Akting Out

About two years ago, I was walking home from work. I was a rentacop, in uniform, finishing up a night shift on the East Side of Jefferson City, Missouri. No do-rag, no gloves, nothing that could construe me as shady.

Less than a block away from my site, a cop pulls up alongside me and cordially asks me what I’m doing. Walking home, I explain. He asks me where I’m coming from. I exercise my right to remain silent and point to the two towers behind me. He asks me my business there, and I slowly pull back my jacket to reveal a badge. He’s then kind enough to tell me that he ‘guesses that it’s okay’ and then pulls away.

I was angry. Not just at the situation, but it was one of the only times I remember feeling powerless…

Today, I check my news feed and the first story I see is about a woman who reported her child missing. She’s now been charged with filing a false police report, prostitution, and there’s a suspicion of human trafficking.

Police still can’t find the girl.

The second story I find tells of the Mohler family, six in total, being charged with sexual abuse allegations that go all the way back to the mid-eighties. According to CNN Justice, their victims “came to law enforcement authorities with stories of sexual performances, mock weddings, rape with various objects and a forced abortion during their childhoods.”

Forced abortions.

This means they…
Thinking about it made me want to put my fist through something…someone.
Say what you will about the street, but one of the things I enjoyed about it was that these kinds of things didn’t happen. They call it street justice for a reason. Acts such as these got you killed, plain and simple.

Here, prosecutions take years and drag the victims right back through the act. They’re never the same again. And the kids…well, they’re lucky if they’re ever found again.

Coming from a life where I used to fight literally, and directly, against things like this, it’s very difficult to accept that there’s nothing I can do anymore.

No one should ever be a victim. No one, especially a child, should ever live in fear.

And so I’m left to ask why. Paralyzed and powerless, I want to know why things are this way?

How does anyone possibly justify raping a child? A woman? Anyone?
Isn’t there something in your mind that’s telling you this is wrong? Especially when it comes to kids?

Rape is primarily about power, not pleasure, and the sick fucks who do this kind of thing are almost always cowards (although I’ve met a few genuinely evil people in my life). Exposing them is easy; beating the hell out of them in front of everyone takes their power away, shows that they are just as vulnerable as everyone else.

But I still want to know why it’s allowed to happen…

How does anyone justify mass killing with religion?
If you’re going to kill a bunch of people, do me a favor, have the balls to do it because you want to, and not because you think God (Allah, Jesus, Buddha, whoever you believe in) is okay with it. Stop using God as a crutch for your evil. Stop using God as a crutch for your fucking shortcomings and stand on your own two feet.

Maybe this is just me going through a crisis of faith. I’m a Christian, not a zealot, and God knows I understand why atheists choose their paths. I look…I’ve experienced…a lot of the bad things in the world and in my darker moments, I wonder if God really did throw in the towel, and maybe we’re just out here on our own. If we’re so determined to self-destruct, then who’s He to stand in our way?

Honestly, baring my soul a little bit…this is why I tend not to get close to a lot of people.
I know I’ll never get answers to these questions. I’ll maintain my faith and my principles and trust in the grand design just as I always have.

But I want answers.
And I wish I could do more.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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The dictionary defines humility as “the quality or condition of being humble; modest opinion or estimate of one’s own importance, rank, etc”. Please note that the definition includes the word condition as well as quality.

Synonyms include “lowliness” and “submissiveness”.
The Bible, specifically Proverbs 16:18, says “Pride goes before destruction and haughtiness before a fall.”

Hm.
Yeah…that’s not me.
In fact, I think the whole idea of humility is, as Dr. Manhattan would say, “a highly overrated phenomenon.”

Here’s the thing; I believe in humility before God. I believe in humility when assessing oneself. I don’t believe in humility before men (or women). Meaning, I don’t believe in being lowly or submitting to anyone. I believe you should show respect to those you care about. I believe you should be willing to compromise in your relationship/marriage. I do not believe you should submit, or capitulate, to any human being.

