Faith Larson's Blog, page 3

This is probably one of my more controversial articles, but I think it’s important to address this. For those who don’t know, Cancel Culture is essentially where one person who is usually well known on the internet does something that is called out for being problematic. In return, a lot of people and fans will do something called #cancelling. They boycott the person, defame them, and try to flood the internet with what the boycotted person has done.

First of all, this isn’t always bad. If somebody has done something recently, shown no reasonable remorse (Hello apology videos with eye-drops!) and especially continues to resume the problematic behavior, they deserve it. When cancel culture first started, it was directed more at people who were never fully called out for their bs, like Shane Dawson for example. It was a reasonable way to create backlash against those who felt they were invincible and never responsible for their actions.

The issue begins when people get too caught up in the pursuit of drama, with no regard to the fact that celebrities are, in the end, also people. There have been cases where old tweets from 2008, when some of these celebrities were young teens, are brought up and used to defame them. When the cancelled party explains their beliefs have changed and offers a genuine apology, along with a history of not repeating that behavior, it becomes a problem when the cancellation continues.

People change. As we grow older, many of us realize that our old beliefs were harmful and built upon false narratives. I believed a lot of things as a child that I would never agree on now. The issue with cancel culture is that it sometimes refuses to accept that people can change and grow. Nobody is perfect, and in fact most of us have said problematic things at one time or the other. The refusal to accept a genuine apology or realize people can change is the key issue with cancellation.

Cancelling them for something they are genuinely sorry about is not going to help anybody. Do your research before you try to end somebody’s career, even if it’s just a stranger behind a screen.

Perfectionism in writing is one of the hardest things to overcome. Especially once an author has gotten further along in their manuscript and looks back at their older writing. Yikes! When I wrote A Soul Made of Cinders, my debut novel, I looked back at the first few chapters and considered seriously rewriting them. I felt that I had reached a point where my descriptions were smoother and less clumsy, my dialogue fresher. Yet, when I opened a new document to attempt a rewrite, I discovered that it read nearly the same! Frustrated, I googled various things about authors being unhappy with their manuscript, and discovered a piece of advice that has saved many future manuscripts.

After writing, sit back and leave it alone for a week. When you think your writing feels awkward or clumsy, it will read that way to you. It’s important to give your brain time to drop the assumptions about your novel, so you can read it with fresh eyes. After a few months, I did rewrite a few quick scenes, but I found that I was happy with things that I cringed over initially.

It’s unfair to expect your debut novel to read like a bestselling author’s work, or even the second or third. What is important is to get yourself out there, work on your foundation of writing, and build additional skills overtime. The truth is that it’s unlikely you will ever be 100% satisfied with your writing. You’ll learn new tricks over time, and improve with every word you write. Instead of giving up because there are people who are doing better, remember that everybody had to start somewhere. It’s those who never try that are doomed to fail.

     It was only a matter of time until the next pandemic. Despite what some conspiracies say, the coronavirus didn’t spread because of some grand plan to make America look stupid(we do that on our own). It spread because humans are-quite frankly-gross. 

     So, it was no surprise that another pandemic started. What is surprising is how people handled it. Masks, something that is not uncommon to see in asian countries day to day before this pandemic even started, became politicized. Right versus left. Good versus evil. The human mind is quick to form opinions and stances, and then brutalize those on the other side. So, something that should have been a matter of slowing the virus and extending courtesy towards our neighbor, turned into this incredibly embarrassing war on masks. 

     Once again, America looks stupid. Truthfully, this was never about masks. Some people believe this is the first step in a direction that leads to tyrannical government. While I don’t believe that, I suppose if I squint and stand on my head, there is reasoning to their beliefs.

     However, this led to further escalation. Now, the death rate is high in states such as North and South Dakota, where regulations on masks were never enforced and nobody followed protocols that they didn’t have to legally follow.

     The issue that I believe is causing escalation of the pandemic is explained simply. Most of us have a god-complex. Other people get sick. Other people can’t do gatherings with friends, but none of your friends are sick, so what’s the harm? People are literally dying of Covid-19 in hospital beds and denying that they ever had it in the first place. 

     It’s just the flu, right? Only a common cold. Might suck when you have it, but of course you’ll recover from it no problem! You deserve to go to dinner, you deserve the movies, because the people dying of Corona were people on their deathbeds anyways, right?
    This is wrong. It is saddening that many people have not realized their own stupidity until it cost them their lives. I’m not saying that you should never leave your house or order chinese.

