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Still young, no longer so wild, I can still feel the pulse of the world when the sun takes its leave.

Life both fades and goes into overdrive. With the nine-to-fivers safely away, those that live in darkness come forth. They stick to the shadows, hoping to be seen only by those of their kind. They wish to be ignored by those who bring lights (especially lights that flash) and curry the favor of other, weaker shadow-mongers who have not yet made sense of this world.

I remember when the stronger rulers of the dark would battle each other for dominance. In those days, crowds would gather and cheer mindlessly, often indifferent to winners and losers and hoping for a spectacular show. Break his bone. Slam him into the ground. Make him scream. Make him beg. The worse the beating, the greater the dominance. The more respected the victor. I first observed this, and then put it into practice in my youth.

No matter the season, the temperature seems to dip considerably. A new set of laws are established, a set parallel and yet a very dark contrast to its sun-born counterpart. One does not call for help. One solves their own problems, by the fist or the gun. Law enforcement is often one’s friends. Those who sell their loyalty are not trusted, and their despised. If they’re strong, they see polite masks, everyone feigning respect and humor to them. It is a game; those that play this charade are waiting for a weak moment.

When it happens, it will not happen in daylight. Too many witnesses in the day. Shadows give birth to illusions. No one is quite sure what they saw. They saw something horrible. They wonder, will that person do that to me?

They will make themselves forget.

People claim a fear of the dark. It’s not the dark they fear; it is the unknown. It is the limited vision. It is the sudden noise that has no rational explanation. It is the clawing feeling at your gut that your killer may be beside your bed as you sleep.

It was the first fear I ever conquered.

I became aware of my surroundings. I learned how to function without sight. I learned how to listen, to smell, to feel. The wind shifts suddenly, you pick up the scent of something that should not be there. Brace yourself…

I learned it was not the dark to be feared. It was those that preyed in it.

And I am nobody’s prey.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I started Universal Warrior: Uprising (Book One) when Chris Tejeda (@ChrisTejeda on Twitter) introduced me to the world of Web Fiction. I was fresh off of Nanowrimo, having completed the 50k words in one month. I had at last found my calling, and was eager to begin work on something else.

Three months, sixteen posts, and sixty-two comments later, Universal Warrior: Uprising celebrated hitting the 1000 mark. At the time of this writing, the site had garnered 1,005 hits, and more people are picking up the story at its beginning every day.

I don’t consider the story a success; rather, I see this as laying the groundwork for my future. I most certainly never expected the story to take off the way it did, and it always makes me grin to see people tuning in every Monday before the story goes live. I enjoy the fact that people enjoy my work.

I will consider the story a success when I am paid to do it. I’ve had people ask me lately how I get paid to blog (which I don’t) and what methods I use to get the story out to the public. So I thought I’d take this time to illustrate the methods of my madness, most of which were loaned to me by someone far more experienced.
Enjoy.

1). Know Your Story.
Universal Warrior has been in my head, in one form or another, for the past twenty years. I know each of the 500+ characters that inhabit this world, I know where they’re going, and I know where everything ends up. Even so, I outline each chapter long before I type the first word. I recommend everyone do this, unless you’re extraordinarily talented. Planning your work in advance is a great way to avoid writer’s block. If you get stuck, refer to your notes. It’s okay if you end up with something far outside of what you planned, but at least you have your plan to fall back on.

2). Get Into Social Networking.
You don’t go cliff jumping without a parachute. You don’t launch your epic without having someone know about it. These days, you should spend almost as much time networking as much as you do writing. What good is it to put all this effort into your hyper-mega epic if absolutely no one was aware of its release?
Never, ever dismiss any social networking site. You never know who’s there, and who might promote your work. If you’re not using twitter, you should be. You should be using Twitter if you’re in any creative field. You should be using Twitter if you get out of bed in the morning. If you’re not on Twitter, stop reading this right now and go sign up. Then check out this site that lists people you might want to start following.
I release Universal Warrior through Twitter, MySpace, Friendfeed, Facebook, and I’m starting to post announcements through Web Fiction Guide, and next week I’ll do the same on Muse’s Success. Get your work out there. It’s better to be hated than unknown; you can always improve.
Okay, now, the flip side to this coin is this; don’t get on these sites and speak only of your work, rambling on aimlessly about how great your stuff is without interacting with anyone else. This is the quickest way to get blocked.
Network. Meet people. Establish genuine connections. Then talk about how great your work is.