What prompted this is a situation at work. Without going into too many details, I, like millions of other people in the world, feel that the job doesn’t treat us fairly. Humility would dictate that I shut my mouth and accept this. I believe, based on my experiences, that a status quo only becomes so when enough people accept it.

I’ve also learned, through my background, that those who challenge the system alone are usually dealt with harshly.

But I’ve also seen one person make a difference.

Humility is the ability to accurately assess yourself, and I know…I probably can’t make a difference here. It’s not pride that tells me I have to try; it’s that I believe in doing what is right, no matter what it costs.

It’s not humility that tells you to accept a situation just because you think you can’t change it, it’s humiliation, and there’s a big difference. You can’t expect other people to do something if you expect change; you have to take the chance yourself.

To me, the truest definition of humility is to know yourself and what you’re capable of. It’s to fully submit to whatever it is you worship (God, in my case), and it’s the courage to admit that you’re wrong, and you don’t know everything.

But the illusion of humility is to refuse to try to change the rules because you think you can’t.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Just past my twentieth birthday, I’m coming out of a depression; major surgery on my knee has torpedoed any chances of a professional career in football. The doctors keep telling me how I’m lucky just to be able to walk without limping; the fact that I can still do martial arts is proof of God’s existence, one of them says.

My oldest son is an infant at the time. Aside from finally graduating high school, he’s the only reason I’m smiling anymore.
Until a friend of mine (we’ll call him Ced) approaches me after work one night…asks me if I’m interested in fighting again. Of course, I say, but it’s not like any reputable commission will sanction me. That’s the catch, he says, No sanctions, no rules, no guarantees that you’ll walk out of there. But the money…

When Ced drops the dollar amount on me, there’s not a lot I won’t do. You’re gonna have to leave your son behind for a little while, Ced tells me, piquing my curiosity. Why? I ask, Where’re we going?

You’ve never heard of it, I promise. Little town called Sunburst.

Where the hell is Sunburst? We heading back across the bridge?

Ced chuckles. I’ll never forget that. Nah. We’re going way further than that.

Ced…where the hell is this place? Where’re we going?

It’s a little rinkydink town near the Canadian border…in Montana.

We drove–he drove, I slept–to Montana. I had never been, and I haven’t been back since that fateful morning where we were bound by conflict and the need to get out of there alive.

I kept asking myself, what’s he doing this for? He has money (gophers always get a cut) it’s not like he needs to be putting himself out there like this. Hell, I’ve never even seen him fight. I don’t want to get caught up in something and then have to babysit his ass…

I wasn’t the nicest person back then…
Montana has the most gloriously crimson skies I’ve ever seen. Dusk sets in early and quickly, the skies change colors fast and clouds take their time as they head towards the setting sun.

Sunburst is small, one of the small towns I’ve ever been in. Back then, I thought it was a suburb of a larger city. I didn’t want to be there long.
The fight was to take place at this exceptionally small bar, where the fights were the talk of the town. Ced was cool with the owner (who makes the best steaks I’ve ever had), and he bartered room and board for the night in exchange for a percentage of my winnings. (God help us if I lost). Turned out the guy I was taking on had run through most of the local competition, so someone coming in from California was a big deal.

The fight was rather lackluster. I was proud of myself for doing away with him so quickly, but a lot of people lost money that night…

The owner gets paid, he has no complaints. I don’t sleep well that night; never do in unfamiliar places.
The following morning, Ced and I have to answer for what we’ve done.
It begins as we descend the dark-wood staircase, bags packed, ready to return to our native land. We hear grumbling, and it’s angry. Who comes to a bar at ten in the morning?!

You ever walk into a room where everyone is arguing, and then they become silent the second you arrive? It was that type of tension. And there were sixteen people between us and the door…

I recognized a few faces from the night before. I wondered if they had been there all night. One of them complains that he lost his whole paycheck thanks to me. He’s the first to get up and start walking towards us. Shit.

Soon, everyone feels like they have something to prove, and they back him up. Suddenly, I really want to go home and hold my son.
Go right. Ced whispers to me.
What?
You go right. I’ll go left.
…Okay.
You ready?
Yup.

