Sample Chapter from I Am A Goblin:
(Author, Dizzy Ovadhere, reserves the right to alter this unpublished partial chapter of the next book in the series)
For this book, I went one year of just letting my imagine run as wild as it possibly could in every direction, jotting down notes in my highPhone when nobody was looking, and otherwise, just sticking to the path I set myself up to walk down for a year, and then the following year was the documentation stage. I remember Gabbie yelling at me someone's name, correcting me when I had been hanging out with them day after day for months, and never registered their real name, because she keeps forgetting I've memorized the name they will be in the book, which were still not the names I addressed them with, so nobody's piecing that puzzle together. I guess Gabbie figured that I didn't consider that these were actually human beings, which are prone to get angry, furious, and an assortment of other emotional states when you continue to verbalize the fiction you have running through your mind, even if you warned them in advance when agreeing to write this book, "yo for one year, I'm just gonna be writing a book, that's for a single year, and I'll have to live the fantasy I will turn into fiction by convincing myself it's real. So, just remember that, cause It's gonna seem crazy, but it's just a book."
"Yeah, yeah, shut the fuggup already with that book shit," randomly responded somebody somewhere in the room, acknowledging that they got the point, and I did not have to continue reminding them. Okay, cool… so like five minutes later, not one single person remembered that I was even a writer, let alone going to put together a book with them playing the characters. My own personal yellow brick road, with my choice of who would be the scared crow, the ten man, or the lyin's. Turns out, they were all a bunch of lions, pretending to be wolves as they strutted around in their wolf coats, when really they were much more dangerous than that. It was right when I met Gabbie, a terrible darkness climbed up my spine and warned me of the dangers ahead, but much like a chess, a hasty decision can bring the game to a quick and deadly ending.
Even Gabbie, a few days later, not only totally forgot I'm a writer and going to create a biography for her, written as an autobiography from a man's perspective, which we agreed and shook hands on, but then continued on to remind me, as if I needed an intoxicated illustration of my current form of livelihood, that my occupation is either an accountant or some sort of paralegal or doctor or something. I'm pretty sure he trailed off with a final note of how I'm all three cause I'm jewish, then something anti-Semitic drooled passed his mumbling as he banged his plastic cup on the bar, a surprisngly gentle form of drink request from our beloved leader Gabbie, who collected more on her chin's whiskers than her cleavage, but still managed to find enough of the liquid steam to stream herself into a vomitless dream. Turns out Gabbie was just the enforcer, the queen being the ultimate decision maker, and the damned enforcers were just the one Gabbie and her grizzly-like forearms of masculine repulsion that had me wondering how she was able to convince attractive men into her bed without coercion.
Not to be silly and corny, but as now, you'll notice sometimes I segue into silly thoughts I share with you unwilling readers, but as we continue, you'll see how the anxiety caused by my childhood causes me to diffuse any situation I find in my vicinity, regardless of how affected I would be by the outcome. In my defense, I'm quickly learning, if they ain't bothering me, then when in Rome, leave em the fuck alone. Right? Meh, alright, so now I'm wondering if I should capitalize the queen's title as in: Queen of the Damned? Sure that would introduce some cheesy-ass pre-millennial plotlessness that scores a multimillion dollar budget for its ability to completely ignore all the social, global, economic, and legal issues rotting this country from the inside out, but in all fairness, the same applies to any democracy built upon the premise of a republic, but then turned into a puppet regime, like Caesar's rule sans the mental capacity to dictate as an authoritarian in the best interest of the future of his constituent's children and children's children. So no, the queen is not the dominatrix of death dealers pre-damnation. Still, if G-d is a woman, and the devil is a woman, and they battle each other, then, disregarding the blasphemy of suggesting a fallen angel can wage war on his own Creator with any hope of providing some sort of challenge, right, disregarding that, I'm sure many of thought that the devil deserves the same capitalization and redaction as G-d, but I will not entertain such blasphemy, regardless of my lack of explanation here. It's just not a major point right now, but I assure, it's getting us closer to where we want to be.
I don't know that she cares if her name is capitalized with the same respect as Our Creator, and in all honesty, I'd imagine she'd find it funny, followed by offensive, followed by my conclusion: blasphemous. If you are wondering how the Queen of the underworld would care about blasphemy, then we have a long way to go to unconditional what you have been taught to believe about supernatural beings, deities, and the true nature of existence, regardless of what shade of gray you find yourself identifying with.