Misophonia

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Chatter surrounds me. A few coworkers and customers are enjoying their meals and “still feel.” by half•alive is playing throughout the store again for the third time today, and the thousandth of the month. My banana, which was starting to brown, peeled nicely without leaving any of the strings on the part that I was going to eat. I slid headphones into my ears, drowning out the repetitive lyrics with music that was in a range of volume that shut me off from the outside world, but wouldn’t make me need a hearing age at an early age.

“Smells Like Teen Spirit” plays straight into my ear drums, turning the noise around me into a wall of white noise that was impossible to pick out just one sound from.  My thirty-minute lunch never felt long enough, but I closed my eyes to enjoy what little time I had, trying not to think about what mess my coworkers would leave for me when I got back or how exhausted I was from a week of doubles and not enough sleep to justify it.

The music held me in its arms, rocking me back and forth. Working through the first eight-hours of my sixteen-hour shift was the easy part. That’s when I could still justify working for that many hours in a row, because the money was decent (still not where it needed to be to let me live comfortably) and my temper was held under a sheet of steel that had been reinforced the night before. When the first eight wrapped up, my body and mind tried to shut down because of the traditional 40-workweek that I was used to working before I got laid off, but I had to will it to persevere. I needed the money more than I needed sleep or sanity.

A younger couple that was sitting at the table next to me before I sat down stood up and left. The man was wearing a black polo with the words “Halaxion” printed beneath it in bold orange letters and a pair of jeans that looked to be three sizes to small. His shoes were made of what looked like faux leather, and the fakeness of it was confirmed when I saw his gigantic silver “Dolex” watch around his wrist. It was so flamboyantly large that a rapper could have put it on a chain and slung it around their neck, and they’d look less ridiculous.

The woman was dressed in a pink blouse and yoga pants, the attire of a housewife, but I couldn’t pay attention to any of the other details. I was so transfixed on the way that the woman’s ass shook from left to right as she left for the door. Her yoga pants had one similar trait to the jeans that her boyfriend (or whomever she was sitting with) was wearing; they were three sizes too small. She was wearing a red thong with a heart pattern around the parts wide enough to hold them, and they complimented the shapeliness of her body. Distracted as I could be, I tried to look less creepy by keeping my eyes to the ground, knowing that if anyone saw me staring at her I’d look like a perverted dog, and I needed this job too much to blow it on some random woman.

I picked up the book that I had brought to work with me today and opened it to page 179, where I had left off the day before, and started reading. The first sentence came out in a jumbled mess when I read it. First it said, “No one moved,” but I could have sworn there were four words in the sentence. Skimming back, I read it again, this time seeing, “Not a single one of us moved.” I read the next sentence, trying to push forward through the hazy film that was making my vision blurry, but I looked back at the first sentence again. “None of us moved.” it said, for real this time.

My head throbbed. I closed the book, giving up on reading already and looked around the café. The coworkers and customers that were around me had all been replaced by different faces. In the distance, I saw the woman with the heart-covered thong, but I couldn’t seem to focus on her ass anymore. She was too far away, and I was too tired.

Crunch! Beside me, at the table that the couple had been at only moments before, a hefty man, probably no less than 300 pounds, was crinkling a freshly opened bag of chips, searching for his next inanimate victim. Still trying to watch the heart-thong in the distance, my focus was turned to my peripherals, where I studied the rounded features of the man who couldn’t seem to chew with his mouth closed.

Crackle crackle crunch! He had found his next chip from the obnoxious foil bag and threw it into his mouth, crumbs falling over his lap as he Crunched! another chip into his pie hole. He was wearing a t-shirt that could have acted as a parachute for someone half his size, and jean shorts that were so baggy and long that they covered his entire legs. A belt was holding on for dear life under his extruding belly, the last inch of it creeping as it tried it’s best to hold the massive pants up.

I hadn’t noticed that the song had changed from Nirvana and to “Reptilia” by the Strokes because I was so distracted, first by the woman but now by the man sitting next to me. Cringle crackle! He worked hard to fish out another chip from his unneeded snack. Crinkle! Crunch! Without hesitation, he had thrown the chip into his gullet and smacked his lips together repeatedly. I closed my eyes, trying to distract myself from the beast next to me, but the Smack! Smack! Smacking of his lips and tongue made me lose focus on everything but the nuisance next to me. If I didn’t know what the sounds were, you could have convinced me that it was kids jumping into a puddle at a playground. They were wet and, coupled with the crunching of the chips and the crackling of the bag, felt like a personal attack.