Ced lunged first. I had no idea he was so bloodthirsty. Before then , Ced was someone I had known less than a year, an on-again-off-again nerd/hustler who worked near the Embarcadero. I knew him through a mutual friend, but we had never gotten to know one another…not until that morning.

Now, suddenly, I’m fighting side-by-side against this person I hardly know, and I’m counting on him to watch my back just as he’s counting on me to watch his. Our survival depends on our cooperation; take a moment to distrust one another or ask questions, and we don’t go home.
I don’t know how long the fight went on, but we tore up the bar and beat it out of there at high speed. As we drove away, we passed three squad cars heading back towards the bar. Both of us laughed and enjoyed the sensation of passing adrenaline.

Ced and I remained tight for nearly five years beyond that, until our lives took us in separate directions.

But the friendship, forged from necessity, is strong today.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I got this idea from facebook; I’m friends with a lot of writers, most of whom can talk intelligently about their favorite book and why it had such an impact on them. I’ve had my share of good reads, but video games have had the greatest impact on me. The ability to immerse yourself in a virtual world and become a hero (or villain) is amazing to me.

I’ve played a few hundred games in my life, some stick out more than others. I wanted to take a little time and list the top ten games that have had the biggest impact on me, and why. Love it, hate it, here it is.

-Honorable Mention-
These are all great titles, some of them are timeless, but they didn’t leave the same impact on me as those on the top ten list. Still, they deserve a shout out.

Tetris (Jaleco)

Ms. Pac-Man (Namco)

Dr. Mario (Nintend0)

Tekken 3 (Namco)

Art of Fighting 2 (SNK)

Xenogears (Squaresoft)

Resident Evil 4 (Capcom)

Metal Gear Solid {the entire franchise} (Konami)

Parasite Eve (Squaresoft)

And now, without further ado, my top ten favorite video games of all time.

10). Yars Revenge (Atari 2600) (Atari)

Back in the day, this game was something else. The game actually spawned an LP (ten points if you know what that is). Basically, peaceful, mutant flies had their sister planet destroyed by the Quotile. You took control of a small squad of yars (one at a time) and tried to take revenge. Hence the title.
You spent a lot of time dodging the heat-seeking destroyer missile and the quotile itself when it came at you, but the game was the first action experience I ever played. You summoned the Zorlon Cannon (by eating the Quotile’s shield or touching it). You waited for the Quotile to turn into a swirl and come at you. You fired the Zorlon Cannon. You go the hell out of the way. Destroying the Quotile in this way earned you the most points–and made you feel mad cool.

9). Gargoyles Quest (Game Boy) (Capcom)
I’m pretty sure this was the Game Boy’s first action RPG. You played Firebrand, throughout an extensive campaign to free the ghoul realm from King Breager, who was locked away by your predecessor centuries ago.
This was the most expansive game I’d ever played on the Game Boy. There were literally hours of exploration ahead of you, many ways to beef up and customize Firebrand, a rousing soundtrack, and graphics only Capcom could produce on the dot matrix scream. Some of these battle were just plain scary. It also followed through with an epic final battle and a satisfying ending.

8). Fatal Fury Special (Neo-Geo) (SNK)
Okay, this may be more for nostalgia than anything else, but I’d be loathe to list a top ten that didn’t include Terry Bogard somewhere. This game wasn’t phenomenal by any stretch, it was just very, very good. The hype was that you got to play any character from the Fatal Fury franchise (Richard Meyer is absent, however), but what I remember the most was how big these characters were and how hard they hit. Every punch, kick, and slam to the turf was beautifully orchestrated by SNK’s sound team. They sounded painful, and they sound even better on the XBLA version.

