The Grey Tower of the Forest

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The menacing black castle–

gathering souls; full and yet unfilled.

Across the forest landscape, the sky hangs in the balance.

Where godrays like a sword, penetrate the marble-white clouds.

Shattering the sky with the sun.

Light surrounds the forest all around, slicing through green-leaf trees.

Tackling brown branches, and descending down deep into the everglades.

Where the elves in all their wonder, frolic the lily fields. Grass is just a pasture, meant for barefoot maidens. The vines are nature’s ladder, and the trees the step stool.

There off in the distance among them all, is a cruel greyscale’d tower.

As tower as tower as tower can be;

Beckoning for thee.

It has no enemies, and has no allies. It contains only darkness.

That one spot on the dystopian-white canvas, that daylight can’t erase. And like a watchtower, it stalks the fields. Built by ancient mortar, the castle stares forth in judgement.

Judging the way the elves hold hands, judging their bow and arrows.

Judging the humans and the orcs, and all life around.

The tower receives no visitors, and has no armies. It just sits and sulks like a grey rock in a crystal lake; awaiting what many there are too afraid to partake in.

The gathering of curious souls, longing for adventure, to invade the mold and decay of its ancient corridors. Haunted by misdirection.

Tropes to avoid-The Johnny Boy Failed (The Lover Fail trope)

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Imagine a story that involves a male protagonist. They had a plot that was simple: defeat the dragon, and save the kingdom.

And so, they go on this massive, large adventure, only to discover this beautiful princess in a castle. She had been imprisoned by the locals of the village for crimes unknown to the reader and protagonist.

The male knight falls in love with her and frees her. Together they spend the remainder of the story falling more and more in love with each other, only to come and realize that the princess was the dragon destroying the protagonist’s kingdom.

She transforms horribly into a dragon against her will, and the knight is forced to kill her. He saves the kingdom, but he’s now a depressed recluse, and can never truly accept his victory, and this leaves readers and viewers feeling like the protag just wasted his time, and that the entire love scene was pointless bloat.

That’s the Johnny Boy Failed Trope.

This overused and out-of-date trope features a protagonist who loves a supporting character, only for the love to end in vain; it’s a depressing way to write a plot, and leaves no fruit at the end.

I call this bad trope this, because it takes up after the last Valentine’s Day episode of Johnny Bravo, where after getting rejection after rejection, finally meets a love interest that loves him back, but they wind up never being able to be together, because she’s in the “FBI” so after spending the entire day together, she wipes his memory of them ever being together.

Stupid, isn’t it? Why can’t they just be together, dammit? Exactly. That’s the problem with this form of storytelling. Now imagine if we did this for 4 seasons, built a core audience, and then disrespected them with this unsatisfying ending that makes people feel sad.

This is why we should never use it.

Many well-known stories have used this trope; Samurai Jack, Johnny Bravo, Dexter’s Laboratory, even the Teen Titans and the anime Tenchi Muyo, Futurama—the list goes on

…And it all ends the same; make a perfect lover, rip her from his arms.

These flawed stories are usually written by writers who, for some unknown reason, may feel some type of way about their personal relationships. Maybe they never experienced true love, or maybe they’re some 40-year-old virgin, I dunno, and they use this plot as a moral to push a personal agenda or wage a sexist vendetta against relationships that seem too good to be true and force it to be so in the story.

The reason, why this doesn’t work, is because as discussed, this leaves a bitter resolution that fails to captivate or solve the problem presented. It also makes people sad, and as we all know, people blot out sad stories from their minds. No doubt 10 years later, people will be more likely to remember Sleeping Beauty in Disney’s golden age, than the ending to Samurai Jack; because fans will be happier to tell that story than tell their kids about the one that just sucks.

It’s ok to let your male and female protagonists score and let them find true love. Don’t be ashamed to let them get it easy and allow the story’s resolution to involve one where both win in the end, and there is no sorrow.

Go on, and let the knight be able to cure the dragon-princess with a magical potion, and turn her back to his dotting lover. Or let that wandering samurai get the girl in the end—Go on, let Johnny Bravo get to marry his FBI lover already. This will let fans breathe easy, offer a TRUE resolution to the conflict, and allow the story to actually end, instead of leaving things feeling pointless and half-finished.

Take it from your O’l Uncle here,

you don’t want to end things on a sour note with your novel, unless you plan on ending it on a good note in the end, otherwise you’re gunna have a bunch of angry disgruntle fans, and a lot of people second-guessing reading any more of your works, for fear of it containing the sad ending.