I’m saying that this pandemic is a real awakening to some people, and the lesson is learned too late. Don’t make the countless deaths pointless because we intertwine politics with things that should not involve it, and escalate the death rates. Wear a mask, don’t go to a fifty person house party, take some time to get to know yourself and invest in a peaceful stay at home hobby.

     Don’t think that you’re immune. Every death is a waste, regardless if it was caused by ignorance.

The amount of times I have seen people decide not to do or wear something because they fear judgement is ridiculously high.

Well, to preface, there are some exceptions to “the flamingo sock dilema.”

You might not want to pull your pants down in Walmart. Maybe you should reconsider that nap in the Taco Bell Drive-thru. But if you are seriously concerned about whether those pair of pants you want are too bright, or if you feel that you can’t talk about your interest without seeming childish, consider me your wake-up call.

People who don’t support you being your authentic self, are not people that deserve to be around you. Imagine how much better the world would be if we all expressed ourselves. Not just in the ways that make us seem cool, but also the ways that make us happiest. For instance, I once wore a plush bunny backpack almost every day for a year. Why? Because I wanted to. Because it made me happy. Because I genuinely liked that backpack.

Something else to add is the fact that quite frankly, outside of high school, most people don’t give a sh*t. I literally could go without wearing socks or shoes in my local town center and nobody would say anything until I got kicked out by security. We are all in our own little worlds, and to ourselves, we’re all the main characters. Even if somebody makes fun of you for being quirky, a lot of the time it’s a projection of their own insecurities. Seeing somebody be brave, different and honest is something that might intimidate those who are not quite as happy with themselves as you are.

In conclusion, life is short. Don’t pretend to be somebody you aren’t for your whole life because you’re scared of what others might think of you. Putting yourself out there are your true self can be scary, but it’s addictive and exhilarating as soon as you do. Try doing it in baby steps. Maybe with a fun pair of colorful socks, covered by boots?

One of the main problems facing the writing community is a lack of upfront honesty. A lot of people tend to think that when you publish a book, the hardest part of the process was writing it. As many authors learn too late, one of the most difficult parts of becoming an author is simply finding your audience. One of the top suggestions when you search “How to Become a Full-time Author” is usually to write what’s popular at that time.
I don’t argue that this isn’t true, but for those of us who tend to prefer less common genres, this can be an issue.

If you prefer to write, for instance, mystery or thriller, that’s great! But nobody should ever write something they aren’t interested in just for the sake of sales. The journey will be harder if you publish something less popular, for instance in my case horror novels. It can be difficult to find good reviewers for your novel since the general public may be biased against you. The same goes for those who publish non-fiction work about specific topics. It’s hard. Something to remember is that there are lots of free options for getting reviews. I would never recommend paying for review sites, although offering a free copy in exchange for an honest review is always a good idea.

My point is, don’t be disheartened. You get what you put in the work for. Market, maintain a website, reach out to people that you think would enjoy your novel, and repeat. Everyday that you work towards your goal, you will get closer. Even those who publish traditionally will always have to do this. Also, don’t focus entirely on your first novel. It’s very unlikely to make it big off of your first novel. Give yourself a small break after publishing the first book to start fresh, and then move on to the next one. Successful authors are those who normally publish around one book every one or two years, usually. There are exceptions of course but this is the model you want to try to follow.

Best of luck to those struggling. Someday you’ll look back and be amazed at how far you’ve come.

  Flashing lights from the street lamp bounced off his latex mask in a seizure of energy. 

He watched as the lights turned on from underneath the gap between the curtain and window. She wasn’t his victim tonight. The man turned on his heel, pointing towards the house at the end of the block. His eyes, dark gray and emotionless, focused glassily on a couple getting out of their car. They were young and drunk, barely able to contain themselves until they made it inside. The man unlocked the door as the woman stupidly clung to his back, slobbering on his neck like a dog with a bone. He turned to meet her, shutting the door behind him with a soft thump. 

The house lay still. The man outside waited a moment, watching as the lights in the bedroom flicked on. He trailed a gloved hand along the trees as he walked through the clearing behind the homes.

     It was a secluded, suburban paradise that boasted small town bragging rights and minimal security. He climbed the fence and crept towards the hatch on the ground.

He had scoped out this area before. An iron cutter was produced from a holster on his belt as he knelt down towards the cellar entrance. 