7). X-Com: UFO Defense (PC/PS1) (Microprose)
I’d never played an RTS before this game, and I’m still not into the genre, but this game was awesome. You took complete control of an elite armed forces whose sole duty was to repel alien invasions. I mean complete control; you built bases, bought ships, recruited troops, the whole nine. You even micromanaged your troops, who always began as scrubs and then turned into crack shots. You had to answer to the United Nations every month; if you weren’t doing your job, the project was canned, and your game ended. Eventually, you had to journey to the aliens’ (and there were so many aliens) homeworld and take them out at the source. I’m hoping this comes to XBLA, because it won’t play on Vista…

6). Sonic The Hedgehog 2 (Sega Genesis) (Sega)
Sonic the Hedgehog was good. Sonic the Hedgehog 2 was what a sequel should be. It gave you the option of a partner, and you could turn him off—or play him solo. Two player co-op could’ve used a little work, but the competitive play was stellar. It could get brutal on the special stage, which was all a matter of timing, and knowing where the rings were. My favorite aspect of this game was that the chaos emeralds finally had a point; when you collected all of them, and grabbed fifty rings…

5). Shinobi III: Return of the Ninja Master (Sega Genesis) (Sega)
Despite not having Yuzo Koshiro at the helm, this game boasted one of the best scores of the era, a soundtrack I still listen to today (listening to right now, in fact). Sega went ridiculously above and beyond with this game; you spent levels leaping from rock-to-rock as a cliff fell, hanging hundreds of miles from the Earth under an airship, and inside a mutant factory. The controls were responsive and made dispatching your enemies fun, rather than frustrating. It had the most inventive boss I’d ever seen at the time, actually reversing your controls at time. I bought the Sega Genesis pack for the 360 almost exclusively for this title.

4). Star Ocean 2 (PS1) (Square-Enix)
Another game fondly remembered for its epic soundtrack. When Enix said there were eighty possible endings, they weren’t kidding. You could sit down for six months with this game and probably not uncover everything. I went through it twice before I had to go back to work.
Another thing that set this game apart was the character interaction. You actually separated from your party in towns and developed relationships with them by speaking and making choices. This is one of those games I can go on and on about, but I have to move on…

3). Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (PS1) (Konami)
It was a tough decision to put this game at number three. It could’ve been number one. Castlevania’s first outing on the Playstation turned out to be one of the greatest games to hit the system, maybe of all time.
At the peak of 2D animation, you played as Alucard, Dracula’s son, who invades the castle to tear it apart. You recap the events of the last game (which was on the turbografx-16. Ten points if you remember that, but if you do, you’re really old) before launching Alucard’s campaign. You start the game as a bonafide bad-ass, but just when you think this is easy, in one of the game’s well-voiced cutscenes, Death robs you of your abilities, and then this game gets interesting.
This is arguably the greatest game in the series. The artwork and animation are breathtaking, the controls fluid and responsive, the soundtrack is award-caliber. The game is also long and deep—it takes about twelve hours to find everything. I love this game so much I actually own it on two systems—and if they come out with an iPod version, I’ll get that one too.

2). Super Street Fighter 2 Turbo (Arcades) (Capcom)
I think the series peaked out here. Fairly-balanced, competitive gameplay, new animations, the introduction of super moves and one hidden, bad-ass mofo that was harder than hell to get to, SSF2 Turbo was the defining title of the Street Fighter 2 era. And yes, the soundtrack to this game was excellent.

1). Final Fantasy VII (PS1) (Square-Enix)
One of the hallmarks of a great game is its ability to draw players in who otherwise may not be interested. Final Fantasy VII put RPG’s on the map; it made us see what the rest of us were missing. I succumbed to the hype and almost lost my job to this game. Sefiroth may be the greatest villain to grace a video game, simply because you knew you couldn’t beat him. Aerith’s death may forever stand out as one of gaming’s best moments; for the first time, a lot of us cried playing a video game, including yours truly. For a game to pull you that much into its own world that you develop emotional connections to its characters is nothing short of greatness.

A friend of mine asked me tonight, when I was putting this list together; “Aren’t the Final Fantasy’s boring?”
Yeah, I used to think so. The story of Final Fantasy VII was its real selling point; never boring, always compelling, you had to know what was happening next. Squaresoft crafted a beautiful world that was plausibly on the brink of disaster and you really felt like it was your presence that made a difference. No game did that to me before, no game has done it to me since.