3). Keep your Word
Universal Warrior comes out each Monday by 1pm CST, no matter what. I have only missed the 1pm deadline once, and I have never once missed a Monday deadline. I sincerely believe that this is why I’ll have up to ten hits every Monday before the story is released.
Before you even have a story, you have your reputation. Build it and they will come.

In conclusion, I have to say that I spend anywhere from one to three hours churning out words on various projects. You have to be dedicated or your lack of it will show up in your work. I haven’t had a day in weeks where I didn’t put out at least a thousand words (of course, this is because I have no job).

I also have to say that you probably have to be a little lucky. There isn’t a week that goes by that I wonder whether or not I will do irreparable damage to my fledgling fan base. Is it too long? Is this in character? Is this too much backstory? Is this enough action? Not enough action? Is this explained well enough? Am I revealing too much? Is this the story I should be telling?

Welcome to my world.

There are other methods I use, which include:

*Keeping a Thesaurus and two Dictionaries at my desk at all times

*Having a window to stare out of during ADD moments

*Taking a break every hour to read, play, do pushups, or anything not related to the task at hand

*Having appropriate music on at all times

All of this is just what works for me. There is no miracle cure. There is no magic formula that will turn you into the next Stephen King. In the end, you have to find what works for you, and then stick with it. Even more importantly, if you’re finding that your methods don’t work, you need to be open-minded enough to realize that something needs to change.

Ultimately, you decide your own fate.

Thanks for reading, and good luck.

Special thanks to Molly (@bookwormm21) my unflaggingly detail-oriented editor (and girlfriend), MeiLin Miranda (@MeiLinMiranda) for the tutelage, Chris Tejeda (@ChrisTejeda) for introducing me to this world, and Dianne (@keikomushi) for her work advancing in advancing Universal Warrior (and introducing me to podcasting!)

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Okay, here’s the deal.
As of March 9, 2009, Universal Warrior: Uprising has accrued 985 hits over 12 Chapters.

Recently, a friend of mine volunteered to use her considerable vocal talents to turn the story into a podcast. I’ve since thrown myself into audio editing to figure out how to add sound effects and the like. However, I can’t devote as much time as I’d like to it due to freelancing and the other activities I have going on.

So here’s what I’ll do.
When the site reaches 1100 hits, I’ll put the audio podcasts into production. These will feature the music of Adam Fielding and be available for free directly from the website. I’ll also begin the newsletter I keep talking about. If you want to be added to the mailing list, please drop me a line at admin@youarenowplaying.com.

In addition to the podcasts, I’ve also begun working on screenplay to adapt the story into a machinima-based series using the Moviestorm engine. So there’s a lot happening here.

1100 hits, things go to the next level.

Thank you for reading so far and making the series a success.

Avery K. Tingle
Author

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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In a ceaseless war between Angels and Demons, Yang, ruler of the Kingdom of Heaven, plans to shatter the Nexus Stone. Doing so will imbue a select invited few Angels with enough power to bring Yin queen of the lands of Hell, to her knees. The Angels are given three days to trek thousands of miles and complete a treacherous mountain climb to reach Asgard, where the plan will be put into motion.

Michael, a resourceful young man living in exile with his mother, receives one of these invitations. After surviving an attempt on his life, he happens across a straggler named Anders. Following the boy back to his native town, Michael discovers the town to be under demonic control and seeks to free the populace.