The chain, old and rusted, was snipped in under thirty seconds. 

Slowly and carefully, he lifted the wooden door and lowered himself into the depths within.

     It was pitch black when he closed the door behind him. 

He held out his arms, cautiously navigating his way through the mostly empty basement, until he found the gleam of light coming from the basement door.

     The man steadily crept up the stairs, mindful of any creaking. 

He pressed his ear against a door. The couple was talking elsewhere in the house. 

The door was pushed open slowly, his eyes blinking rapidly as they adjusted to the sudden light. He was in a long hallway that led all the way to the living room. 

Voices came from the closed bedroom at the end of the hall. 

     Mindfully, he closed the basement door behind him. The man stood up, turning his head to take in all routes of escape. The house design was very similar to a tunnel. 

One voice grew louder, and his head snapped back towards the sound. 

     The man was about to exit the bedroom. Quickly, the intruder stepped into the open room beside him. It was a quaint bathroom, with few hiding places. 

Instinct overtook him, and he stepped into the shower, closing the surrounding curtain. 

It was a dusty pink color, cheap and tacky yet reasonably thick.  

     The male’s footsteps sounded out as he trotted down the hall, whistling a bad rendition of some long-forgotten song. He stepped into the bathroom, flipping the light on and locking the door behind him. Stopping in front of the mirror, he smoothed down his hair and gargled with mouthwash before turning towards the toilet.

     Since he was already in his underwear, the process was one step. 

After he was done, he flushed and headed back to the sink to wash his hands. 

  The water was taking a while to warm up. He absently read the toothpaste bottle while he waited, clearing his throat before spitting into the sink. The water was nice and hot now, but the sink was clogged. 

He cursed, sticking his hand into the steaming water and feeling for the drain. Girls always did this. Their hair created more problems than it was worth. 

His finger grazed a slimy lump, and a smile danced to his lips. He’d tease Suzie about this when he got back to the bedroom. 

     The force of a grown man rudely interrupted his thoughts. Before he could scream, a gloved hand closed over his mouth, the other gripping his neck with intense force. The victim’s hands grappled for the pressure at his throat, but the water left him slipping along the glove with weak panic. His eyes shot up towards the mirror built above the sink. 

The intruder behind him wore a fetish mask that only showed his eyes, and a dark long sleeve shirt. They made eye contact in the mirror, which was broken rapidly. 

     Before he could comprehend what was happening, the masked man bent him over, shoving his face into the steaming water. It had still been running during the attack, 

 and heating up more with every passing second. The man’s eyes and face burned as he struggled against the attacker with all his might. 

     He was held down so firmly that his efforts barely showed, and the water only splashed a few drops over the sink. Only when the man was completely still did the figure let go of his neck. Gently, he carried the corpse into the bathtub and laid it down.

The intruder pushed the man’s hair away from his face, almost lovingly. He envied him. Beautiful and unblemished in life and death.

    He turned to go. The woman was still alive. 

    Suzie draped herself over the stained comforter, texting on her phone a mile a minute. 

Carson was off doing who knows what, so she took the time to send her boyfriend a cute selfie and waited for a reply. She felt mildly guilty about what she was doing. He was Sam’s coworker, they’d met while she waited for her boyfriend to go on break, 

and they hit it off instantly. 

    Sam, her boyfriend of three years, was definitely cute. He was sweet too, but there was more to a relationship than that. There was chemistry that was missing. Suzie wasn’t an awful person, she decided. She was just making a hard decision for both of them. 

     There was a small thunk somewhere inside the house. 

She couldn’t be bothered to investigate. Carson had probably knocked something over. 

The masked man headed for the bedroom, closing his hand over the blade in his pocket. 

The clock in the hall chimed midnight. He pulled the door open slowly, stepping into the doorway as his eyes locked on to Suzie’s.

She looked up from her phone as confusion washed over her. 

     “Um, Carson? What the fuck are you wearing?”

     He didn’t speak, taking another step closer. 

The woman noticed a pair of handcuffs clipped onto his belt buckle and playfully bit her lip. This was a prime example of why Sam just wasn’t working for her. Only Carson would pull something like this. 

     “Oh, are we role playing? Are you the big nasty burglar man who broke into my house?” 

“I can get behind this.”

She cast an appraising eye over his body, appreciating the muscle definition showing through his shirt, before tossing the cover off and standing up.

The woman was dressed only in her underwear, and the man’s eyes shifted to her bare breasts for a moment, before returning to her face.

