The Ten Supposed Mistakes Aspiring Creative Writers Make



Hey, everyone.

 

So, I know last week I said that this week's post I'd be doing one of two things. Turns out I'm doing neither of those. I found a third thing that fired me up. Basically what I've got here is a list of the "ten mistakes aspiring creative writers make." The people I took it from on Pinterest seemed to think it was correct. Me, I had a different take on it. So, let's look at the list, and I'll tell you why it's wrong or right.

 

 

Alright, so here's the list: 

 

1. Wondering how to find an agent or publisher before completing the project.

I don't think this is so much a mistake as it is just getting ahead of yourself. Without the project complete, why should an agent or publisher care about it? But, to tell you the truth, I've dealt with some pretty slow bastards in this business. Hell, I got a rejection letter from an agent a few weeks ago for a query I made like a year ago. I was kind of insulted by the whole thing because the agent actually tried to spare my feelings in her rejection, and I was like, "Bitch, I've already decided to self-publish this book. Address your email to 8 months ago when I might have given a sh*t." Now, I know there's no way she could've known that I had decided to self-publish it, but in this business, when you don't hear from someone for like three months, you automatically assume it's a "no." So, why bother even sending an email to tell them no if the email is dated from the year before? But anyway, there's no reason to contact an agent or publisher until you're finished, unless you know for certain it'll take them so long to respond that you can have it done by then. In which case, you do you and stick it to the system sideways.

2. Waiting for inspiration to hit.

This is a legitimate mistake. You should think of writing as a job; if you're not doing it, you're losing money. Sure, sometimes inspiration can hit like a lightning bolt, but often times you're better off either manipulating your inspiration to make it hit or just setting to work right away. Seriously, just do it. Just write right now.

3. Trying to write something "different."

This one I take issue with because I don't know why it's here. I thought my first novel, Remnants of Chaos: Chaotic Omens (buy it here on Amazon), is different from most of the stuff out there. Now, maybe it isn't and that's why this point is here because nothing's ever really different, or maybe because in some general asinine way it's all different, I honestly don't know which way this one is trying to go, but I don't think there's anything wrong with trying to be different. It might take a while to write something that is truly different, but if you can settle for "different enough," it can totally be done. F*ck this point.

4. Using weak nouns and verbs, and passive voice.

Oh boy, here we go again with this sh*t. Honestly, it's a decent point to make, but so many f*ckers make it that we're beating a dead horse. Not to mention, most writers aren't guilty of using weak nouns and verbs. And I'm pretty sure I've even seen the "experts" use passive voice from time to time. There's just some sh*t you can't get away from once in a while. My other point of contention with this point is that I wouldn't be surprised if most new writers don't know what the difference is between a weak noun and a strong noun. This piece of advice is like saying, "Hey, don't be a square, be cool." There are so many different ways of being square or cool that without a definitive example, this point is completely useless.

5. Deciding not to read in your genre because you don't want to inadvertently plagiarize.

This is another one that I don't understand why it's here. It seems like a legitimate concern to me, especially if you already know the cornerstones and defining qualities of your genre. Now, you might be able to make a strong argument for that you're more likely to plagiarize because you don't know what's out there, but someone should just say that instead of this ass-backward way. On the other hand, this point could be trying to make the argument that because there's no such thing as an original idea, everything's inadvertently plagiarized anyway, so what's the big deal. I mean seriously, I'm working on a project with my uncle, and I showed him my new published novel Remnants of Chaos: Chaotic Omens (buy it on Amazon here), and for a moment he was concerned that he may have been inadvertently inspired by my story because I told him before what it is about before. I thought his worry was redonk because I can see the clear differences between our two stories just fine--I don't know why he can't. It's only in the broadest, most general sense that the two stories are related as in they're both fighting evil. But honestly, I can't be sure what this statement is after because it's too damn vague to begin with.

6. Not outlining.

This is actually a legitimate mistake. Because I didn't outline Remnants of Chaos: Chaotic Omens (buy it on Amazon here), it took me seven years to write. My other novel, Heroes of Majestia: The Company of Flight (buy it on Amazon here), I did outline and I managed to complete it in within a year. An outline keeps you on task and prevents you from wandering, either away or to a different part of the story, while you're working on the story. It helps you to focus on one point at a time as they become important to the developing story.