Gabriel, who commands the Thanatonian legion, receives another invitation. Having no desire to return to war, Gabriel passes the invitation to his best operative, Azrael. The crossling reluctantly returns to Heaven. A feud with his twin brother is reignited, and in the course of trying to save lives, Azrael crosses paths with Michael. The two now work together to liberate a small town, jeopardizing their chances of making it to Asgard on time.

Uriel, of Heaven’s army and now one of Heaven’s most wanted fugitives, receives an invitation and promise of immunity if he can complete the journey. Doggedly pursued by the super-powered Angelic police force known as the Seraphim, Uriel accidentally discovers the organization importing demons into Heaven. He has chosen to hunt his pursuers in one last bid to serve the Kingdom faithfully.

Raphael, a veteran of the war since it began, is hand-picked by Yang to lead the new group of Angels. After surviving an assault on the capitol building, Raphael and Yang are relocated to Asgard, where Raphael is reunited with his former mentor, Odin. The two now depart a residential hall high above Asgard to begin preparing for what will occur within the next two days…

The following takes place in Asgard during Day One. It is the middle of the day.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I roll out of bed this morning a little later than usual, having hit the snooze alarm in my sleep (yet again) in order to buy myself another hour under the covers. I can walk to work in about twenty minutes. I’m not worried.

Molly, who always does her best to ensure that I’m up on time, sends me one last text message as I get my day started.

”I love you Avery. Good luck.”

I’m going to need a better phone. I can’t lock every single one of her messages. With the day starting on a high note, I pull myself out of bed and ask myself, why am I so pissed off lately?

I’ve been in a real funk lately. I was able to pick up an XBox 360, and even the rampaging adventures of Ryu Hayabusa (who’s either an uber-ninja or a serial killer, depending on which side of the blade you’re on) has done little to bring me out of it. Aesthetically obliterating lives does little to alleviate my mood—although I’m loving it all the same.

I hate playing by the rules. There’s almost no payoff. The older I get, the more I realize that my father was right. The rules are set up to make you fail.

I remember running into my old boss while I was out at lunch. I spoke to be polite. He told me I’d get my job back. He volunteered this information. It never happened. There may have been circumstances I was unaware of, but since he never let me in on what those circumstances might have been, from my point of view, it looks like a lie. A lie that was totally unnecessary.

I draft an evacuation plan for the residents of the Towers. The plan is rejected, and I receive a cryptic, chilling handwritten note as to why; there is no evacuation plan in the Towers for a reason.

I go straight and narrow and cops still mess with me. When I call for help (the one and only time I’ve ever called JCPD) they advise me to avoid the situation I called them about. The quote was you might not want to do rounds on that floor for awhile. He’s really pissed off.

I walk ten miles through this city in hopes of finding a job, nothing pans out. When I finally land a job, it turns out the company overhired by thirty people. Some are immediately delayed until May. Others, myself included, have our fate decided by a performance on a written exam. If two people do equally well on this exam, then the alphabet will decide. Those with a last name closer to ‘A’ get to start Monday. The rest of us are out in the cold.

Molly is one of a few people who knows me intimately. She says I’m apathetic, and she’s probably right. Dealing with hustlers, liars, (and most recently pedophiles) will do that to you. I’ve also come to realize the damning effect of having the whole world tell you’re worse than nothing. As a kid, it was a no-win situation. I did what someone wanted and someone else got pissed off. I did what I wanted and everyone got pissed off.

Thus was born the knowledge, fuck what everyone else thinks. If I’m going to be hated, I’m going to be hated for doing something I want to do.

I take strength from being the hated one. Even when I play Madden, I play as the away team. I’m coming into your house, I’m going to play by your rules, and as your friends cheer on my destruction, I’m going to beat the dog shit out of you. Even worse, I’m going to humiliate you in the process.