-Sincerely, Everybody’s Favorite Uncle, Gregory Thomas

From the Cold Black #4

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The Cold Soul follows the road down the rabbit hole;

the cold soul with a rock attached to it, sinking deeper into sin. The cold soul goes down the rabbit hole-road alone.
The Shadowrealm is like a blood-less corpse; it’s been stabbed over and over many times, and still the body remains. A disembodied corpse floating in pitch black darkness makes no sound.

And eyes seeing and darting in shadows, is never found.

The mind flowing in darkness is never sound; but the inside of the skull is dark.

The body is full of darkness, for there is no entry; illuminated only by soul-light.

There is boredom in the surface world; boredom like an ungodly plague. But once you get underneath of the skin, there is boredom there as well, and boredom everywhere.

From the Cold Black #3

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As do we all, the lion gets paranoid in the dark.

Where everything in shadow, looks like a shadow;

the constantly looking from the blinds;

the slipping away of the mind.

The million eyes watching, and the unknown source after source a ‘stalking.

Where the mind is severed from the skull; like a severed skull.

Floating and fidgeting in a flickering light–

Paranoia with all its might.

The cold, cold soul falls deep into the bottomless rabbit hole, where the playground has landmines.

The weary wanderer follows the invisible road, where everywhere is a noise; heard in the dark–

every tree branch outside is a gunshot; every silent cry, a knock, or an overbearing shout–

in the cold cruel dark, there is hyper sound. Where everything small is loud, and everything lost is just awaiting to be found.

From the Cold Black#2

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When you make it to the top, you get paranoid.

The shadowrealm is filled with traps with no spikes on one side, and traps with grenades on the other.

What is male, morphs form female, and what is female, morphs its form masculine.

The formless soul exists and yet doesn’t exist.

Having shape, and being shapeless; is the mind made of play-do.

Molded by propaganda hands, and viewed by severed eyes.

A black hand reaches forward through the darkness; severed, and belonging to the dark.

Unlocked like a key through the many-webbed spire.

When you make it to the top, there is nowhere else; it is but a void.

From the Cold Black #1

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There is a black hand reaching forward in the aether.

There is nothing to retrieve, and no way out.

It is a cold severed hand reaching forward in the darkness. Retrieving nothing.

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Surrounded by truth, the best way to find it, is in the darkness.

For the light will say there is no darkness, and the darkness will say there is no light.

Surrounded by a web, taking different forms, the soul is in a magnanimous void;

where the only truth deployed is the truth hidden from daywalkers above ground;

the net has no sound; there are many tour guides around.

There are liars and truth sayers.

There are corridors, and there are lairs.

Where the soul like a rock sinks deeper into sin; in where the explorer descends, is where cold eyes begin.

The Towering Doubt

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The cold lonely soul follows the road.
Follows the road in vain, does the cold and lonely soul.
Where eyes in the lurking shadows watch lonely soul. And judges.
Like being watched by archers, with fidgeting faces, wroth with hate, are they; the bearer of grudges.
The trees unlock a new fear;
Towering doubt.
Where dead bodies of the lost, young and old, swing in the absolute silence within this drought.
Wet eyes are just organs making wet organ-eye sounds. With each fling, tears reshapen, the very core within their skull-prison house.

America, the open air prison, where freedom is a jogger with a key; the inmates are indeed, free to leave,
But there is never a need to leave the house.
An open-aired prison, does this wandering house-soul, roam alone

My brand-new novel Greyward :)

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Hello fam, it’s Gregory Thomas again!

I wanted to let you know about a new novel of mine. It’s called Greyward!

Greyward is a scifi dystopian set in the 22nd century of America.

It features 18-year-old Mable, a New Jersey girl insanely obsessed with her favorite pop singer group Jodie Jodeci, and their lead singer Jody Jodie.

Crippled hopelessly with her obsession over Jody Jodie, the Thought Police snatched her up, and tossed her in the infamous Greyward. There, she meets new friends, soaks in the brutalist structure, and tried not to think about Jody.

A scifi suspense/comedy, I wrote this as a spoof against Taylor Swift fans, “Swifties” I was joking about the novel at first, but then it started getting good, and I decided to turn it into a book. Honestly, this is one of those works it’s better if you just read for yourself, than if I tell you.

Here is a Chapter 1 sample. Enjoy!

-Sincerely, Gregory Thomas

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*Note: This work is PG-13, with mild cursing, and themes.*


Chapter 1

Jody’s Biggest Fan

Jodie Jodeci was an American Pop Rock band, led by the lead singer “Jody Jodie”.

