Go Ask Adam

Dreams generate false profundity. From the moment you wake up, the conscious mind kills the epiphanies wrapped within. It tells you how silly the whole endeavor was, reminding you that Oliver, the talking carrot with the eye patch, isn't real and need not affect your normal routine. Aromatics don't save people...not from volcanoes, at least. Your day brain reminds you that it was all just for fun, and that you merely enjoy carrots. And pirates.

I had a dream about a drug den last night. I've never stepped foot in a place like this, but I've seen them in movies like City of God or TV shows like The Wire. Those are the highbrow examples, but it's basically the place where drug dealers and drug-users exchange drugs for drug money or possibly for more drugs. In my dream, it was a messy, dimly-lit room with some tough guys sitting around a table with money and drugs scattered about. I was the main tough guy. (Like in real life. Graaw.)

I should say that the drug in my dream was completely undefined; it was just capitol-D "Drug". I could make up a cutesy name for it, like "Sassleberry", but the drug itself was not the focus of the story. This dream was about loyalty, hierarchy, and - most importantly - the dumbest, simplest math you can imagine. And this spurious lesson in underworld finance is what made the dream so profound.

Let me explain.

The packages came in four sizes which had four corresponding values. The cost was $10,000 for the smallest amount of drugs, and so on up to $40,000 for the largest package. That was the granddaddy of the operation, representing the highest level of trust to any lieutenant that was worthy of moving that much product. In this workflow, drug packages were basically a high interest loan, so the more narcotics you were allowed to peddle at one time, the higher up you were recognized in the organization. In $10,000 increments. And only up to $40,000.

That was pretty much it. There may have been more to the dream, stuff about protecting the room, maybe keeping the right people out front. There didn't seem to be any concern at all about the police finding us. And I, or my character as it were, certainly didn't feel that I was "breaking bad" or anything. This was all very natural and normal. The whole game as far as I was concerned was that people, like drugs, fell into categories of $10,000, $20,000, $30,000, or $40,000. As long as I followed that internal directive, everything else would be golden.

And then I woke up.

And I was like, "YES! That's how they're doing it!" It's at this point I'm like a cop that's been on this case for years trying to figure this shit out. As though this dream had suddenly provided a massive insight that filled in all these gaps that I could never piece together. "We fucking GOT THEM!" Now that I knew that drug dealers were working in $10,000 increments, this case was totally blown wide open. I needed to call the D.A., had to tell that dipshit to get warrants out on the street before those dirtbags found out what I knew. That's how it felt.

"IT'S FOUR LEVELS OF MONEY!!!"

Like I said at the top: false profundity. The feeling subsided. I should hope it goes without saying that, as weirdly excited I felt in that first moment after waking up, I don't believe any aspect of this dream, nor do I now find it particularly compelling.

Thank you for your time.

And here's the part, dear reader, where my words drift out into the world, beyond my eyes and yours, to someplace very different from the cozy surroundings where I type these words. It's there that my story about a dumb, inconsequential dream finds a grizzled, acerbic night owl scanning the internet for blood and dirt. Theirs is the hard, bitter face of a man or woman dirtied by the muck that lays underneath polite society. They reach my story's conclusion, lean back in a creaky chair to contemplate my unceremonious tale. Scowling, they look up to a photograph on the wall, perhaps a picture of a long-dead partner or something representing happier times, like a family fishing trip. The moment doesn't last. My words reemerge like bruises in the places that hurt the worst.

Our lone wolf, this harbinger of eternal remorse, ponders my drug den dream before their raspy voice cuts into the cold dark: "That Adam Fox has no idea how right he is..."

A siren wails in the distance, somewhere down below, deeper into the filthy city. Stumbling half-blind across the crosspatch room, the prudent curmudgeon grabs an ashy coat from the edge of a broken doorknob. Before marching out into the inky night, perhaps for the last time, they look again to the cracked, crooked monitor on their ancient desk.

"He's right. And he'd better be fucking careful."