My experience teaches that most people will do whatever is necessary to achieve their goal, no matter who gets harmed in the process. A refusal to inflict injury on someone makes you weak. Sometimes, I hate what I became in order to prove to the world that I was ‘tough’. I hate it even more that it was only then I was accepted. I inflicted permanent injuries and this makes me cool?!

I laid Busterwolf to rest, but the guilt is still there. I did a lot of things to people I can’t take back. I’m trying to find a way to let this go.

I’m also trying to restore my faith in people. I believe in God because He’s come through. People tend to fall unapologetically short.

I cannot stand people who bitch and moan about how the world has screwed them and when presented with opportunity, they ignore them. I don’t understand people who are incarcerated for low-level shit spend all day talking about getting out and doing the exact same thing that got them locked up in the first place. I don’t get people who feel a need to defend their beliefs by tearing down someone else’s. Why is this encouraged?

I have this theory that allows me to get along with most people. As long as you respect that fact that you’re probably not going to change my mind, I’ll listen to whatever you have to say. I may even give it a shot. I feel that as long as you’re not hurting anyone, people should be free to openly believe what they want. Seriously, who gives a flying fuck what if the person next to you is gay, Wiccan, Jewish, Republican, or screws pigs in their spare time? Is it their preference that pisses you off, or is it the fact that they’re brave enough enough to live their lives openly?

Why am I the only one who seems to think this?!

Why are the rules set up to protect those who encourage backwards ways of thinking? Why are those who dare to stand up to this persecuted, tortured, outcast, or martyred?

Maybe the rules need to change.

Think about it.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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It is a setting fit for new, pimply-faced teenagers and the children eager to reach that stage. For those that may not understand, it may be the worst type of sensory deprivation, but for those that do, we can imagine nothing better.

Our senses are blissfully and endlessly stimulated in this place; a place of electronic madness, poorly-lit hallways lined with cabinets that assault your eyes and ears with a constant barrage of flashing imagery and seemingly random beeps, tinny tunes, and sound effects from worlds being obliterated for lack of one quarter. The smell of day-old cheese sauce and hot dogs that should’ve been thrown out ages ago are unavoidable if you get too close to the front counter, but still resonate in the rear room. And everywhere, there is the barrage of taunts, jeers, friendly insults, and challenges as rivalries are born, settled, and laid to rest. This, my friends, is the arcade.

On this night, I’m eleven years old, and this is my second home. Unfortunately, I have long since lost track of time.

Not that I’m eager to get home, knowing what I’ll face regardless of my time of arrival. Presently, the Mad Gear gang has kidnapped Jessica, the Mayor’s daughter, and my sole priority is saving her. For the first time, I’m nearly at the end of this journey, and I plan to see it through.

I’m so engrossed in the game that I’m completely oblivious to my surroundings, save for what I know to be there.

So when the presence of darkness overshadows me from the rear, my stomach bottoms out through my groin, my throat goes dry, and I wish I could disintegrate into nothingness. It’s the cologne that gives it away, and I wonder if everything will finally be made public. Will he lose his temper in public? Will everyone finally see him for who he is?

Not today.
Today, there is only an uncharacteristically gentle hand in my right jacket pocket. I know the voice as it leans into my right ear, but its warmth is unfamiliar to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear a stranger was propositioning me. His words are an invitation, not a warning. “Come home when you’re ready.”

I count to ten. When I turn, I’m alone.
I fish a twenty dollar bill out of my jacket pocket. I have no idea what to think—except I’m suddenly hungry.

First, I rescued the Mayor’s daughter.

Then, I took part in defeating Shredder with three other strangers.

I had my traditional meal of two Big Mac’s, Large Fries, and a 20-Piece McNugget set.

I received no blowback when I got home that night.
The rest of the money went to a jacket I have to this day, although I outgrew it long ago. Far and away, that was the best twenty dollars I ever spent.

Or received.

del.icio.us Tags: Arcade,Dad,$20 Childhood

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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