So that’s it, my top ten favorite video games of all time. I hope no one was offended; I wasn’t trying to discount any titles, I could only go off of the games I know.

Here’s to all the great titles coming out in the future! Thanks for reading, God bless and be safe!

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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So, here it is.
I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. I’ve hurt people, both physically and mentally. I’ve hurt people who did nothing but try to care about me. I have a lot of regrets. Don’t we all?

Lately, I find myself thinking about it less. I’ve begun to ask myself if it’s really okay to let it all go.
I wonder this because every time—without fail—I’ve allowed myself to believe that everything was okay, everything came crashing down, and I found myself back to square one. Years ago (more than a decade, now) I remember saying that I actually missed Ramen noodles. God’s punishment was to put me and my family back on Ramen noodles for nearly three months, because I lost my job. Since then, I’ve reminded myself; never forget where you came from, or what you went through to get to where you are.

Okay, fine, I won’t forget. But do I still have to hold onto it every day?
I don’t ever want to go back to the streets. Not ever.  Sure, I know how to survive down there, but to always be on guard, watching your back…it gets wearing and I’m too old for that nonsense. I like to think I’ve taken enough steps to distance myself from that life. I haven’t been homeless in nearly four years now.

Also, I think I’ve done enough to make up for what I’ve done to either people. I’m not perfect, no one is. I may not be the nicest guy in the world, but I can honestly say that I did the best I could with what I had. I didn’t always make the right choice, but I learned from my mistakes.

I also admit; part of the reason why I hang onto this stuff so tightly is because I have the most kick-ass memories in the world. I look back on some of the stuff I did and wonder just what the hell I was thinking—and that I can’t believe I survived it!

But I can’t hold onto it anymore. I need to let it go, and just be a memory. My life is much different now, so far removed from who and what I used to be that I’m a completely different person now (sort of. The mentality is still there).

I may release the old adventures as flash stories or something, but this is it. No more ranting about the past. This is who I am now.

And I have news for you.
I’m not a nerd. I’m not a jock. I’m not a geek. I’m not trying to be cool, and I’m not mainstream. I’m not really anything but me, take me or leave me. I love my friends, and I will never be afraid to say what’s on my mind (but I’m getting better at saying it).

We all have to grow up sometime, right? This is my time.

Thanks for reading. God bless and be safe.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Okay, here’s the thing. I do not believe that the world is going to end in 2012. I didn’t freak out over the whole Y2K nonsense. I do, however, acknowledge that there are people who believe in this sort of thing, and I don’t want it to appear as though I’m attacking them.

I am, however, coming straight at Richard Heene, who I believe can only be punished by sterilization so that he may never be allowed to reproduce again.

A lot of us want fame. A lot of us want to be known. And that’s fine.
But really.

You’re going to tell the entire world that your six-year-old son has been lost in a fucking helium balloon, floating helplessly across the country, causing every parent in the world to hold their breath while we all pray for a safe ending?

I’m ashamed to say that I believed it.
Now, Mr. Heene says that his reasons are justifiable. So convinced is he that the world will end in a few years, that he wanted to, um, raise money in order to “build a bunker” for him and his family to be safe in while the world came to its fiery conclusion.

The first thing his lawyer needs to do is sew his damn mouth shut.
You got caught, man. Tell the truth. You tried to pull a fast one and you got nailed. It happens all the time, and it happens to much smarter men than you.

I don’t think this warrants any prison time (I don’t like the idea of having to pay for this moron’s rehabilitation). I think the best punishment is to file this away in the annals of human history, never to be spoken of again. We should not dignify this stupidity with anymore attention. We should all dismiss Mr. Heene as the thoughtless, irresponsible con artist he is and move on with our lives.

Or take him into the woods and beat him.

Whatever works for you.

For the record, I do not wish Mr. Richard Heene, nor any member of his family, any harm. But he’s still a fucking moron.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I used to think that privacy was the most important thing in the world. I was wrong; it’s freedom. Specifically, it’s the ability to do what you want, when you want. If time is the only thing you cannot reclaim, why would you not want to spend as much of it as possible doing what you want?

