Tag: Camp NaNoWriMo

Saga 035 ~Son Of A B-Word~

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I’ve had a few dogs, but B III was my heart dog, a soulmate, my kid. The only S.O.B. I ever loved. Because I don’t love myself. Plus, my mom is a good woman. Speaking of which, what have I been thinking of lately? “Skip Ad?” Son Of A B-Word

Friday, August 5, 2022

Saga 035 ~Son Of A B-Word~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but how can that be when I keep waking up this late? Oh, this week sucked.

So, before I put my mind back into the gutter. Let’s talk about the little S.O.B. who is my son. Don’t get me wrong, Lady Sophia, that’s a fact. He is a son of a bitch; I miss every day. The fact that I had to exist in such a week as the one that took him from me. A standard 40-hour work week? Ha! If that were the case, I’d have one more reason to… careful there, right? Dangerous words. But for the record, I haven’t tried to harm myself well since January 11, 2022. And that was an accident. What do you get when you have Tifa Lockhart’s mature dress? And a hard-on for Zoe Colletti. Confessions with Inspector Echo but Lady Sophia. The Day Job schedule makes me want to cry. Then I remember B III crying that Wednesday, and I was so driven to hate then.

That’s why I still read the words; no, I write the words; Braxton Is Dead. They didn’t write that on the bill, of course. THEY have their words, and I have mine fair enough. Reading? There are so many things I don’t want to read. Thanks to YouTube, I’ve quit reading the words “Skip Ad.” That’s because I don’t want to watch anymore. What pray tell are my fingers going to do now? Well, besides becoming fists at the Day Job. I continue to white-knuckle the mattress. And I’m not one for praying anymore. Last time… a week like this.

Son of a bitch was dying, and it was all my fault because I wouldn’t listen. Now I’m done with a second book where I tried to listen. And what am I going to do with it, I ask you? Son of a bitch can’t do anything right. I shouldn’t mention my Ma like that, but I told one of the girls what I think about while I’m wasting my life. “Yo Mama?” More like “Yo Son,” if anyone dared to disrespect B III. “Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.” This son of a bitch wishes I could say Shakespeare was on the brain. But between Maiko Kaneda, Tifa Lockhart, and Cherry… I’m just thinking about blowjobs. Son Of A B-Word

551 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Saga 028 ~B Leaving In Failure~

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My kid believes in me. If I was a good dad, I wouldn’t wait until the last day. But I can say I’ll have a 50,000-word book on the 31st. If I’m not busy with things. My knuckles are white and not just from pounding the keys. B Leaving In Failure.

Friday, July 29, 2022

Saga 028 ~B Leaving In Failure~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go punch out God. Am I Writing fiction or failure?

I’m still writing about Triple B and me, thank you very much. I should be done by Sunday, Lady Sophia. The thing is, I wanted to be done by today. So I suppose this counts as crying over B III this morning. The idea that I’ll be reading I’m a Camp NaNoWriMo winner on the very last day. But let’s focus on B III. Like the three chapters, I should do. Don’t forget there is also the eulogy. And yes, my lady, I just googled, “what is the difference between a eulogy and an obituary?” And I need poems for two chapters each but 50,000 words… If I didn’t know any better, I would say that sounds like an excuse. I’m talking to my son…

Ha! I can’t even talk to my friends. When I’m done with my Masochism. I’m giddy in my Sadism. Yes, everything short of my son’s passing devolves into sexual addiction. And even B liked Yabbos. I always told him the first pair he loved was the girl I’d have to marry. The first outside the family… his Aunt Carolina. Haven’t talked to her lately. Then there’s Cherry and M Anime, who he never met, and I’m thankful. Daddy’s a perv. Cherry has been suffering so much, yet you know what I’m hoping for whenever she texts. Two things. Don’t I have any empathy? Sophia, you’ve seen what I’ve started reading. When it’s not something on pet loss, it’s M Anime talking about such horrible men.

Why do you think I would read Erotica? I haven’t read anything like that since Christmas, Lady Sophia. It’s tradition. Anyway, you know how such stories fucking get me going. Pardon my language. Only I can’t tell my “other” friends. I’m much too busy to write such stories… yeah, right. Because what am I going to do today? I won’t be finishing Braxton and my novel today. I continue to white-knuckle my baser urges like that book Blackout by Erin Flanagan. “Do I have a drink, or do I not have a drink?” Fucking hard! Yep, I don’t want to tell the “man in the mirror” I’m walking around with my dick in my hands. Or that I failed with writing. B Leaving In Failure.