Take my uncle for instance: our project, no outline. Why? Well, his personality isn't easy to communicate with and he's got that artist thing where everything he does isn't good enough unless someone heaps tons and tons of praise on it, so if I'm not telling him it's good, he starts getting second thoughts. But what's really slowing us down is that only he knows for sure what the story is, but he won't tell me, and he seems incapable of getting any productive work down without me. It's quite frustrating, especially because I've completed multiple projects by myself, and I have a method that works. And a part of that method is outlining. So yeah, outline your story.

7. Not setting aside time to write.

Honestly, with point 2 already on this list, this point is really superfluous. Like I said, think of writing like a job; if you're not writing, you're losing money. So, how do you make sure you're making money? You write every day just like you would at a regular job. And because you have more stuff to do than just write, you're going to need to learn how to budget your time. And because of point 2, there's no reason to say any of this because most people are intelligent enough to work all that out for themselves eventually. It's honestly kind of insulting that someone felt the need to tell someone this.

8. Not knowing what you want to communicate.

This is stupid. This is really stupid. Because every writer gets, oh, what's it called again? "Writer's block," once in a while. It happens to the best of writers. It's not a rookie mistake at all. And sometimes you may know what you want to communicate, but you just don't know the words. Ain't no one said this writing sh*t would be easy. Or at the least, easy all of the time. That's why we proofread and edit. That's why we perfect our drafts before we publish them. Honestly, this isn't a big deal. I can tell you with all certainty that this is going to happen to you, but I can also tell you that it isn't a big deal because you'll get over it. Other writers always do.

9. Never reading a book or taking a class on the craft of fiction writing.

I don't really see this as problem. Some writers have never taken a class, and some writers don't read very often. Hell, if you can write and be successful without doing either of these things, you go, girl!  The universe isn't going to cease to exist just because you can write without ever taking a class or reading a book. Not to mention, everything you could ever need to learn about how to write English you can learn in your English classes. They all cover word order, punctuation, metaphors, adjectives, etc. And just because you've taken a class or read a lot doesn't automatically mean you're going to be a good writer or better than other writers. But, would taking a class or reading a book improve your chances of being a good writer? Certainly. But it's not a requirement.

10. Having an idea for an interesting situation but not having an interesting character.

This one is pretty dumb, too. On the one hand, I'm not sure most new or aspiring writers would be able to realize that they have an interesting situation and not an interesting character, or vice versa. So how are new and aspiring writers supposed to know? But on the other hand, I would think having one would beget the other. I have no idea how any one could possibly screw this up. Kind of like how when you put someone ordinary into an extraordinary situation: how would you expect them to respond? They may not be able to even at the start of it, but as they get more comfortable with the situation, they should become just as interesting as the situation itself. But, just like many of the others, without a definitive example, I don't know how this is supposed to help anybody. For the most part, I get the feeling like this list isn't meant to help anybody; it's just meant to take already experienced writers for a stroll down memory lane when they were terrible at writing. Or, this is a piece of clickbait to get you to go to someone's blog. Regardless, most of this list is really stupid. The only useful bits about it are outline your work, write every day, and don't tease people with unfinished work.

I know I was really sassy and kind of pissy during this blog. I was in a rush because I was trying to prep it for yesterday when I usually release writing posts, and I did watch a bunch of Team Four Star's Dragonball Z Abridged episodes right before working on this post, so I was still feeling that savage wit they use in their writing. But, anyway...

For next week, I hope to write one of the two things I promised for this week. I think the secret to getting them done and sticking to the plan of turning them out is to write them in advance. So, I'll try that and we'll see what happens. So, until next week...

Keep writing, my friends.

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Remnants of Chaos: Chaotic Omens Excerpt: Ballroom Blitz

Chapter I: Ballroom Blitz

 

It was dark—it had always been dark. For nearly a millennium, the sky had been perpetually bleak. A great evil had vexed the world and cast its shadow over the world trying to suffocate the light. But the light was fighting back through its champions. Champions like Azrael Chaos.