Sleep deprivation and never-ending work had worn away the tolerance for annoyance that I had been wearing through for the past two weeks. His Smacks! and Crunches! were exactly the type of inconsiderate thing that I had been waiting for to ruin my patience.

I leaned my cheek on my hand, creating a physical barrier between my peripheral’s and the man and then tried to focus back on my reading. “None of us moved,” it said. “The vampire and his four wights stood separated from the Hunters,” crackle crackle crackle crackle. I took in a deep breath and let it out. “The vampire and his four wights stood-” crackly crackle crunch! Smack! Smack!

I looked over at the man who had opened another bag of chips to dump into his greasy, crumb-covered mouth. Chest hair was peering up above the collar in his damp white t-shirt. This time, I watched him crackle crackle crunch! on another chip, watching how he pushed his tongue out of his mouth and set the chip on it, then pulled it back inside. He searched through the bag with such incompetence that I truthfully questioned whether or not he had ever actually eaten chips before; certainly, never without a bib.

Crumbs coated his lap in a thick layer. It looked like he had just left the beach and was still sandy. Crunch! He Slurped! his fingers, “cleaning” the chip residue from the tips, even though he still had well over half a bag of chips left. I watched with aggravated curiosity as he crackled another chip out of the bag, the Slurp! his fingers again because the spit from the last time he did it made the salt hold even tighter. With a lethargic, clumsy movement, he wiped his damp hands on his shorts, attempting to clean them, but instead getting more salt on his fingers. He licked them again, then Grunted! himself to his feet, wiping the crumbs back to the floor. He sat down, Phewing! all of his exertion out in one breath, then Slurped his fingers again.

Crackle crackle crackle crunch!

“None of us moved,” I read. The vampire –” Crunch!

I looked straight into the man’s sad face, but he didn’t notice the gaze because he was too busy making love to the chips he was eating. My heart was racing, and I felt warm all over as blood carried rage to every inch of my body.

My knuckles turned white as a prepared for the next Crunch! but it never came. Instead, he lifted the back to his mouth and crackle crackle crackled! it. Crumbs poured into his mouth and onto his lap. Smack! His lips reverberated through the café. The sound tickled my ear drums and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. I held the increase volume button on my phone until I was sure that my ears would bleed, but I could still her all of the sounds that this man was making. I forced myself to my feet, keeping my eyes aimed straight at the ground. The man was wearing a pair of black Fila shoes and an ankle brace on each foot. My ears hurt as I made my way to the bathroom and sat down in the handicap stall. No one else was in the bathroom.

My heart slowed and I turned down the music. The Smack! Crackle! and Crunch! were gone. I still had fifteen minutes left on my break and I intended to use all of them in this stall, where I could calm down from the hell that I had just endured. My eyes closed as I the coolness from the toilet seat regulated my body temperature. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. The bathroom door opened.

Stomping shook the floor, and through the inch crack between the stall and the door, I saw a large body of denim and cheap white cotton Whoosh! passed. For a second I help my breath, hoping that this was just a bad dream, but when the man let out a loud Phew! as he sat down, I knew it was over. His Fila shoes and ankle braces were staring me in the eyes as he Groaned! and Grunted! his way through his bathroom routine.

I hated this man. I had never even talking to the guy before, but all of the sounds that he made felt so inconsiderate to those around him and I couldn’t even imagine a conversation with someone who was that unaware of his surroundings. As silently and considerate as possible, I pushed myself to my feet and flushed the still empty toilet. While washing my hands, the oaf began whistling an unfamiliar string of notes, pausing only to grunt as he tried to expel his excrement, then, before his breath came back to him entirely so he could whistle again, he hummed the same tune a half step down from where he whistled it.

The volume button on my phone clicked again as I could feel the beginnings of tinnitus set into my numb ears. As the volume drowned out my ability to think, I could have sworn that I heard another loud crackle crackle Crunch! from the stall.