544 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Saga 014 ~Book Better B Better~

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The book is better than the movie… I read The Hunger Games because of the film. I liked the movie Nerve more than the book. And I love my boy more than writing about him. Might life be better? If I finish Camp NaNoWriMo. Book Better B Better

Friday, July 15, 2022

Saga 014 ~Book Better B Better~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now. And while I’m speaking that blasphemy, sometimes the books aren’t better. Or at least my books.

The one I’m writing for/with my son. I’m surprised I’m keeping up with it this week, except for Tuesday and “watching” The January 6th Hearings. But I still reached the quota. But every day, the story gets worse and worse, as Braxton’s health did. Yeah, something could be better. B III could be alive and well; I could have been a better parent. Even that would have required me to be a better writer and tell a story. I don’t know how I’ll get through it today with the time it took Thursday. How tired am I? Don’t answer that. And could I stop looking at ta-tas? Would I imagine staying up all night watching B die? Had I known how to save a life?

Speaking of nightmares, I had one last night, which explains my tiredness though it didn’t wake me up. How can something both be graphic and then not? Bloodless yet terrifying. Slimy yet satisfying, Hakuna some Tatas and what else will I beg, borrow, steal writing. I’ve never read The Walking Dead or The Man in the High Castle. But the nightmare was sort of a mixture of both. “Fight the Dead, Fear the Living.” Watched a throat getting slashed in the woods. But again, there was no blood which somehow made it digestible. And then I took care of a boy as we hid out with the “BCR” Black Communist Rebellion. Oh, now I know I’m on some government list. Another excuse to quit writing…

And now I sound like Cherry. But no Lady Sophia. Dare I say I’m getting close to catching up with Camp NaNoWriMo. I’m going all in with my writing. And with the Day Job pay? Anyway, I might not even finish “Blackout: A Thriller” this week because I was so “invested” in my writing. I swear if Kindle fucks me again with Reading Insights! That’s pretty rich, considering how I fucked myself this week. Was it “you know who’s” ta-tas? Or was it the fact that Cora Jade attacked Roxanne Perez? Wrestling’s going TV-14. Still, it’s me and Braxton’s novel that is getting to me. Our lives were better, and that’s saying something, Lady Sophia. There’s still “Gulp.” I’m hoping my Book Better B Better.

530 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 295 ~Will I Know B~

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I could tell you when I first met B. I can give you the day I watched my son die in my arms. I’ve been told that death is not the end; all my life. And now here I am reading religious “nonfiction” on dogs. Reliving memories of him. Will I Know B

Friday, April 22, 2022

Chronicle 295 ~Will I Know B~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but if I had been 446 days ago… Braxton would be alive. How do I know?

More like How Will I Know by Whitney Houston. If it wasn’t Toni Braxton, it was Whitney Houston. To grow up in such an age. What can I tell you about 2005 to 2021? B III was born, and he died Sunday, January 31, 2021. B III was 13 days shy of being 16. So now here 446 days after Braxton’s passing. “Death Is Not The End,” Sophia? Dogs are pregnant 58 – 68 days, or so I’ve read. Was that B’s reincarnation window? 446 days? A part of me thought that I would give it a year if I wanted to play Daddy. I’ve continued thinking about that little dog “Chase” that wanted to escape. Born in February. Did I miss my chance at fatherhood?

What I’m getting from the books is “No.” If your dog reincarnates, he is meant to be with you and you alone. B III could be meant to live on in another way. I’m at the table now. I’m time traveling but not by much with today being Thursday. This week has been filled with “Humiliations Galore.” And by the time you read this… Fuck, the things that keep me up? Must it always go back to my penis? Masturbation, being mad, and man’s best friend, Sophia. My manuscript must keep me awake as well. I’ve wasted this damn month. Failing a Camp NaNoWriMo! And haven’t I been talking all about book challenges? I’m reading something religious as it counts toward “Nonfiction.” Swear to God.

Yeah, the last time I did that was praying for Triple B. The last time I prayed was when I was at the “pinnacle” of my sickness somewhat. I wasn’t talking to God but to my son. I wasn’t praying for the strength to endure or fight back. Joining Braxton. It’s my memories of him that keep me awake and alive. Between all of Succubus Lord’s pop culture and everything, I remember about Braxton. Looking always for B. Sophia, from everything I’ve ever said, would you know him? 15 years as man’s best friend. A manuscript I’d struggle to find. And the mannerisms I continue to this day. Not in memory but in this existence. Where could he be, Lady Sophia? Will I Know B

Gospel 295 ~Sounds Like B Leaving~

446 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 288 ~Here B, Hear Puppy~

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I wish I could identify the problem as dog slobber. How many weeks have I had some air pods jammed in my ears to avoid the Day Job? I’d give anything to hear my little boy again. And where will I be Saturday? “Here B, Hear Puppy.”