Azrael walked the streets of Innsbruck, Austria toward his next assignment in a dank but popular club. The streetlights were coming on, and all around him, people were wandering the streets so self-engrossed that they were completely oblivious to him.

Azrael was a young man, standing six and a half feet tall with reddish-grey eyes, and waist-length white hair. A unique appearance to say the least, but not so unusual for a demon slayer.

He was one of the best. Not only because he was a member of the Chaos family, the first as well as one of the strongest demon slaying families, but he had also been trained by the Maleiorcum[1], demon slayer extraordinaires; and by the strongest Maleiocur[2]—Grand Master Alaric.

Azrael was dressed from neck-to-toe in black clothing with leather boots, gloves, and a duster. The really interesting thing about his jacket though, was that it bore the symbol of the Order of the Maleiorcum: a Gothic cross that almost resembled a sword emblazoned on his jacket’s upper arms. The motto of the Order, Nihil Sine Deo[3], arched above the cross. Arched below it was the phrase Daemonium Interfectorem[4].

And because every demon slayer was armed, Azrael carried a guitar in a vinyl case that he had customized to be equipped with a submachine gun, shotgun, and axe blade. He figured that he wouldn’t need his sword on this assignment.

This assignment was supposed to be an easy job. The manager of a club had discovered that one of his subordinates was a demon. Afraid of confronting the subordinate himself, the manager decided to hire Azrael. It was supposed to be a weaker demon and the pay wasn’t very good, but he needed food and grocers only accepted cash.

Azrael approached the inconspicuous entrance to the club. It was a small stairway leading up into a building with a purple awning arching over it with an orange neon sign above the awning reading “Aphrodite’s Heaven.” As he stepped over the threshold, the bouncer walked up to him to ask for ID, but because he carried an instrument he was freely admitted as performers were admitted regardless of age despite that Aphrodite’s Heaven served alcohol and could host some racy shows.

Azrael walked over to a table and took a chair facing the stage. A waitress clad in a fake vinyl corset and a vinyl skirt barely capable of covering her rear approached his table. Azrael ordered a shot glass and a bottle of scotch, and observed the club from behind his bangs. It was a dark place with lights shooting across the room in an array of colors. The club was roomy with wide open spaces and the occasional load-bearing pillar encircled by a spiral staircase leading to the second floor. People were dancing to some kind of abhorrent music, while others were at their tables talking, flirting, and creating foggy memories.

Azrael’s whiskey came, and he tipped the waitress. As he poured himself a shot, a voice came over the speakers largely distorted by the unnecessary high volume.

“Good evening, everyone. Tonight, Aphrodite’s Heaven is proud to present ‘Exotic Dances of the Dire East.’ So, grab a chair and please enjoy the show.”

Trouble was though that Azrael hadn’t heard the announcement with that much clarity, and after his shot, he had heard it worse. He peered into the shot glass with one eye, felt the inside of it with his finger, tasted it, and decided that the whiskey had been laced. He didn’t touch the rest.

The whiskey had made his mind foggy, so he leaned back and made sure he could remember the finer details of his assignment. He remembered that he would be working with someone else, a woman. Although he persisted that he wouldn’t need a partner, the manager insisted to ensure that the job would be done. He also made sure he could remember what the target looked like, and remembered how it was supposed to go down.

The act was supposed to be done in his partner’s room. She would use her sensuality to lure the target into a false sense of security and hopefully, he would reveal his true nature—demons loved stupid humans and women were their favorite sport. Azrael would then leap in and finish him. But now, his stomach was full of butterflies and he could feel his adrenaline rising. Something was off.

Azrael looked around. People were on edge, and he worried that he’d lose his pay to damages. He also began to wish he had brought his sword. Just then, Rock music mixed with creepy ambient sound effects started playing and the lights hit the stage.

Three women, belly dancers dancing in the gothic style, appeared, and Azrael noticed something strange. Two of the women looked blasé while the third, the middle girl, was smiling. It wasn’t a fake, showy smile either; she was genuinely happy about something. More than once she looked at Azrael and winked at him. What was her game?

