Fictionary

(At least once a year, I participate in a blog hop with several talented authors.  This time we focused on a series that we loved in the beginning, then disappointed us, but then redeemed itself in our eyes.  Sorry, no writing excercises this time) When I was told the theme of this year's blog hop, there was no hesitation on what subject I wanted to pull the trigger on.  Back in the early 2000s, the Playstation 2 was a must have for anyone who was all about the button mashing.  After buying one, I encountered a game unlike any other that eventually become a benchmark and influential power for video games for years.  This game was Devil May Cry. In the game, you played a silver haired demon hunter named Dante who's soul purpose was to eviscerate and obliterate demonic enemies in highly stylish ways.  It was a highly kinetic action game that was a complete overload of everything a hormone and anxiety riddled teenage boy imbibed for spiritual sustenance.  But I can't fully

Some Guy:  Hey...hey you Me:  ( Looks all around, then looks back and mouths the word "me?") SG:  Yes you.  Come here. Me:  ( Shuffles forward nervously) SG:  So, I need to tell you something.  You're not going to like it.  In fact, you might hate me for saying it. Me:  ....Who are you? SG:  Not important.  What's important is that you make you grow as artist. Me:  So hey, it might look like I'm calling the police but... ( Pulls out phone and definately DOES start dialing 911.) SG:  Wait.  Hold Up.  Just give me a few minutes and then you can do whatever you need to do. Me:  That's okay.  This isn't even a real phone, just one of those gum containers that looks like one. SG: ......... Me: .............Go on. SG:   (Shrugs.)  All right, so what was I saying - Ah yes, you suck at being a productive writer. Me: I'm doing just fine, thank you.  I read lots of books and articles on writing.  Also, I wrote a complete sentence last week. SG: 

Humans are often our own worst enemies due to the barriers we can unintentionally create for ourselves.  Writers, however, have adapted this innate aspect of mankind and warped it into a self mandated challenge to see how far low into the dark screaming abyss of self-mental torture we can plummet downward. We can be our own "cruel mistress", whether we mean to or not, because it's ingrained in our history.  For some, this came in the form of ""self medication" with enough liquor to kill the entire lineups of 90's Ozfests i.e. pretty much 1 out of every 3 authors you were forced to read in high school.  Others experimented with different drugs in a perpetual mental adventure towards new forms of euphoria (Jack Kersouac was fond of abusing newly discovered medicines and seeing how high they could make him).  Then there's Hunter S. Thompson, who's life goal was to replace his DNA with cocaine while saturating it in several hours of whiskey, because