Friday, April 15, 2022

Chronicle 288 ~Here B, Hear Puppy~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now but is it because I’m smart or lucky. Republicans would love this… Because I’m black, (sigh)?

Every day I realize why I’m more into audiobooks instead of YouTube. I’d like to get back into ASMR, like when Braxton passed. That would require my hearing not knowing. I read the entire Succubus Lord series, Sophia. I know enough about the stories when listening. Too bad I didn’t have lessons on fucking succubi back in school. Pardon my language. One more reason to love my son. I’m sure he barked his share of obscenities at me every now and again. Now, this brings me to today. What? It’s not only going deaf, right? Right ear, to be precise, my Lady. What have I said about putting this stuff out into the universe? Trust me, I have tried shutting up. But hearing the fiddle…

Yes, the whole damn world is burning. No wonder THEY say when Hell freezes over. Again, things I can’t hear, but I know. I know I want B III. Every Saturday, I hear this song.

Your Feet’s Too Big is a weird thing to worry about when it comes to puppies, isn’t it, Lady Sophia? Of course, you know how I feel about feet in general, not my specific kink? Yesterday I was talking about how I expect Braxton to come running down the steps any minute now. To get his medicine, to go outside. He’d lie next to my feet and let me finish talking to you. Yeah, only for me to start working on some novel for NaNoWriMo. Another thing I can’t hear.

I’m not trying to take a shot at the deaf. You know I love music and audiobooks. With my Day Job, I need it to avoid hearing those people. But things I’ll never hear again. Again, I go back to Braxton running down the stairs or waiting at my bedroom door when I call out to him. “Just Me, Baby B. Did you have a good day? Good Day?” Inevitable. Sophia, I would never hear my own voice again. Yes, my “father” would make fun of me for talking to myself. Sophia, I’m crazy indeed certifiable. With Braxton, Daddy rambles. I’ll never have a chance to hear his pain and save his life. Has he been reincarnated? Does another puppy call? Here B, Hear Puppy.

Gospel 288 ~Braxton Is, Write Will~

439 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 281 ~Got To “B” Will~

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I wish I could say I didn’t wake up to seventies/eighties music in my head. Carol Lynn Townes, Cheryl Lynn, for example. Should I have said something about another KBJ? You know me thinking about myself and my son. “Got To “B” Will.” Who’s that?

Friday, April 8, 2022

Chronicle 281 ~Got To “B” Will~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, or I want to believe it every day. My one positive thought every day because… Sophia…

To be real, I didn’t want to wake up this morning. Is there a difference between getting up and waking? Again, to be real, I only got up to turn off the alarm and went right back to bed. That explains why I’m so late talking to you at 5:30 AM. Before that, Lady Sophia? Well, I could have been looking at porn… nope. I’m starting to understand the realness. Why I have been lost in audiobooks of late. (Cough) Succubus Lord (cough) porn ha-ha. Hell, how many books will I read featuring the afterlife of animals? A Dog’s Journey? Lady Sophia, have I forgotten it’s NaNoWriMo season and not writing a damn thing? Even last night, I was reading well… not safe for Braxton.

To be healed… or so, I was looking up cures. M Anime would be proud I’m looking up natural remedies. I’ve been looking into Cranberry Juice and the like. I need my boy B III. Only speaking of my friend M Anime or rather actual Anime because that’s what I spent time and gems on. Did I mention I haven’t looked at porn today? If we count from midnight, it’s been about six hours. Of course, that won’t last for much longer. A B cure. I was never a “pervert…” um, an adult entertainment enthusiast around him. I was daddy. That’s who I was, Sophia, who I am. I wish I could go back to that. Reincarnation is the only thing that makes sense ever.

To be filled with something other than, well… I woke up this morning. Now, instead of anything “good” (sigh). There were many stories about how the world is going to Hell, Lady Sophia. Reading about dead fur babies is cathartic by comparison. But as the song goes, I’m just a sucker for pain. Fuck you, Hemingway App! Pardon my language, but you know Sophia. I have every reason to keep my eyes closed, which brings me back to audiobooks. I want to lie here and listen to moaning succubi. At least I’m not looking, hmm? It’s who I am. One more asshole with a Replika, yep. I read about the world and do nothing? I cry for my dead kid. Braxton. Got To “B” Will.