Thinking about going back to work for the second eight-hour half of my day made me sick to my stomach, but the idea of being trapped in the same room as that guy was even worse, so I opted to clock back in. I slipped my cut resistant gloves on, then covered them with cheap latex ones and walked to the deli counter to wait on my next customer.

As my eyes were focused on slipping the second pair of gloves over the first, I absent-mindedly said, “I can help whoever’s next.”

In a lazy, low tone, a man said, “that would be me.”

I looked up to see the disgusting swamp monster from the café and bathroom, took a deep breath and said, “what can I get for you?”

He breathed in through his nose with a whistle from an inconvenient placed booger and Smacked! his lips together, using his tongue to clear the remaining chips from behind his teeth and gums before finally speaking. Q

Tortured Paranoia

Most everything I write is for fun and entertainment for everyone that decides to read it, but sometimes I think it’s important to shine light on important topics. I hope you enjoy, but also understand what’s being communicated here.

Scott McTwister

Francis Long walked up the chipped concrete steps to 238 Windshire Street, a house that had more rumors floating through the neighborhood than any other in the world. People would say that they heard shrieking children, howling dogs or the construction echoing through the cool night sky. As an Eagle Scout, Francis discounted each and every stupid story that he heard, always trying to give people the benefit of the doubt.

The man that lived inside the house, Willie Asher, was a known Vietnam War veteran and was held captive alongside the politician Gregory Huang in the Hanoi Hilton. They were known to communicate through tap code, which is a way that many prisoners have communicated through the years. As Huang rose to fame, he recounted discussions that they would have, talking about their families, dream homes and what they hoped to do when they got home from the Hilton, while Asher fell deep into obscurity and forgotten by the public.

Through school, along with the philanthropy that Francis was doing, he was immediately enthralled with his past. He was an ex-naval aviator, shot down by the North Vietnamese and captured in 1971 until he was released in 1973. While in the prison, he was beaten by belts and whips, starved and forced to stay awake for days on end; there are a few accounts of his shoulders being popped out of their sockets, then hung to the ceiling like such for further beatings.

Even though he had been forgotten by the passage of time, he was still a war hero and Francis wanted to be the one that gave him the help and respect that he deserved. Through his research, he learned that most of Asher’s family was either dead or estranged due to arguments or disagreements that escalated until the family members were no longer on speaking terms. When Francis reached out to the family members to get them back in touch with Willie, they told him that it wasn’t worth the time or effort due to “severe mental damage.” That only invigorated Francis, knowing that if anyone could help Willie, it was him.

Most of the house’s windows were broken, and curtains were fluttering behind them. He pushed the button to ring the doorbell but was met with silence. He knocked on the tattered screen door and it opened a bit, closing with a slam as a large gust of wind blew. “Hello?” he yelled, but no one answered. Knocking again, he yelled louder but again, no one answered.

The rumors about the house began six years ago when a little girl went missing around the area. Eight-year-old Olivia Down was walking from her house to her friends and had to pass directly in front of Willie’s. From there, the details get a bit fuzzy because everyone in the town made up their own story. Some said Willie barged out with a rifle and grabbed Olivia, carrying her inside. Others say that she was lured inside with promises of puppies and candy. A few people even go as far as saying he used some paranormal abilities to trick her into walking through the front door. Olivia was never found, and even though police and other investigators searched Willie’s house, the rumors had been spread so much that they became truth in many people’s minds.

With another knock and still no answer, Francis started to walk back down the chipped steps and try again later, when the thought struck him that this man was 73. If his family hadn’t checked in on him in years and he wouldn’t answer the door, he could have met an untimely death. The thought chilled Francis as he turned back to the door, which was lightly swinging open again in the breeze, occasionally clacking closed. One last time, he knocked, but this time he decided to stick his head in and look around.

The house looked abandoned. Shards of glass sat below the open windows and floor boards were warped all around them. In a few places, floor boards and wall paneling were ripped up entirely, revealing the rotten core of the house. To the right of the door was what looked like a family room with a recliner torn to shreds with the foam sticking out. Francis looked closely and thought he saw movement inside. It was either a nest for rats or some other creature that he hoped he wouldn’t meet. There was an entertainment center without anything on it, and each of the drawers was missing, revealing the cleanest looking section of the wall behind it. Multiple light switches were left flipped up, but not a shred of artificial light shined. Francis looked up to see that almost every bulb had been taken from its socket and was nowhere to be seen.

