Tyranny of the Muse
the official website of author eddie wright
nothing
And here I am again. I chew my nails. I tap my foot. I chew my nails. I sweat. I bleed. My nose bleeds. It drips. I drip. Im dripping through my chair. Drip. Drip. Drip. I wipe it. I smear it. I wipe again. My head is throbbing. From inside. The wound. Like a golf ball. It pulses. Pulse. Pulse.
Pulse. It squishes. It’s wet. Something’s gonna grow. Something. Hopefully. Something’s gonna be born. Be alive. It’s alive. It should be alive. I should be alive. It’s dead. Dying. Dead.
The mummy wrap ‘round my head is
Dusty is good.
Dear Franky-boy,
You. Are. Not. Nothing.
Love, Bonnie
Maxx es el diablo!
The Manic Guff can suck it!
Keep on brushing!
Frank Fisher
Eddie Wright was born in New Jersey and currently lives in San Francisco, California. He is the author of the cult/sci-fi series Tyranny of the Muse and the upcoming YA series, The Freaky Beat. He is a member of the Backword Books collective and really enjoys tortilla chips and television.
stories about: inspiration. creativity. nothing.
The Birdhouse
Broken Bulbs
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Chapter One
And here I am again.
I chew my nails. I tap my foot. I chew my nails. I sweat. I bleed. My nose bleeds. It drips. I drip. Im dripping through my chair.
Drip.
I wipe it. I smear it. I wipe again. My head is throbbing. From inside. The wound. Like a golf ball. It pulses.
Pulse.
It squishes. Its wet. Somethings gonna grow. Something. Hopefully. Somethings gonna be born. Be alive. Its alive. It should be alive. I should be alive. Its dead. Dying. Dead.
The mummy wrap round my head is soaked with dirt and blood. It needs to be changed but Im sick of it. Sick of this. It covers my eye. My right eye. Half the world is gone. Only the left side exists.
I chew my nails again. Bite em too low. Too short. They hurt. They bleed. They drip. I drip.
RING RING RING RING RING RING RING
The phone. Yeah? Its her. Does she have one? Does she have a new one?
I Scooby Dooby do, she says. Cute.
I cant keep going. Its dull. It hurts. Its boring, I say. This ones got nothing. Its no good. Its no good! Its all gone now. Its all dried up. I need something more. Im sick of these same ones. I need something else. I need a new one. Just one new one. I need one new one.
Ya know what ya gotta do, baby-boy, she says.
I know I know I know
She owns every bit of me. She knows this. I know this. My head, especially knows this.
She tells me the way. I listen. Barely. Im outta my chair and into the mess
The unfinished.
The wasted.
The nothing.
I step over the birdhouses and the spice racks and the painting of the naked one-eyed lady and the blueprints (for whatever the hell it is) and the charcoal sketch of the evergreen and the books bookmarked halfway through and the plaster cast of the dead squirrel and the overexposed photo of the tiny cabin. I walk through a stack of Meat is Murder flyers. I wipe my bleeding nose on a Fur is Fashion t-shirt. I knock my shiny new mountain bike over and Im into the closet.
Iced tea. Iced tea is all. At this point in my life iced tea is all I am right now. Its all I have right now. Its a delicious treat. Its deliciousness is powerful. Its the powerful powdered goods and into the mug it goes scoop after scoop.
Uncle Franky Rules!! Thats what it says on this mug. Thats what a cartoon dinosaur tells me every time I sip the drink. It was a gift from my nephew. I forget how old he is but I scoop anyway scoop scoop scoop spoonful after spoonful goes in, way more than the recommended amount. I dont care. I like it. I like it sweet. I like it good. I like when it rots. Its rotted now. It hardly hurts now. I think its dead now. I think I lost it now. Do I care? Do I need it? Do I need anything? I just need this. This pulse. This pulsatingness? Pulsatingness. In my head. I need pulsatingness.
