Part 1: The Dreaded Question & Where to Start
People who don’t write often ask this question: where do you get your ideas?
It’s true that, when you look at a finished product, a story appears like magic. This strange person mysteriously came up with out-of-this-world idea that you would have never thought of. Obviously, writers have some kind of special power that allows them to conjure up endless ideas for their stories.
But that’s not really what happens.
Like all forms of art and creativity, writers write because they love it. Or they should—there are always periods of burnout. What inspires me to write is my love of story and the incredible notion that I too can do what people like Tolkien, Gaiman, and Clarke do.
I, personally, think writers don’t like the question, “Where do you get your ideas,” because that’s so far and away the last thing we even worry about. We already have the ideas percolating in our heads. The real challenge is, you know, actually writing them out.
Writers work so hard trying to take their ideas, put them on paper, and have them come out in a form that’s not only understandable, but at the same time relatable and unique, and entertaining. It’s not an easy task. So, when someone asks us the dreaded question, it’s almost insulting.
Because an idea is literally just the beginning of the journey.
Continue reading Where Do Writers Get Ideas?
What is the best kind of fruit? I ask myself this question on an almost daily basis.
If you ask me, the best kind of fruit doesn’t require a lot of work to be eaten. Some might say the raspberry. I don’t like those kinds of people. Raspberries are a false fruit. A kind of sinister scheme cooked up by bog farmers to spruce up their cranberry juices.
Cranberries get on my nerves as well. Why do they taste so bad? And why do they put them in so many juices? This must be some kind of conspiracy. Fifty years ago, cranberry farmers bought up acres of land from the U.S. government. Bogland, they called it. Finding that their barley crops could not grow, they had to find a suitable seed to plant.
Now, they have metric tons of cranberries that stink up storehouses the world over. What else are they going to do with them but stick them in our juice?
There are only two kinds of juices that matter: orange and apple. And even apple is pushing it.
Why do I want to drink the fruit equivalent of urine? It even smells like urine if you leave it out for two weeks on the window sill.
Continue reading Out in the Sun for Too Long: Fruit
It’s been a while since I updated the website. My apologies for folks who’ve been looking for more Wizard of Quippley comics.
The comic’s not dead, but I’m taking a break. I’ve been putting all my creative energy into brand new Silas Black short stories that will be available as e-books on Amazon and other storefronts!
In the meantime, I’ve been recording new Better than Reading Podcasts with my buddy Mike. Feel free to check that out on iTunes!
The Strange Case of Cradle Hills
by Adam Casalino
Sometime in the late 90’s:
“Do you believe in aliens?”
“You know, aliens. Creatures from another planet?”
Silas Black lowered his newspaper. He looked at the small blonde girl with pigtails who was counting out his change. She stared at him with bright, unblinking eyes. It was creepy.
“I know what aliens are,” the man said.
“I saw this TV show where a man was abducted by aliens,” she said. “They took him aboard their ship. They… did things to him.”
Silas folded his paper and tucked it under his arm. “You watch too much TV, kid.”
“So, you don’t believe in aliens?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see a man about a demon.”
Continue reading The Strange Case of Cradle Hills, a Paranormal Mystery
The Christmas Angel
A Paranormal Tale
by Adam Casalino
Silas Black didn’t like the woman very much. He thought it might have been her nose. No, it wasn’t that. It was her smile. She had a wry smile. It made her look smug. Silas didn’t like people who were smug. Some people called him smug. But they confused smugness with knowing stuff.
This woman knew stuff. Too much stuff.
People flocked from all over the city to see her. From the outer boroughs, even. She had started in a small tea shop. Now she appeared in an off-off Broadway theater. Soon, people from outside New York would be flying in to see this medium. As the city’s only paranormal detective, it bothered Silas.
It could hurt business.
Continue reading The Christmas Angel, a Paranormal Tale