Azrael tried to decipher the middle dancer’s intentions, but as the show went on though, he found himself staring intently at the girl. She had fair skin and was about five foot ten. She had raven hair in a long bob cut, and she was full-bodied, but still possessed perfect hourglass curves. She also had the bluest eyes Azrael had ever seen.

She wore a black outfit with a plain top that gave her the support that a buxom girl like her would need and left her beautiful stomach uncovered. She had a skirt that covered her both front and back, but was slit along the sides of her legs. Lastly, she wore a black choker on her neck with oval garnets in it.

Azrael thought she was absolutely gorgeous, and he couldn’t remove his gaze. Not just because he was attracted to her, but because another spell had bewitched him. He knew it wasn’t malevolent though. It contoured itself to his mind, body, and soul just like the most comfortable beds in the world. The spell’s aura was safe, warm, and loving.

He was so comfortable that it took a semi-violent shake from the waitress to snap him out of it. Azrael looked up at her disdainfully. But then she dropped a note onto his table. Written on the note were instructions from his employer saying to “follow the belly dancer with the black and red choker so as to take care of the problem.”

Azrael looked up to the girl who had lulled him into a waking dream. She looked right at him. He had never felt eye contact so tangible before. Then with an extremely subtle nod and point with her chin, Azrael turned his head around slowly in the direction she pointed. There was the target; tall, skinny, and snide-looking. Azrael brushed his calf against the guitar case for reassurance’s sake.

The show then reached its climax with a heavy, quick drum solo and shifting pelvises. Azrael reached for the guitar case when the music died, but stalled when he heard a heavy clapping. The belly dancers, who were bowing to the crowd, looked up as everyone looked around to the target who was approaching the stage, clapping loudly.

Something was definitely off. There was electricity in the air prompting Azrael to grab the handles on his guitar case. Something was about to go down and Azrael prayed that Rock God!, his weaponized guitar would keep him on top.

As the target approached the stage, he said, “What a beautiful performance. All due thanks to our gracious host.” The target turned to the manager who sat on the second floor and a yellow spotlight shone on him.

The mark then walked on stage and wrapped one arm around Azrael’s partner, making her appear very tense. And then a chill shot through Azrael. The room was crawling with demons, and the head honcho was onstage. They were still oblivious to Azrael’s presence though; he had learned how to subdue his aura very well.

“But alas,” continued the target, “this pretty little head will never be seen again.”

Azrael sensed the threat and rose. He kicked his chair out behind him, threw the case up with one hand, caught the bottom with his other, unzipped it at a speed almost inhuman, tipped it slightly so the guitar fell into his hand, and he threw the case away. Finally he performed a complicated but well rehearsed movement with the whammy bar, and two gun barrels slid out from the headstock. He aimed at the mark’s head. “Let her go!”

“Azrael Chaos!” exclaimed the target. “Didn’t expect you here.”

“Yeah, I’m full of surprises.” Azrael was aware that the circle of demons around him was closing-in in some spots, faltering in others, and some were in full retreat. 

“We have you surrounded.”

“None of you are a real challenge,” said Azrael, his aim unwavering. “None of them are above the basic Angel. And you’re barely a Principality yourself.”

“Cocky. But I wonder, is this girl really worth so much to you that you would risk open combat with so many ‘innocents’ around?”

“A human’s worth is always greater than a demon’s.”

“Ah! So, you don’t know her true worth.”

Azrael shrugged. “C’est la vie.”

He rapidly picked the first three strings on the guitar spraying machine gun rounds at the stage. The target grabbed the dancer and jumped off the stage with demonic prowess. Thankfully, Azrael had made sure that none of his fire had endangered the other performers. Despite that, the next instant was pandemonium. People were fleeing for their lives and more than a dozen demons were leaping toward Azrael.

Azrael plucked the fifth string of the guitar, pumped the shotgun by sliding his hand from the seventh fret up to the twelfth, aimed at seemingly nothing but darkness to the left of his head, and plucked the sixth string. A deafening blast came from the end of the guitar along with the death moan of a deterred demon.

He pumped the shotgun and aimed at darkness again. This time, a splatter of guts accompanied the blast and death wail. Azrael continued to shoot seemingly blind into the darkness all the while working his way toward the stage to spot the target who had leapt up to the second floor to deal with the manager.