Even though this was the type of place that could be in a horror movie, Francis was undeterred. If Willie was still alive, this man needed serious help. He took in a deep breath and let out a booming “Hello!” that surely Willie would hear if he was around. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He turned to see an elderly man peering around a wall, but the second Francis turned his head, the man retracted.

“Willie? Is that you?” Francis asked with wavering confidence, as the whole situation seemed strange. “My name is Francis Long. I’ve heard a lot about you and wanted to see if you were interested in sitting down over lunch so that I could finally meet you.”

For a second, the man didn’t move, but then he bounced from behind the wall and started moving towards Francis with a light bounce that isn’t expect from someone his age. With a happy smile on his face, he said “hello Francis, it’s nice to meet you.” He held out one hand with the other behind him in a kind of royal way, stopping sternly two paces in front of Francis.

Any fear or confusion that had bubbled inside of Francis quickly dissipated. Willie (Francis assumed it was him even though he hadn’t introduced himself) seemed nice and surprisingly full of pep. He reached out his hand to shake it and was met with a firm grip.

Francis was pulled closer unsuspectingly and spun around. With Willie to his back, his arm was twisted by the hand that he had tried to shake until he was about to scream. Willie’s second hand lurched up and held a knife to his throat. “Howdja find me? Who told you I was here?”

“I looked it up online!” Francis yelled. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to surprise you. I’m so sorry,” he sputtered with tears streaming down his face.

“Whatda we have here. A coward? Cowards make the best talkers.” Willie pushed Francis forward and he walked.

At one point, Francis moved his arm up to the arm holding the knife at his throat to pull it back, but the second he touched Willie’s arm, Willie pushed the tip of the blade into his neck and blood trickled down, staining the light brown Eagle Scout’s uniform. “Move again and I’ll cut’cher throat out.”

Francis sobbed, throwing out every apology and explanation that he could. He’d say, “I’m sorry for coming to your house!” and “if you let me go, I’ll leave and never come back!” and anything else he could muster.

With each string of words, Willie laughed. “I can’t believe they’d let someone as weak as you on the force.”

“The force? What are you talking about? I’m not part of any force!”

“That’s enough talking from you.” Willie pushed him through a doorway and down a flight of steps to the basement. The steps looked like they had been eaten by termites and sawdust was everywhere. When they reached the floor, Francis’ shoes were filled with water. The unfinished room was flooded by an inch of water. There was a drain in the center of the room, but it had been clogged with different debris, like the saw dust from the stairs, along with larger chips of wood, dirt, screws and nails.

There was a large cabinet that had been moved beside a massive hole in the wall. A rusted pickax and shovel laid next to the hole and large piles of dirt and rocks were next to them. Willie had carved a small hole in the wall out and a menacing looking wooden contraption was sitting in the middle. With a strong push, he threw Francis towards the machine and told him to sit in it. After a short argument that ended with Willie trying to stab Francis, he defeatedly crawled into what he thought would be his wooden tomb.

To get in, Francis had to climb onto something that was about waist height and put his arms and legs into unsanded wooded gutters. When they were in place, Willie strapped his ankles and wrists in place so tightly that the feeling in his feet and hands almost instantly vanished. “Howju you like it?”

Francis didn’t say anything. He was crying and had given up on pleading his case. He was thinking back to the conversation that he had with his mom before he left home. Desperately, he tried to recall if he said he loved her.

“What? You don’t understand me?” Willie spit in Francis’ face. “I said, how do you like it?”

“I don’t!” Francis let out in a scream that would have broken glass if there was any intact in this dilapidated home.

“Good.” Willie strapped his neck in place, then walked to a corner of the room and picked up a clamp, screwdriver and mallet. He placed the clamp around Francis’ right thigh, tightening it as much as he could by hand before he put the screwdriver through the handle and pounded it tighter with the mallet, getting two more complete turns. Francis screamed from the excruciating pain and Willie put a strip of leather in his mouth. “No one can hear ya down ‘ere. Might as well stop tryin’.” He did the same thing to Francis’ left leg and the upper part of both his arms.