Jodie Jodeci was famous both nationally and internationally, with millions of people traveling to see her band perform; one of her concerts would be so packed, that people at entire football stadiums had to be turned away, because it would turn the building into a safety hazard. Streets would be packed for miles and miles with cars, unable to traverse due to the radically desperate screaming Jodie Jodeci fans trying to see their favorite idol.

In fact, their first #1 chart topper was their song, “Mona, Mona Lisa Smile”, which shot up to number 1 both in America and the UK, and stayed at the top for 2 years straight! People made memes about how popular the song was, and even did amateur covers of the song all across social media. In fact, despite the band’s demographic being made up of mostly female fans, male fans couldn’t help but be enraptured by how popular the band’s songs were.

The band was immensely popular, but the most popular out of the group, was the band’s lead singer Jody Jodie—she was the main star, and the true reason the band was so popular.

In her late 20s, Jody Jodie was a pop icon, she was known for her brunette hair, that would have a single strand painted pink in the front, she had her trademark light brown eyes, and a beauty mark on her left cheek just under her eye. She wore a leopard print scarf, and go-go black boots—overall, her producers dressed her up to appeal to teens, just like her fans.

The band hailed from Birmingham, Alabama…But her biggest fan, was in New Jersey, and her name was Allison Wadenski. She was an 18-year-old Freshman in college, and was unhealthily obsessed with her pop singer/idol. To the point that she took the liberty to dress up like Jody every chance she got.

Allison dyed her hair brown, with one single strand in the front pink just like her hero, and changed her name to Mable—named after Jody Jodie’s strange love for maple syrup.

Mable had brown eyes just like the famous pop star, and took it as a sign that she and her were destined to be together forever.

Having a New Jersey accent, she worked hard and practiced every day to make it sound like she had a southern accent, using slang and a southern draw just like the people from Jody Jodie. All around the house, and all around her classroom, she would walk around with a New Jersey accent that was pretending to sound southern, clothes that would match her favorite pop rock singer, with tiny black go-go boots. Still living with her mom and dad, her bedroom had the band plastered all over the walls—posters of the lead singer by herself, and posters of the band, long blankets with the band’s image on it nailed to the wall, hung over her bed, and even some used as rugs, with Jody’s favorite colors; pink and turquoise, used for most of the furniture; her desk, chairs, even her clothes and closet.

Just like Jody, Mable strived to portray a very animated and bubbly personality; swinging her hair, and constantly resting a hand on her hip, trying her best to come up with witty jokes and catch phrases the same way as she did on television; thus, Mable tended to resemble a 12-year-old kid.

She would paint her nails and toenails pink and turquoise just like her hero, and she would even carry a signature leopard scarf around the neck, just like the pop singer.

Due to her unhealthy obsession with the pop singer, Mable had no friends.

On her outside world, people at school, in her neighborhood, and in her house saw her as annoying, and judgmental of everything that didn’t reflect Jody…And online, her ‘holier than thou’ personality was immensely worse. Starting fan clubs on virtually every social media platform, she would serve as the forum’s leader, blocking, banning, muting, and shadow banning anybody in her Jodi Jodeci fanbases that failed to see eye-to-eye with her visions on how to be Jody’s perfect fan. Alone in her room with nothing but the light coming in through her curtains, she would sit endlessly at her laptop, ruling over the internet with an iron fist.

When she wasn’t online, she was listening to Jodie Jodeci’s music on repeat, bed-rotting with a magnanimous smile, while staring at the posters all across her room. Whatever Mable failed to find success in, in her life, she would find it by pretending to be her hero…And when she wasn’t pretending to be Jody Jodie, she was pretending to be her advisor, instructing all the people around her in a WWJD (What Would Jodi Do?) mindset.

Even her parents weren’t safe from their own daughter’s judgmental behavior. Mable resorted to only eating what her pop idol Jody Jodie eats—the singer worked to keep a light palette in order to stay thin for her performances, and so her mega fan Mable would also stick to the same regiment.

Confused and deeply concerned for their daughter, Mable’s parents were at a loss for words, it was almost unreal how consumed by the band on tv’s stardom completely changed her.

“You’re not from Alabama!” growled Mable’s mom, “You’re from New Jersey! Stop acting like you’ve got a southern accent!”

“But Jody’s got a southern accent!” beamed Mable, “She’s born and raised in Alabama. On her page she says she’s lived there all her life.”

“But Alabama is a trash state!” hissed Mable’s dad with a smirk, “Nothing but hillbillies and beer chuggers live there!”

“It is not! It’s an amazing state! It’s home to some of the best people in the whole wide world! All of Jody’s family lives there!”