Azrael tried one of the spiral staircases, but people of all kinds were running franticly down it and screaming. Azrael jumped from where he was onto the stage, which was about ten feet away and chest high. He then repelled off the wall and staircase to get up to the second floor. He landed over the railing gracefully enough to allow a small turn back to blast a demon who had tried to follow him.

After Azrael fought his way through a massive crowd, and at least two more demons, he found his employer lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. He was certainly dead. Luckily, the target had stepped in the blood and left a trail.

Azrael followed the tracks to a door leading to an emergency staircase where he followed the tracks upward. At the roof, he kicked the door open so hard that it broke at its hinges. There, standing near the edge of the building, was the target with one of his arms transformed into a demonic claw with one of the talons across the dancer’s neck. Azrael raised the guitar to the sky, and crossed the roof casually, digging in his pocket for more shells.

“You are a brash one, Azrael Chaos,” said the target in a resonating, demonic voice.

“I am supposed to be one of the best,” replied Azrael, shoving the shells into the guitar’s body. He then finger slid up the neck.

“That’s what I heard, but I never heard you were so careless.”

“What do you mean?” He was genuinely interested but asked in such a way as to mock the mark.

“Discharging your weapon in full view of the public, allowing your employer to be slain; you need to go back to school.”

“First off,” started Azrael, “I’m a demon slayer. All discharges are necessary. Secondly, requiescat in pace, and thirdly…well, I hope I still get paid.”

“‘Rest in peace?’ Is that all you can say for your dire failure to protect an ‘innocent?’”

“Unfortunately. But he’s with Hyperion now.

“As you will soon be.” The demon pointed his claw at Azrael.

Azrael leveled his guitar at the demon.

“After such failure, you would dare to fi—umph!”

The belly dancer had taken the opportunity to back kick the target in the crotch with her heel. As he let her go, she bent him forward and slammed her hip into his face. She then dashed to Azrael’s side who plucked the fourth string on the guitar switching modes and started spraying machine gun fire into the demon’s head and chest. Once the girl had cleared the firing range, Azrael switched back to the shotgun and let the blasts echo as he advanced.

When the demon stopped thrashing, Azrael stopped firing, but he didn’t lower his guitar. He feinted a turn away, but then pressed down the volume dial and flipped the guitar around to hold the neck as an axe blade slid from the body of the guitar. He spun back around, and smashed it into the chest of the rising demon. This time, the target fell to the ground convincingly.

Azrael dusted off his gloves and walked over to the girl. “I hope we still get paid for this.”

“Me, too,” said the girl with a sweet smile. “My name is Nissa Omen, by the way.”

“Pleasure,” replied Azrael unenthused. “You know my name, right?”

“Well… yes. But I would prefer a proper introduction,” she gently prodded.

Azrael groaned. “I am Azrael Chaos.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Azrael Chaos,” replied Nissa. She smiled and looked up into his eyes.

“Lust is… blind,” came a voice from behind them.

Azrael turned around to see the demon, or rather, what was left of him, get up from the ground. The axe stuck out from his chest and didn’t hinder him from walking. “This… isn’t… over,” said the demon between rattling breaths. “I can still move… and I still need to finish my… mission.”

Azrael turned back to Nissa and in a bored tone said, “Do you mind if I waste him right now?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Azrael turned back to the demon, opened his hand casually, and waited a few seconds. Eventually, a huge sword came flying through the air and crashed into the roof of the building. It was a true greatsword: six feet long with a blade that was almost five feet long and six inches wide with the hilt measuring a little longer than a foot. The last foot of the blade ended in two very sharp tines. The pommel was a six-sided diamond and the crossguard had the shape of the Chaos Angel, an intricate, but ambiguous figure that looked to be made mostly of wings. Only Chaos Blades, swords belonging to the Chaos family, held this telltale distinction.

Azrael closed his hand around the grip and lifted it up easily despite its immense size. He walked within striking distance of the demon, lifted the gigantic sword over his head, and brought it crashing down. But it hadn’t met its mark.