I grab some water from the dead flower, the one I grew during the gardening phase. I dump and stir with a pen. The iced tea is sludge. Its good.
Maybe you can she begins.
I CANT! I yell into the phone. It doesnt work for me anymore! Its dried up I said. Its dull I said. I hate it and I want a new one! I drop my head into my hand, Please. I need it. Im serious this time.
FINE FINE FINE! She shouts and hangs up.
My eyes meet with the monitor on the desk. The blinking cursor. The flashing fucker.
A Big Pile of Misery: The Life and Times of Dusty. Thats what it says.
My reply? Open up and say, AHHHHHHH and I boot the bastard. It pops into sparkly sparks on the ground. The cracked screen flickers and goes black.
And Im off to the diner to meet Bonnie.
Edward Wright is a failing writer. Following the death of his estranged father, Edward discovers the basement of his newly inherited home contains unique and bizarre properties that may help him find his proper creative path.
E- Book coming soon!
(Art by Felicia Olin)
the freaky beat
A young adult, horror/sci-fi series about a teen magician, blogger, rationalist and critical thinker named Maxx Nelson. Maxx investigates occurances, oddities, phenomena and supernatural guff in a small town called Guff's Crossing for his blog, The Freaky Beat. Follow Maxx's search for truth, "magic" and clarity in a very unclear and complicated world.
More details are coming soon!
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Reviews!
Interviews!
1. Self-publishing Review
2. Dollar Bin Horror
3. Bookchatter
4. Backword Books
"Broken Bulbs is a brilliant and stunningly original work, by far the best novel I read in 2008."
- Alternative Reel
"this is by far the best self-published book I read last year. One of THE best books I read all year, including the mainstream stuff. An existentialist's dream, the author has dug in deep and laid bare the raw emotion so candidly that we can actually feel the futility, the desperation, and the humour."
- POD People
"as authentic as they come, experimental without trying to be intentionally obscure, dark without making you doubt humanity, smart and energetic. In short, its great writing.
its about obsession, self-negation, love, even God (The Everything), making Broken Bulbs an entirely unique take on a subject. Its a science fictional, hard-boiled, poetic vision of drug addiction and hamsters (read it!) A great addition to a genre that has never existed before."
- Self-publishing Review
"The characters revolted me and made me gag in some parts. Awesome!"
- The Book Journal
"All hail to Eddie!"
- Ginnetta Corelli, author of The Lost Episodes of Beatie Scareli
"disturbing and humorous, horrific and eccentric a fine specimen of what insanely inventive gems would be overlooked were it not for the fine world of independent publishing."
- Bookish Mom
"the kind of read that will leave you thinking about its message and implications long after youve finished it."
- Bookopolis
"this slim volume is the bastard child of Memento and William S. Burroughs, absolutely not for the faint of heart nor for anyone seeking a nice, simple beach read."
- Chicago Center for Literature and Photography
"it is strangely complex and fascinating. The real inspiration here is the gifted writer, Eddie Wright, and his unique style of writing."
- Kaye Trout's Book Reviews
"the absolute perfect spot-on portrait of the mind of an addict.
The first chapter alone is a nauseating churn of short choppy staccato sentences, random thoughts and actions, that read like beat poetry at a slam.
The whole thing is filled with crazy quips and one liners worthy of a high lighter so you can memorize and use them later."
- The LL Book Review
"a confusing whiplash of a ride."
- Red Adept's Kindle Book Review Blog
"every single word and phrase was methodically placed to perfection to share Frank's bizarre and desperate world. Its a bit poetic, sometimes disturbing and challenging as each carefully placed phrase fits into the puzzle of Broken Bulbs. On a bookshelf, Id sandwich it between Sartre and Denis Johnson."
- Holly Christine, author of The Nine Lives of Clemenza and Retail Ready
"It is dark, twisted, gory, cringe-worthy, but most of all, fascinating. It is, I think, a story that speaks to anyone struggling to make something of themselves."
- Quills and Zebras
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