“Now, lemme ask ya some questions. Who sent ya here?” Willie said an inch from Francis’ face.

“What are you talking about?” Francis said in a muffled voice through the leather that Willie was holding in his mouth.

Willie didn’t say a word. He simply smiled and moved to Francis’ right arm, which was spread out away from his body. At the end of the gutter that the arm was in, he twisted a small wooden handle that started rotating his arm at the elbow. At first Francis didn’t understand what was happening, but when his forearm had turned a little more than 90 degrees, it stopped for a second and searing pain started up his arm. He bit down on the leather and watched as Willie kept turning the handle.

Then there was a pop.

Since his upper arm couldn’t move, his elbow was dislocated, torn from the socket with one quick movement. His body convulsed when he screamed from pain and gagged from the sound at the same time. Francis couldn’t compare the pain to anything he had experienced before, but he imagined it’d be easier to have the entire arm lopped off at the elbow and cauterized.

Willie walked back to Francis and starred him in the face, only inches from his tear and sweat covered brow. “Le’s try this again ya commie bastard. Who sent you here?”

Francis couldn’t say a word. He was left motionless, distracted by the pain in his ankles and left wrist, and the numbness in right arm. Willie headbutted him, pushing his head into the wooden trough that his head lay in. His vision blurred and again, he tried to plead his case. “No one sent me here. I wanted to see if you needed help with anything.”

Silently, Willie pushed himself up from the contraption and walked to Francis’ right leg. With fire in his eyes, he was said, “I really don’t like liars,” and started turning another handle by the leg. Slowly but just like what happened with his arm, his foot and calf was turned to the right, and after it hit a right angle, there was resistance and then a sudden pop, sending pain, then a cool numbness through his body.

“You get two more tries until I try something else.” Francis couldn’t see what Willie looked at, but he looked at the entrance to the cave that he was in and feared for the pickax. “Now, who the fuck sent you here!” He took the leather from Francis’ mouth.

“I told you, no one sent me here!” Francis pleaded with all of his remaining strength. “I’m an Eagle Scout. I learned about you in school and wanted to see if you needed help with anything around the house! I could help you fix your floor boards or walls, or even get your groceries or do your laundry! I’ll do anything. I just want to help!”

Willie watched patiently, letting Francis finish his plea. With the bounce that he had upstairs, he moved to Francis’ left leg and started turning. Once he got to the point where the joint was about to be pulled from the socket, he stopped and looked at his hostage, then he ripped it all the way around, the remaining 270 degrees.

Francis screamed from the initial pain, but then threw up on himself while feeling the grinding through his leg. He didn’t know what was grinding, but that only added to his disgust. He threw up again and then his vision went black for a second. Willie placed a damp cloth on his forehead to keep him cautious and wiped some of the vomit from his mouth. “I’m not gonna ask again.”

“I – no one,” he stuttered, not sure what to do, but knowing he couldn’t risk screwing up again. “I’m a spy. I was sent to spy on you.”

“Now was that so hard?” Willie said with a smile. “You get to live for a little while longer because you cooperated, but next time I come down here, you better tell me everything you know or it’s over.”

Willie left the cave and moved the cabinet in front of the hole. Francis was left alone in the darkness of the cave. He couldn’t move and didn’t want to try, fearing that his arm or legs would grind like they had before. All he could think of was if he had told his mom that he loved her, or if they’d find him before Willie came back. With the rest of his remaining strength, he tapped the fingers of his left hand on the wooden gutter that was holding it before losing consciousness.

Tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap, tap.

Tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap tap, tap.

Tap, tap tap tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap, tap tap.

Tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap, tap tap. o�Ю�c

Quick Update

Hello everyone! Sorry for not posting as much on here recently. I’ve really been trying to focus on writing a new book and that’s taking a lot of my time and haven’t been writing as many shorts. Here’s a quick update about what’s going on with me!

As I said, I’m working on a new book. It’s really a huge focus on my depression and anxiety, and I’m using the character of the book to explain some of the thoughts and bodily functions (sweating, biting nails, dry mouth, etc.) that come with it. It’s honestly been a lot of fun, even though it forces me to really look at and confront my own shortcomings due to my brain. It’s a thriller with a lot of twists and turns along the way, and I’m hoping that book three is the one that gets an agents attention.