Rejected Story Ideas

Like all true writers, my mind harbors a vast reservoir of innovative, thought-provoking ideas. However, an unrefined idea is really only the genesis of a completed story, and time does not allow each narrative spark the possibility to bloom into a thrilling bonfire.

With that, I present these selections from my archive of rejected story ideas. The finished tales that would have resulted from these will never come to pass, though they certainly would have electrified readers with the literary tasers of pure emotional resonance. For denying current audiences and future generations that unquestionable pleasure, I must apologize. But I hope that by presenting these ideas here, I will grant my fans a rare glimpse into my process, as well as my special mind.

• An arrogant scientist named Katrina Gerehorne is recruited by the US government to compete against Russia in a time traveling contest, where the goal is to go back in time and collect specific objects - all of which are selected in order to minimize significant changes to the course of human history. One such item is a document detailing the Monmouth surrender at the Battle of Sedgemoor (1665). However, Katrina accidentally steals Isaac Newton's scientific notes for Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica instead, which causes her to return to a world where gravity has never existed.

• In one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, a young man named Claude leaves his small hometown in search of higher education, cleaner water, and overall better opportunities. His family is just glad to be rid of him.

• A mysterious count named Havel DeLanque buys an old castle in the Kentuckian countryside. Eventually, it becomes obvious that he wants to live there because of its large cellar, where he imagines that he'll one day entomb his enemies, like in Edgar Allan Poe's "The Black Cat". However, Havel never acquires any enemies and he eventually puts a pinball machine down there and uses the extra space for his collection of soapbox racers.

• Goats are extremely psychic and can read human minds. Most of the time they aren't interested in doing anything with the information they learn, but every now and then they use their powers to get free food and make people fall in love. A goat named Gingerbread uses both tactics to enter the 2016 Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition. The goat loses the contest, but learns a lesson about the human spirit.

• Unsuccessful car salesman Robby Enston has the ability to see into the future, but only for people that refuse to buy cars from him. He tries to convince prospective customers to come back and buy a car after his predictions prove to be 100% accurate, but they never do. Robby becomes embittered and eventually tells everyone that he has lost his powers. Desperate for information, everyone buys a car from him, which cancels out his powers. Robby appeases the new car owners by inventing wildly unlikely predictions, all of which are foretold to happen a couple of weeks past the warranty expiration dates on their new cars.

• Shy guy Willis Dabney decides to get a dog to serve as an icebreaker to meet the women that frequent his local park. However, the adorable beagle he brings home turns out be inhabited by the reincarnated spirit of John Howard, 1st Duke of Norfolk. This is not a problem for the most part, though Willis does grow tired of explaining who John Howard was and what a duke's responsibilities are.

• It is the year 2055 and Bayou Drinks is Louisiana's hottest honky-tonk. "Swamp" McSurge has returned to collect some money owed to him by the owner, a cyborg named Thelma (who is also his ex-wife). Trouble ensues when the local space sheriff decides to close down Bayou Drinks unless they can raise 10,000 NewMerica credits by midnight. They do, of course, and Thelma sees that Swamp has become a man of his word. The bar's house band plays Madonna's "Open Your Heart" in celebration.

• In another one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, a young woman named Sybil leaves her small hometown in search of ways to go hang gliding without having access to either mountains or hang gliders. Her family eagerly awaits her findings.

• After months of searching, Hank Pritchard is thrilled to get hired as the editor of a brand new website called Vrinkle. Unknown to him, however, is the company's secret purpose: it was created by Hank's friends to make him feel better about himself. When his friends eventually tell him what they've done, Hank asks for a raise. The makeshift website is then bought by Google.

• In a parallel universe where magic is real, but GPS is not, people have many tales about a satellite-assisted method of giving people directions in an assortment of celebrity voices. College student Stacy Crawford is obsessed with the stories and desperately wants to make them into a reality, but her family forces her to major in levitation spells instead. Stacy flunks out anyway and starts a 80's cover band.