I’ve never seen the point of slaving away for thirty years at a job you settled for. Now, granted, I’m a little older, I understand the point of having to make a living, but it’s like slow death with some people; I watch them lose more and more of themselves on a job that doesn’t seem to care. In this economy, the job can afford not to care, because everyone’s looking for work. No one is irreplaceable.

Now, here’s the thing; as far as jobs go, this one isn’t bad. They put a lot into training us, the hourly wage is good, the end-of-the-month potential is really good, and the benefits aren’t so bad. To be honest, it’s the most money I’ve ever made legally, and I’m grateful for that.

But I have no illusions. This is their world and their rules, and we are reminded of that every single day. And…writing this, I realize that this is the way of things; they made this world, they’re entitled to set the rules as they see fit. If we don’t like it, we all know exactly where the exit is.

There was one point in time I could laugh at anything. Instead, I find myself burning out within three hours of arriving at work and so exhausted when I get home I can barely do anything else. To hell with this.

Five years ago (hell, three years ago) I would’ve just quit. BUT, I’m a little older now, and thickheaded as I am, I still learn from my mistakes. No, I’m not going anywhere. Not just yet, anyway.

God gave me a preview of what my life could be if I was willing to work for it; in between my last job and this one, I was supporting myself (mostly). Sure, I had help, but I was going to bed and getting up when I wanted, if I was hungry, I could eat, if I felt like playing, I could. As long as I made deadline, I was fine. I lived this way for five months before I was unable to sustain it anymore.

It was proof that it can be done.
My job is a good job, but I don’t want to be there in two years. I have no intention of dying a slow death.  I’m willing to put in sixteen hour days if it means that Universal Warrior becomes the Star Wars of this generation. So rather than bitch, moan, and complain, I go into work every day and remind myself that I have to work that much harder to ensure that one day (soon), I won’t have to go back.

Because once I put my mind to something, I know I’ll achieve it. It’s how I survived and got off the street. This? This is nothing. Just another fight, albeit longer than what I’m used to.

That’s how I chase dreams. Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I’m at work late last week when my phone begins to vibrate. Instinctively, I reach for it, thinking it may be my kids. Instead, it’s out of the 816 area code…
Immediately, I begin to assume the worst. I’ve always feared (hoped?) that someone from the old life would come looking for me, hoping to settle up. But I severed ties with the old life years ago, and when I left, I made sure I owed no one.

Phone in hand, I beeline to the breakroom, trying to figure out why someone in Kansas City would be looking for me. I check my voicemail and a slightly familiar voice is on my recorder—and he calls me out by name. My real name. He sounds brain-damaged or something, and I can hear a woman coaching him in the background. He doesn’t wanna fight, he tells me, and he would just like to talk to me.

My fears subside as I try to remember where I know this voice. I figure I have a few minutes to kill, so I punch in the number and tell the man that answers that I’m returning his call.
He sounds happy to hear from me, asking if I remember who he is. Unfortunately, I don’t, but I get the idea I’m talking to an opponent. The woman continues to coach him on…and when he gives me his name, it clicks. Not his name, but the way he says it. The rapid speech and arrogant inflection that made me think he was from Brooklyn or something. I’m overcome by a number of positive emotions as we try to cram almost eight years into five minutes.

And then it hit me; that was eight years ago…

Has that much time gone by? It makes sense; I’m about the age he was when we met. It was a sunny day not far from the shelter I was staying at in Kansas City. My youngest son had just been born. We had just been evicted. The fight was hastily planned (if you can call it planning), but both “Jason” and I needed the money. He got twenty percent if I won, and odds were three-to-one against me. As always.

We met on this barren field where the grass was dying. The homeless used it to sleep if they didn’t make it to the shelter on time. During the day, it was a shantytown of sorts.
He was muscular, lean, and gray. That was the first thing that hit me; this guy had short, curly, black hair that was beginning to turn gray! What the hell was he doing out here?!
He also looked like the illegitimate son of Sylvester Stallone and John Turturro, with black eyes, bad teeth, and a triangular-shaped head. He had reach, too.

