A Rustle in the Attic

I haven't posted in a while because I was working on a new book. It's called A Rustle in the Attic and it's available now on Amazon.

This book isn't like the first. It's a horror story compilation. No poetry. Just nine stories that, I hope, will scare you.

I decided to write a full post about it because I was asked the same question several times since the book was released last week. "Ryan, how exactly does someone go from writing a poetry collection to horror stories? What is the mindset behind such a strange jump?"

I was also asked "Why not a book of love stories?" That question, in particular, got under my skin.

So, I thought about it for a couple of days. And this morning I solidified my response.

I write whatever comes to me. I have written plays, horror stories, poetry, and--yes--even a "love" story here and there. I have a lot of problems letting go of what I think may be a great story idea. But, I had to write a horror collection. when people ask me "what" I write, I say "poetry and horror." Then I get a weird look. Then... a muttered "why?"

If you have love in your life (and it is my hope that you do. Well, actually... it's my hope that you have nothing but love in your life) then you are ready for a little bit of horror. I like to think of horror stories like night swimming. Standing there, by the dark water, maybe the moon and stars above, poking their way through the black sky like pin holes. You test the water. Dip a toe into it. Feel the initial chill, then--once you find your brave sense of self--take the plunge.

You will emerge eventually. You will towel off. You will go home and shower. You will get comfy and drift off as slumber beckons. But that small experience will still be there. It happened. And you may or may not dream of it later.

I have all the love I need. But I never turn down the opportunity to swim after dark. And, I am always dreaming.

Fondly, and with love (of course)

~Torres

Playground

At the park yesterday,

while walking the dog,

I passed the playground.

Within a world of wood shavings and swing sets
were children
running and giggling.

A Muslim child.
A Jewish child.
An African American child.
And a pale, Irish girl
being chased by a Hispanic boy.

They were all there.
And they were all out of breath from laughter.

There just wasn't enough time to hate each other...

There were dragons to slay.

High seas to sail.

A Justice League to unite.

Someone had to save the world...

Imagine if we could strive to be those beacons of hope.
Imagine if we could unite for that common good.
Imagine how easily hate could have a change of heart
if it just accepted the invite to play
instead of watching--
alone--
from outside of the fence.

The truth of our endurance
will leave that playground at dusk.
It will arrive home safely.
And after brushing its teeth,
and hearing a bedtime story,
it will dream of the heroes it will meet tomorrow.

Change

If you wish to see it,

this has to happen first:

You will have to get angry.
You will have to cry.
You will have to see it affect those close to you.
You will have to become desperate.
You will have to feel lost.
You will have to lose sleep.

You will have to find humor in all of it.

Then,
you will plan.

Then,
you will follow through.

Then,
you will bask in the glory.

And then,
you will be happy...

...until the cycles begins anew.

I promise.


---

"Before enlightenment, chop wood and carry water.
After enlightenment, chop wood and carry water."

~Torres

American Society: 7/27/17

What 

aren't

we 

fighting 

for

at 

this 

point?

--

~Torres

The Day Batman Died

On the day Gotham lost its hero
I debating between mac and cheese
and potato salad
At a picnic.

On the morning The caped crusader fell
I hung up my 1989
Michael Keaton
BATMAN
Action figure.
The first one ToyBiz ever made.

I hung it on the wall
Behind the door.
 I wanted him to watch from the shadows
as you drew your last breaths.

It wasn't the Penguin
It wasn't Riddler
It was Freeze or Ivy
It wasn't even the Joker.

It was leukemia.

The battle within
eventually triumphs.
Even when it comes to
the dark knight.

I imagine that the bat cave is quiet
Now.

Goodnight batmobile.
Goodnight Alfred.
Goodnight Robin.
Goodnight commissioner Gordon.

Goodnight shark repellent
and grappling hook.

Goodnight cape
and cowl. 

And goodnight bat signal.

"Shut it down. He's not coming."

----

Heartbreaking... But many thanks Mr. West. You made this Boy Wonder very happy. 

Cheers,

~Torres

Podcast #1

Hey all.

So, I tried something...different. I decided to start a podcast in which I talk about writing, horror, and other outlandish musings. Hey! Just like the description of this blog.

Give it a listen and don't judge too much. I'm still learning about all this stuff.

Thanks a lot. Leave a comment on the Partreon

Cheers,

~Torres

https://www.patreon.com/RTorres

It's Here...

Hey everyone,

Sorry for not posting in so long; but there is a good reason. My first book of poetry was just published yesterday. It's available on Amazon now. Here's the link:

Poem, and Other Four-Letter Words

I would like to thank everyone that has supported, and continues to support my writing. You all know who you are, and you rock.

Also, if you want to check out my publishers site--Red Dashboard LLC-- please do so. They have an amazing lineup of authors that they publish.

Red Dashboard LLC

Remember to support local artists. They work just as hard, and are just as talented as the celebrities that we constantly put upon pedestals. Plus, they need the money more...

Special shout-out to Kevin Durr for creating the cover. Dude is an amazing artist, and a great friend too. Go ahead and click on his name to explore the awesomeness that he creates. 

I'll be back with more posts soon. 

Cheers,

~Torres