     “What the hell, why not?” Suzie said, more convincing herself than anything.

He watched her as she stepped closer, the alcohol in her swarming her system. 

Suzie didn’t register the fact this man was taller and thinner than her previous partner. 

There was so much alcohol in her system that it was hard to register anything at all. Nor did she notice that he tensed as she came closer, his hand not moving from his pocket. 

She came within a foot of him, stretching her hand out to stroke his latex mask, 

before leaning up on her toes towards his face.

  “Please, mysterious man, I’ll do anything if you don’t steal my vinyl record collection.” 

  He moved finally, putting a hand around her waist and drawing her closer to him, 

leaning his head towards her lips.

“I can’t kiss you, doofus,” Suzie said with a laugh. “Your mask…”

She reached up, curling her fingers around the bottom of his mask—

     “Your breath smells like dog shit.”

Suzie froze. The intruder watched as her eyes widened, lips parting in horror.

Her scream was cut off by his knife plunging into the back of her neck. She gurgled, hands clutching at his chest, before falling still.

He let go of her waist and let the rapidly bleeding body crumble to the floor. 

Noah left the corpses where they were. There were no fingerprints, no witnesses, no cameras. He wanted them to be found.

The best way to describe the problems with short term gratification is the example of cut flowers. They’re romanticized as the ideal gift, and yet they’re really…morbid. As soon as you cut the stems, the flowers start to die.

I don’t argue that a bouquet of flowers is lovely to look at, and as soon as it’s placed into a vase with water, we think to ourselves, “Great! Now they can live a little longer!” when in reality, we’ve literally amputated them from the root, and for what? Because they are beautiful, quick, and low commitment.

Why are cut flowers considered a better gift than a potted plant? Well, one may argue that the potted plant takes upkeep, sure, but the main reason we do that is because simply put, we don’t have patience to grow and nurture the plant-in most cases. This is a slightly dramatic example of short term gratification.

We cut and bleach our hair on a whim for the sake of excitement. We eat a full bag of chips in one sitting because it makes the movie on television more fun to watch. Exercise is skipped because today is not the day to do it, but maybe tomorrow? It’s a dangerous game to play into, and one I admit I’ve fallen for countless times.

There’s no fool proof answer to defeat the lure of instant gratification. The only way to avoid falling for it is to constantly think of the future, which is a stressful way to live. Yet, it’s certainly better than waking up forty pounds heavier one day and thinking “where did I go wrong?”

For the record, I’m not saying you should never buy cut flowers. The opposite of instant gratification is long term gratification, and we can’t exactly live unhappily for twenty years until those sweet retirement funds hit us.

My only point is that we should try to cultivate our happiness, think about where it will leave us in the future if we act the way we want now, and consider picking up a gardening book or two.

The scent of wilted flowers in stale vase water is stronger than the sweet scent of a freshly picked rose.

A Soul Made of Cinders bookmark

Here is a free promotional bookmark for anybody who would like one. I plan on printing them out and passing them to local places around me, but I wanted them to be available online as well.

Putting yourself out there is hard. You present your name and face, and wave it all to the world going, “Hey! Look at me! Please don’t make fun of me on the internet!”

Where to begin? My name is Faith Larson. I am nineteen years old, twenty by the time somebody discovers this blog. I’ve been writing since I was about six years old, although the reviews I would have received on those charming creations would make a grown man cry.

My novel, A Soul Made of Cinders, is currently being edited. It will be up by October on Amazon and Barnes and Nobles. I put the novel up before it was ready because I was stubborn and refused to see the flaws I skipped over. Surprisingly, it did not garner bad reviews.

That was when I learned something new. As soon as I sent it off to an editor, turned off the computer screen, and leaned back in my chair, it hit me.

Holy shit! I’m terrified. Here I am, putting my name out there, my face, slapping it on to a debut novel, and throwing that out into the world. Suddenly I have to market myself, and worry that one day I’ll run into a reader while wearing lime green crocs and booty shorts on the weekly milk run. Or worse yet, what if nobody reads it? What if nobody cares?

Well, all of that is wild speculation. I know what the worst possible outcome would be. It would be me never even trying, giving up on my dream, and deleting the manuscript.

So, hey! My name is Faith Larson, I’m an aspiring horror novelist, and my debut novel will be hitting shelves shortly. I’d love for you to follow me on the journey of a lifetime, no matter where the destination leads.