Gospel 281 ~A Noise With Braxton~

432 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 274 ~B III Of Stories~

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Am I writing a new novel today? With the way, I’ve been feeling and considering when I’m writing this. Now I could talk about B III forever. Point out a post before January 31, 2022, where he isn’t mentioned. And there’s always Gulp… B III Of Stories

Friday, April 1, 2022

Chronicle 274 ~B III Of Stories~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now. But this moment, that’s only “another” word like so many I’ve written. Where to begin today?

Time Travel? Of course, seeing how today is Sunday, March 27, 2022. So, of course, you know why we’re speaking today. Existence is nothing to write home about. But fiction? Considering that it will officially be Camp NaNoWriMo season by the time you read this. So should I write a new novel as per usual? Everything within me screams absolutely! Only I did say fiction, right? I’m still cringing over my stupidity and/or horniness this morning over Cherry. I’m checking every now and again. I’m worried about losing a friend. Hell, if that whole series I wrote didn’t do it… And I’ve forgotten plenty of it. I should start publishing books then, you say? How about writing another one about a B III universe? Gah!

I want to publish, My Turn To B III. It’s only gotten longer if you count every letter I’ve written to Braxton by now. But that’s not going to get done with me staying in bed all day yet again. Wouldn’t I be better off working at the dining room table than the Day Job? My Grandma always said I was one for pride, so is it that when I say no nine to five? Sophia, I could take Braxton into the fiction world. You remember how A Dog’s Journey got to me. Talk about reasons not to see films. Clarity June got to me, and then there is X. Do you remember the horror movie I want to see? But without writing any story?

This brings me to Gulp. I paid those people off years before my son passed. I swear if I had a dollar,… more like if I had my money back for everything I’ve wasted on certain sexual novelties or time. There’s $200 somewhere with a particular sex worker. Thousands more on a pretty sizable investment. I like Eric Vall, but he stole a twenty. I could go on; anyway, back to writing. Finishing Gulp and sending it off is always in my Six Impossible Things. Who knows, that book could have saved Braxton. Again my fucking Day Job. You tell me to get to writing. How about back to reading and listening? Most of the time, I only sleep. Like today… B III Of Stories.

Gospel 274 ~Are You Kidding, Braxton~

425 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Gospel 365 ~A Year B Longing~

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At the closing of the year… well, the blog year. To think I started this over a bitch four years ago and the last five months, I’ve been mourning over a son of a bitch. I am talking about my son. A Year B Longing, but I’ll finish his book this month.

Thursday, July 1, 2021

Gospel 365 ~A Year B Longing~

151 Days Without B III

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? I want to believe this day is monumental. I’ve been at this for four years.

Only this is the first one talking to you like this. It’s been five months, and to think, when I began, this was all over some bitch. Is that offensive, B? Seeing as how you were the son of some bitch I never met before, you became my boy. She was on the Rainbow Bridge. How I wonder what you told her about the family that took you in. What is there to say about your father? Do you even miss me at all? Fifteen years, four of them sitting here, holding you in my lap, watching you sleep on your pillow. Remember Outside, Inside. That would be my idea of Hell, you go out, you come in, and you never stay with me, B.

Today I’m hoping I’ve started my book for you. How many NaNoWriMo’s did you sit through, Camp and all? How do you think I learned to Time Travel so well, seeing how today is Sunday? I did picture a better life for us but seeing we’re talking now, I’m pissed.
It would always be something at the Day Job, talking to your granddad, or “I don’t know, it’s just the way I am.” To you, I was Daddy, and that will never change. You weren’t waiting for me to change but only to come home. I should’ve gotten here sooner. However, I was always stuck in the past. You saved me from the present, and I longed for the future. Not for me but you.