Mable’s dad grunted. “Dammit, Jody this! Jody that! When are you gunna cut it out with all this Jody shit, young lady?”

“Henry!” cried out Mable’s mom, “You know how much that band means to Allison, she’s starstruck over them!”

“What the girl needs to be starstruck over Shelly,” Henry began, “Is getting her grades up in college. Look at these low scores, F’s left and right, it’s like she’s skippin’ school for Christ’s sake!”

“Jody never finished high school!” beamed Mable again, “Or went to college. She said she dropped out, and just started singing, and became popular!”

“HA!” grumbled Mable’s dad, “More like she started suckin’!”

“Henry!” hissed Mable’s mom, “Keep that talk outta this house!”

Henry sighed and threw up his hands, and Shelly shook her head and scoffed in annoyance.

Mable crossed her legs at the dinner table, and ate her celery sandwich.

The next day, Mable went back to college.

Midway through the day, she got into a heated disagreement with another student in the hallway about Jody Jodie’s favorite day of the week.

“You’re wrong!” yelled Mable, “Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG! Jody Jodie told me she likes Tuesday, because it’s Taco Tuesday!”

“What are you talkin’ about?” scoffed the other female student, “You don’t know Jody Jodie! You’re crazy! She said she spoke to Jody, you ain’t never spoke to no damn Jody, ahahaha!”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I did speak to her. I sent her a message over her official social media page on PingPong, and she told me, yup; she loves Tuesdays, because of Taco Tuesdays.”

“You ninny! That wasn’t the real Jody Jodie! That’s probably just her agent or some secretary that responds for her! She doesn’t have time to respond to your messages when she’s in a band touring!”

“That was too Jody Jodie! You’re just jealous because I’ve got clout, and you ain’t!”

The crowd of people couldn’t believe how deep Mable and the other girl’s argument was growing, watching helplessly as the two ladies got angrier and angrier.

“I’ve got more clout than you!” hissed Mable, “If you were a true fan, maybe you’d be able to get Jody Jodie to speak to you, like she does me.”

“You klutz! Jody Jodie doesn’t even know you. I keep tellin’ ya she’s got two favorite days, Tuesday and Sunday. She likes Sundays because she doesn’t have to work so hard.”

“Nope! Just one: Tuesdays! She likes that day more, because of Taco Tuesdays!”

“How’s about I Taco YOUR Tuesday, bitch?!”

And that’s when the other girl pushed Mable. Mable pushed back, and before anybody knew it, the two girls were snatching at each other’s hair, and tumbling on the ground in rage.

“OW! Get your hands off ‘a me, ya priss!” hollered the other girl.

“AHH! Let go of me, you crazy bitch!” shouted Mable. “LET GO! YOU CRAZY BIIIIITCH!”

The two fought until both the students and the teachers had to break up the fight, there was ripped strands of hair like a molting cat from the fray all around.

Copyrightcopyright March 29, 2024

Redrum

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There is a brick war, between soul and concrete, with the building unaware of the soul’s intangibility.

Floating through concrete, and yet falling like a rock. Sinking deeper and deeper into sin.

Trapped, like a rat in a cage, is the brain in the skull.

Moving, but still, and going nowhere.

Round, yet cut in half like an apple, are the body’s eyes.

Seeing, and having the ability to see, yet separated from reason.

The skull is just an adult version of a soccer ball, tossed and kicked around by life.

What toys were once used by kids, now have morphed into guns for man-children in their strife.

What were once young, are now old enough for war.

Broken and cold-hearted bedroom-dwellers, with disorders; snatched away from their caves, by desperate cowardly leaders.

Too old to open new doors, and too stubborn to close old ones.

The Gas Masked Valkyrie

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A gas mask is worn by the paranoid soldier, afraid of dying by fate.

Eyes forced open wide, like Lamia’s curse;

the body in fatigues sinks down into the mud and bog, like a hearse.

The soul, like a snake with a gun, burrows knee-deep into the ground;

awaiting orders.

And the soul floating without sound, sinks into the battlefield made all around.

Eyes open, seeing nothing at all; the mind is on stand-by.

The battlefield is in the Homefront; that’s hot coal destined for the eyes.

Green is for grass, and brown is for mud;

Cartoons are for the children, and the shotgun is for Elmer Thud.

On television, there is static; but propaganda calls it rain.

In the sky, there are clouds; but our faith calls it The Great Brigade.

The battle for souls, says Heaven’s Angels, using spears to attack the wicked.

Day by day, mankind sinks further;

from basking in the sunlight, of those who be made witnessed.