He took one look and started berating me (at least, that’s what I thought at the time). He looked to his contact and kept asking who the “kid” was. He was here for a “real fight” and he wasn’t gonna beat up on “some kid”. And me, being my cool, level-headed self, responded in kind. He shut me up quick, saying that he wasn’t disrespecting me; he didn’t wanna hurt me. Go home, he said, do something real with myself. I shouldn’t be out here.

I asked him if he was scared. That made him mad. He gave up, and the fight was on.
I don’t remember much of the fight. He could hit. That was his strength; he could hit harder than you could. And he could take more damage than you could. You could stand toe-to-toe with him and I guarantee you that he’d knock you down first. Trust me on this.

In fact, I remember that vividly. I took a left cross, but before I could recover from that, he caught me again with a right. It felt like my brain exploded in my head and I could feel the force of the world spinning. It was like I hadn’t had enough time to recover from the first blow before taking the second. He knocked me down and knocked my hat off my head. I thought I was so cool when he knocked me down (again) and I rolled back to my feet, replacing my hat and telling him; “Okay, let’s go.”

Oh, what the hell. That was cool.

The moments we were in close were intense and insanely fun. I made it a point to never take two shots in a row from him and his balance was lousy. He was a hitter, I thought I was a martial artist. He had no answer when I started kicking.

But at one point, I caught him in the stomach when he was rushing me, and when he doubled over, I punched him in the back of the skull—which was a really bad idea. I screamed as every bone in my hand splintered, or that’s what it felt like. I couldn’t have unclenched my fist even if I wanted to. I hurt myself more him.

The fight finally ended when I caught him with a butterfly kick to the side of the head. I got back up. He didn’t. Jason and I collected our winnings and that was that…

Talking to him a week ago, my conscience crept on me. His words were perpetually slurred, and the woman in the background had to coach him through most of his speech. Did I help do this?
When I told him that I was working (ironically, back in Missouri), settled down (sort of), and off the streets, he actually laughed. He kept saying, “Good for you. Good for you.”

When I was training Tim and Ashley, I tried to talk them both out of the life. I understand now that back then, when I was young and stupid, he was trying to do the same to me. I have no romantic illusions about fighting or being homeless. Truthfully, there are only three possible outcomes. One requires that you beat the odds, the other two are not pleasant. One of them is fatal.

But we all wound up okay in the end, didn’t we?
So I sign off for now; I have to work in the morning.

This blog is dedicated to Pat Mason, a good fighter who was kind enough to look me up after all these years just to see if I was alright.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I freely admit that I am horrible at time management. Also, I often take on commitments without fully comprehending how much time I’ll have to invest into them. This leads me to wait until the last minute to get something done, and by the time I do, I don’t like what I’ve come up with.

I need to work on this. I will work on this.
Here’s my problem; I work long hours in the real world, and have about four hours between the time I get home and the time I go to bed to get anything done. I also think I have too many deadlines right now; type 2 comes out on Tuesdays, flash fiction comes out on Fridays, Universal Warrior comes out on Sundays. I also have a website I promised to finish weeks ago and an outstanding client for a novel. I’m too spread out.

I also admit that this last week was beyond hectic and I didn’t get anything done.
Writing to succeed is harder than I ever imagined, I admit it. Knowing that people are reading your work and counting on you to deliver when you say you would is incredibly intimidating. Even worse is when you begin to fail, and people get the idea that they can no longer count on your word. I come from a do-or-die background, and I admit that when I took on this task a year ago, I thought it would be easy. I was wrong.

Writing is a lot of fun, but it is in no way easy. If you underestimate the severity of the task at hand, then you will not accomplish it. I know this now. But I tend to learn from my losses and mistakes, and come back stronger.

So, I’m going to make all of you a promise, here and now. This will be the last time I delay a deadline of any sort. Barring any sort of emergency, I will meet my deadlines from here on out. For example; I lost time Friday because my internet was down. Not an insurmountable obstacle; the library is walking distance from my house. Only laziness kept me from packing my laptop and heading back up the hill. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not lazy.