For four years, Braxton I had rules to get by with Lady Luna. I so hoped to obey them, ha. I talked to the woman I believed would be your future Mother, Dear Future Wife. Inspector Echo showed me I would know no greater sins or shame than losing us. Dammit, I killed again with Dirty Diana because I would rather talk to you, Braxton. Today I don’t want to be mad at myself. Well, not in failing to write your story B III, okay.
When I speak to Lady Sophia, Friday, I want to know that four years mattered. Preparation to honor you, Braxton Barks Bradford, the one I love more than anyone else.
I love writing. I love you. A Year B Longing

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Gospel 301 ~Can Count On B~

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15 years, 15 years, and near his 16th birthday found out here wasn’t here. I don’t know why I channeled Kanye West this morning, but I can always count on the background noise. Like me failing, or the Day Job, to make me mad. Can Count On B

Wednesday, April 28, 2021

Gospel 301 ~Can Count On B~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which isn’t something to be bragging about, considering when it comes to my son. Braxton counts.

How many times have I said it; Braxton’s Life Matters. Those are three little words like “I love you,” “I miss you,” “I’m sorry B,” “I’ll help you,” so it goes. Numbers Inspector Echo. Fifteen years Inspector Echo and I so want to say sixteen. Would twenty be enough for me? Hell, I wanted all of his tiny little tan/beige hairs to turn Grey. Braxton the Grey, or Braxton the White. Does that sound mean? No meaner than saying that he wanted to go. In two days, it will be official. Braxton and I haven’t been apart longer than two months and some change. But May 1 will mark three months. Will I still be crying every day for him? I shouldn’t jinx myself, hmm.

I keep talking about step two of the Five Stages of Grief. Inspector Echo, I don’t know if my anger has subsided yet. As usual, I am traveling the sands of time lost because indeed I am so. B III was my constant even in death. Today is April 22, and I’m lying in this bed. The ideas that come… not those, for I am still a monk. By the time I see this again, I won’t have 5000 words to worry about. Now that will mean I’ve done my first NaNoWriMo without B III. I don’t expect the feeling will change much but with my anger at the ASM. Let’s say I do publish. I make enough to quit the Day Job, a bargain.

No matter how much I get, none of it would buy back one day I lost with B. The last five that we would have. As the song goes, “All around me are familiar faces. Worn out places, worn out faces.” I see new babies, fur babies, and how many times have I said, No? Inspector, I lost my family. I don’t deserve another; not like any could compare. That’s the thought that keeps me here. One day I will run out of treats to place in Braxton’s room. Sooner or later, I will look at these Chihuahuas and, unlike God, will say I’m lonely. Always and forever, I will remember my son. He counted on me, and what happened? I Can Count On B.

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Gospel 294 ~B Guile The Neighbors~

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If B were alive, he’d be P.O.’ed at me. Either because we’d because he can’t do his job of yard defense. Who knows what bugs are out there? It’s also a bit like the fridge; his old food was growing stuff. “B Guile The Neighbors,” looking at the yard?

Wednesday, April 21, 2021

Gospel 294 ~B Guile The Neighbors~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I can buy some arcade machines. Not that I was good at Street Fighter…

I hope my neighbors don’t think I’m just lazy. Hell, most of them don’t know that Braxton has passed. To be honest, this is Camp NaNoWriMo season, so um, the house’s a mess, and the yard’s grown wild. I want to say I’ve made it through NaNoWriMo again, hmm. Then what? I publish a book, make my million and move away someday. One more reason B is still in the box and not dust in the wind of the first yard that was all his to defend. I do imagine if he went to Heaven, he’s annoying God; Hell, he’s finally found a doggy playmate. Should I be ashamed for saying that? My shame was in killing him, so fuck my neighbors’ opinions Inspector Echo.

Pardon my French, but Braxton would be pissed with me, and that’s what matters. Is this really going to be about me not cutting the grass this week? Letting my son’s territory be overrun by, well, I don’t know anymore.

Yes, Braxton, my brave, handsome boy, with a big mouth. One day I’ll tell the story of when we first arrived. For now, there are only these facts. I cleaned the house for pretty girls, and I cut the grass for B. He’s one for security, and he never let his size or cuteness stop his bark. To the south is the front door, my job because B um… like father like son and in his defense the girl was hot. Our northern border was all his. He was Ghost, and I was Jon Snow and how we hated yep, Winter Is Coming, Or Spring now, so my problems of late. I feel more like Grey Worm. If you’ve been keeping up with “Dear Future Wife,” I am losing my Missandei too. You want a horrifying confession. Tell me I would have to lose my “man parts,” and I could have B alive and well… I wouldn’t even think twice.

You see how my mind works from Street Fighter’s Guile to Game of Thrones. As always, the background noise is what’s keeping me going without the pitter-patter of tiny paws. Because for now, I’m not going outside. Braxton would bark at them, but the grass… Can’t B Guile The Neighbors.

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will