The demon used the last of its energy to run around Azrael, pulled out the guitar, and made a grab for Nissa. But it missed as Nissa bent over backwards into a flip and kicked the demon in the head with her bare foot. It smashed his head against a chimney, and spent a few seconds righting itself.

When it realigned its remaining eye with Nissa, she started shaking her hips and it was stopped in its tracks. Azrael stopped to look at the spectacle before him. The demon looked both comforted and in pain. She had paralyzed him with the sensuous movements of her dancing. He would have continued to analyze what he was seeing, but Nissa looked at him. “What are you waiting for?”

Azrael snapped to and brought his sword into both his hands and charged forward. He cut across, back diagonally, launched the demon up with a mighty kick, skewered it, and then jumped into the air catapulting him downward into the roof breaking the concrete into chunks. He then finished it off with a stab down into the spinal cord severing the head off. As the head popped up, a strange force smashed it into dust in midair. Azrael turned to Nissa who had her hip jutting out.

Azrael wiped his sword down with a white cloth, smoke curling up from where the rag met the demon blood, before placing it on his back and walking over to Nissa. When he got to her, she innocently stared up into his eyes as he said, “Miss Omen, you have some explaining to do.”

---

[1] Pronounced Mal-a-yor-cum

[2] Mal-a-yo-cur

[3] Latin: Nothing without God

[4] Lat: Demon Slayer



 

***

 

“It was dark—it had always been dark.”

 

Azrael Chaos is a demon slayer for the Order of the Maleiorcum. While on a job, he meets the beautiful Nissa Omen who can control the minds of others with her dancing. After discovering a plot enacted by the forces of Hell that centers on Nissa, Azrael takes her to the monastery where he completed his training to protect her. But things become more complicated when Azrael’s old rival and suspected demon general, Mammon Zebulun, takes an interest in her.

 

Before the forces of darkness can execute their dastardly plan for world domination and turn the tide against God’s holy warriors, Azrael must face the faults in his faith and find the strength necessary to save Nissa.

 

Let the Gothic Epic begin.

 

***

If you enjoyed this excerpt for Remnants of Chaos: Chaotic Omens, you can purchase it here on Amazon. Available in both Kindle and paperback editions. The Kindle edition is free for download until this Saturday, Oct. 21st.

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Tales of Horror Excerpt: RE: Encounter

Hey, everyone.

So, because I'm not as brilliant as I pretend to be, I totally forgot to post an excerpt from Tales of Horror: Macabre Monsters of Michigan to bait people into reading it. This would have been a great idea for the first day I offered the book for free rather than the last. Yes, that's right. Today is the last day you can download Tales of Horror for free. So, get it today (8/22/17): https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07435BPQR.

After today, I won't be able to make it free again for at least 90 days. So, hopefully the following is enough to whet your appetite.

And if you want to make sure you don't miss another offer like this, subscribe to my Books and Other Writings mailing list: http://eepurl.com/c0sMdb. And if you're into cryptozoology and the paranormal, why not subscribe to my mailing list so I can keep you apprised of the world of weird: http://eepurl.com/c0sNW5.

Alright, here's the excerpt. It's from the short story RE: Encounter. It tells the tale of a man in self-imposed exile and his battle with a terrifying beast that defies explanation.

To: SuperCuteTXNGirl75

From: RichMICHFarmer73

Subject: RE: RE: Stuff

Date: 10 May 2000

Dear Kelly,

It’s okay, you don’t have to be sorry about my parents. I made peace with the whole thing years ago. To be honest, I was never very close with them. I was actually closer to my driver—yeah, we were so well off I had a driver. Y’know, mumsy and dadsy couldn’t spare time to take their little boy to school, esp. when I had to go to school outside of Detroit—I’m sure you know why. But my mother didn’t do much besides read and take care of the little yappy dog that I begged them for. Well, I didn’t ask for Itsy-Bitsy—that bitch. My mother was the one that chose it. Anyway…

My driver, James, was a cool guy. He had originally been a butler in New England for a few decades. A real gentleman, but he would spend his vacations hunting and fishing. He would often tell me how depressed he was to be in the city and how marvelous the great outdoors were. He told me all of his hunting and fishing stories, at least three times each. It didn’t matter to me that I’d heard them before. I loved them all and he was a great storyteller. James and the zoo are what made me really passionate about animals and the outdoors and part of the reason why I don’t like the city. (The city’s already dirty and dangerous by itself.) But after my parents died, I decided that I didn’t require him anymore. I knew how to drive, but I wasn’t allowed to since that was “the help’s job.” When I let James go, I gave him a nice cushy severance pay and I still call him occasionally.