So, from here on out, this is how things will go.

Musings and blogs about writing will still come at random.
Type 2 Tuesday will be released every Tuesday morning.
Other Flash fiction will come randomly every Friday, but the Flash fiction revolving around everyone’s fallen angel, Joshua, will be released every Friday morning.

For the duration of the series, Universal Warrior Uprising will also be released every Friday morning. For those of you who have tuned in for a long time, and may have dropped off, I invite you to get back into it before the final chapter in two months. All chapters are now under fifteen hundred words (I shoot for under a thousand), and this is a great time to get to know all of the characters again.

Expect the artwork to be recommissioned, too…

I will continue to do reviews, but only upon request. Reviews will come on the Friday following the week I receive the request. I’ll send you an email to confirm that I got it, I’ll take a week to review your story, and I’ll let you know when it’s posted.

So that’s about it. Thanks for reading, and thanks even more for bearing with me. Best of luck to everyone in their endeavors, and may your journey have a happy ending!

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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You know why I’m so often doing the dishes? Because I’m grateful to have dishes to do.
It wasn’t that long ago, you know; four years, forced to bed at ten thirty and forced up at six. Eating what you were told for breakfast and them left to fend for yourself for the day. The streets of North side Saginaw were not kind.

Now, I work from two computers in my apartment. I can go to bed and get up when I want. If I’m hungry, I can eat whatever I want. I can get myself to and from wherever I need to be (and I’m blessed with good friends). I can watch (or record) whatever I want on TV, and I can play just about anything I want, when I want. One year into a writing career, I have a flipping book coming out.

Sure, things could get better, they always can, but they can get a lot worse, too, and it drives me crazy when people forget that. So many people transition from their parents home to college or an apartment without ever fathoming the possibility of something really bad happening along the way. Truthfully, I’m a bit jealous of everyone I know who had a good upbringing, and I’m very resentful of it at times. When people tell me how they disagree with their parents, I always tell them; at least you can go home.

I often feel that it’s my past that isolates me from everyone else. Who could possibly relate to all of it? Only a few I’ve shared it with have remained my friends. Others have shunned me, or worse, tried to “save” me. I don’t need saving; it took me a very long time to get here, and I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m damned because of how I look at the world.

Then again…
If I’m frustrated, I resort to anger. Confused? Resort to anger. Scared? Resort to anger. At work, low on the boards, I look for reasons to get angry. I focus better when I’m angry; it’s almost a symbiotic relationship I have with rage. If I use it when I need to, then it doesn’t overwhelm me. I’ve lived this way for a very long time, but again I find myself asking; when does the beast consume you? Maybe there is a better way. I want to find it, but I’m afraid of releasing something that I’ve held onto for so long. But maybe there’s something better waiting for me.

I know I didn’t post my type 2 blog this week; I’m sorry. Things have been hectic. I’ve given up running; many people have warned me of the dangers of running on concrete, and my knees can’t take the pounding anymore. I walk to and from work, which is about a mile each way. The idea is to keep your heart rate up, which doesn’t have to be accomplished through running. I also went on a bit of a binge last week, which resulted my sugar going up to about one ninety (dangerously high, I know). I still do aerobics and martial arts in the morning; it’s come back down.

My first Machinima film is still about a year off, realistically. All of my research points to knowing your engine really well (and I have the Sims, currently). Not only do I not know the engine, I’ve never even played the Sims before. I figure the extra time will allow me to plan exactly what I want to do (I’ve chosen a song and plot), so I’m not rushing.

Speaking of planning, I will never again do another story like Uprising, and I can’t wait to do the movie. Uprising was planned week to week, and now with less than ten chapters to go before the epic conclusion, I find myself having to clean up something I did weeks ago. The story’s popularity has plummeted because of my mistakes, and ‘Joshua’ which I did plan out, both story and execution, has been very warmly received. I love the learning process, but the bumps can be unforgiving.

So…I guess that’s it. My life, or what I care to share of it, in under a thousand words. Hope you enjoyed the read, see you next week.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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