• Crass businesswoman Laura Caldeen decides to retire early and see the world. After a trying month spent mainly in airports, Laura returns to Philadelphia and unsuccessfully tries to get her job back. Not one to be defeated, she enters the 2016 Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Competition and narrowly beats out a goat named Gingerbread. Laura adopts the rascally goat, they move to Palm Springs, and soon after, Laura falls in love with a local hotdog vendor named Chet.

• A lonely man named Louis becomes infatuated with a painting that hangs in the background of his favorite TV sitcom, Pleasant Times. He travels to Los Angeles and sneaks onto the sitcom's set, only to find that most of the background (including his beloved painting) is computer-generated. Louis has a fit and interrupts filming by shouting his complaints about life in general at the Pleasant Times cast and crew. Annoyed at first, they slowly discover that they all agree with Louis's criticisms and really enjoy his fresh takes on modern topics. However, the executive producer of the show is too busy to witness any of this, and therefore doesn't give Louis his own sitcom. Security escorts Louis away from the studio and filming resumes.

• The Rowdy Maggots, a dangerous motorcycle gang, descends on a small town called Willow Glen, destroying its infrastructure and generally wreaking havoc. Not to be outdone, the citizens of Willow Glen buy motorcycles and start their own biker gang. The formerly quiet townspeople are transformed into brutal savages practically overnight. The Maggots, having learned their lesson, ride out of town. The citizens of Willow Glen then sell their motorcycles and begin cleaning up the wreckage. However, just as the town begins to look like its old self, an approaching gang of metal detector enthusiasts appears over the horizon.

• In yet another one of those heart-warming, coming-of-age stories, an older gentleman named Gus leaves his small town in search of promiscuous women. He finds plenty and sends the resulting bar tabs to his family back home.

Why I Write

I hit "publish" on The Great All-nighter's drafting dashboard and another story is finished, sent off into the world. And not a moment too soon.

Seconds later, Spider kicks in my front door and stomps across my living room. As always with Spider, the threat of violence is unmistakable. I notice he's gotten another arachnid tattoo, a small spiderweb on his left cheek, since I've seen him last. He's tall, so I have to squint to see it. I'm always surprised at how much bigger he is than anyone I've ever met, easily larger than most professional football players.

"Where's the story, Fox?" he demands. He brushes the stubby spikes on one fingerless glove with the thumb from his other hand. "You'd better have a story for me."

"Right over here, Mr. Spider." The man only accepts physical copies, so I gesture to the fresh pages I printed out for him just before posting the story. The giant man hulks over the thin stack.

"What is this, about twelve hundred words?"

"Yeah, right around twelve hundred. Good eye."

Spider snarls at me and snatches the paper from my desk. "I prefer the shorter ones," he says as he fishes reading glasses from out of his black leather vest. The garment is opened to reveal several more spider-related tattoos on his bare torso. He reads the title aloud.

"Your Server Will Be Right With You. This isn't one of those personal stories, is it?"

"Well, kind of," I tell him. "It's-"

"Never mind. I'll read it myself." He folds the papers and stuffs them into the back pocket of his dirty blue jeans. He quietly scans the room as he replaces the reading glasses in his vest. Then, he looks at me with the beady, pale green eyes from my nightmares.

"There had better not be any spelling or grammatical errors," he hisses at me. This is a major concern of his, and I have no idea why. He takes a step closer and cranes over me. I hold my ground, but a shiver rushes through my bones.

"I double-checked. Shouldn't be a problem, sir."

"I hope that you're right," he says. He's so close that I can smell his breath, which reeks of tree bark and window detergent. Tears fill my eyes. However, before I begin weeping, Spider storms out of my apartment, gone just as suddenly as he had barged in less than a minute earlier. I hear the growl of his Harley-Davidson and the subsequent screech of its wheels as Spider speeds off into the night.

I exhale and take a deep breath in my empty apartment, relaxing again as I open up Facebook on my computer. I cut & paste the story's URL on my page and write a short introduction for my readers. But it's all for Spider, expressly posted so I can see whether he "likes" it or not. This is what tells me how much time I have until the next one is due.

It could be any moment from now.