Good to hear you have so much experience with firearms and bows. Now I won’t have to teach you as much when we go hunting. And of course we can go fishing in the Great Lakes. We can do some bowfishing and later some skinny dipping, ha ha ha.

Sincerely,

Rawlin

P.S. Yes, the reason why I write these emails so formally is because of my upbringing.

P.P.S. Uh, you asked about the calf. Unfortunately, he didn’t make it. But, the circumstances concerning his death are a little weird. I’m not sure if you want to hear about it.

To: SuperCuteTXNGirl75

From: RichMICHFarmer73

Subject: Weird Creature

Date: 15 May 2000

Dear Kelly,

Well, if you’d really like to know… A couple of days before I wrote you back last time, something strange happened around here late one evening. I was in the house, reclining after the day’s work. I was sitting at my computer about to write back when I heard a commotion from outside. It was faint but I was able to recognize it as coming from my herd. Believe it or not, cattle make more noises than just “moo.” If they feel threatened, they’ll warn others by snorting and stamping the ground. If they’re distressed or in pain, they do “moo,” but it has a different pitch. Well, I heard this from the house, so I got a flashlight and went out to investigate.

As I got closer to the herd, I could see what was left of a great furor. Dust was kicked up from the ground, the herd was spread out with all the calves on the outside, and there was a distressed moo coming from the center.

When I investigated, I found the calf on the ground ripped apart; his mother was making most of the racket. I had never seen anything like it. Something had bitten into the calf’s neck and tore it out. There were also claw marks on his flanks. Now, this is weird as hell for a variety of reasons: 1. The calves should be in the center of the herd if they’re attacked and the herd should be clumped together. Meaning it was either able to sneak into the herd or was able to break it up. 2. Sometimes wolves will rip open or break the neck of smaller prey, but this is a damn calf! They are not small. 3. There shouldn’t be any wolves on my farm in the first place! There is a fence built around it, but no predator could jump it.

I unfortunately couldn’t inspect the calf too closely because his mother was mad with grief. She almost charged me a few times. So the next day, I called the vet to have him examine the situation and see if he could tell what did it. I had to use Lady and Duke to drive the herd away from the body. He said that it was definitely a predator and looked like a wolf, but the tooth and claw marks were too big. He also mentioned that the herd seemed restless and scared. And to be honest, I’m a little alarmed myself.

About a week ago, I saw this weird creature. I was driving home from a small venture in town picking up feed. I was the only one on a dirt, country road and it’s a long drive, but the day was beautiful. It was warm, so I had my window rolled down enjoying the breeze and I was watching the sunset. The sky was aflame with beautiful yellows, oranges, and reds. But, as I was looking out my window, I saw this dark wedge shape suddenly rise out of the tall grass that lines the road. As I got closer, I could tell it was some kind of canine. The head was quite large and lupine with pointed ears. I didn’t stop for a better look because I was pretty sure it was a wolf. But, there was something off about it—I can’t put my finger on it.

And then as I passed by, it turned its head and it made eye contact sending a shiver down my spine. It had brown fur and black eyes. Another thing that struck me as odd was that it could see over the grass, which I thought was three or four feet high. A wolf or dog sitting down wouldn’t have been able to see over the grass. And if it had been standing on two feet, I should’ve seen its front legs, shouldn’t I? Well, as I drove on watching it in my mirror, it disappeared back into the grass.

I have no idea what it was. Would you know? I’ve never seen a wolf that large in the wild, but with a steady diet, they can weigh close to 200 lbs. But what would it be eating out here? Sure there are wild deer around, but I wouldn’t think there were enough to feed a predator that size. If you have any ideas what it might be, I’d like to hear them.

Until then, this has been Rawlin J. Signing off from Weird Michigan.