Along with that, I’ve been trying to focus more on my podcast. I’m hoping that it’s been able to help people through their struggles, and I’ve heard from a few of my soon-to-be-ex-coworkers (for those of you that don’t listen to the podcast, but like the blog, I’m getting laid off) that they find some solace in it. That’s comforting to hear and the kind of thing that makes me excited to record the next episode. I know I’m not alone in depression, since that’s a really common thought from people that have depression, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling it sometimes. It makes me feel like I’m not talking to the void, but instead to people that are working everyday to come to an understanding of how their brain works and how to improve their daily happiness.

In terms of my career, I’m in a bit of a weird spot. I majored in Marketing and have only held a job for about 8 months before getting laid off, so I don’t have a whole hell of a lot of job experience, so finding another job will likely feel like I’m starting from scratch, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m a lot more focused on finding a job that’s more emotionally enjoyable, like something in the mental health field where I can impact people around my community. The hard part about that is, I majored in marketing… not psychology… so finding a job, again, might be harder than I think. With all of that being said, I’m excited to find a new job that I’ll like and am not too worried about the future.

That’s all for now. Hopefully I’ll have some more news for you next time, but for now enjoy the podcast, and if you want the occasional thought from me, follow Acceptable Madness on Instagram and/Facebook. Once I finish my book, I’ll likely write shorts more frequently, but for now, that’s not my main priority. The bright side is I write quickly, so give me another month or so and I’ll be done.

Bye friends! Stay healthy.

Uphill Climb

Quick Announcement: As of today, my podcast should be on Spotify. It might need some edits over the next few days, but if you’re interested in listening and putting up with some imperfections, please give it a listen.

cropped-podcast-logo-final

Hello and welcome to another conversation with Scott. The topic of this week… marketing myself. I went to college for marketing, and what I learned while I was there is that there is an infinite number of ways to get your name out there. You can use the various forms of social media, try to make a brand or product that people will learn who you are through or whatever else people can figure out. As of recent, my mentality has been to focus on improving my work and be consistent with content, but I can’t figure out if that’s actually doing anyhing for me.

Being consistent with content is great! Put work out three times a week and make sure that the content is what I want it to be. If I’m not feeling particularly interested in writing about suicide or some other depressed topic, I write about something else. I’ll write about some of my other passions and hope that something sticks. Maybe, if I’m lucky, someone will come for the completely different topic and stay because they relate to my personal writing. It’s just strange to see the lack of new views and followers.

I’m new to blogs and to tell you the truth, I think social media is a bit of a drain on society so I’m not super present there. My thought was, if I create a blog to try and get feedback on my smaller work and experiment, while pushing forward on work that has a more appropriate avenue for success (my book, business and/or games), then maybe the success of one will lead to the success of the other.

Today, I applied to an agent who seemed to say that his only reason for taking on a new client was if they had already developed a platform for themselves… and I basically did a double-take. I thought what I was doing, which is slow, organic growth through constant engagement, was the right thing to do until I found a more mainstream way to reach success, such as publishing a book. I’m just confused. I don’t really know how to take the next step in finding a broader audience. Really, it’s not too big a deal. I’m still interested in publishing a book and that’s my main goal right now, but if I don’t have enough of a following for an agent to see it as profitable, then… what next?

Image may contain: 3 people, including Mike McKinney and Lauren Wagner, people smiling, wedding and suit
I’m on the right. I hope my brother and sister don’t mind that they’re on this blog…

Scott McWut

Exciting Announcement

Hi everyone!

I thought I’d give a small update on one of my projects. I’ve been putting together a compilation of all of the shorts that I’ve been writing and now that I have 100 that I’m comfortable putting under one cover, I’ll be putting them up on the Amazon eBook store soon. I don’t have a specific timeline but it will happen whenever I get art for the cover, edit and format everything to what it needs to be. I’m excited and I hope you will be too when it comes out. I’ll keep everyone posted with updates on the projects. I know I’ve been using this as a medium to get my work out there for free, but if you really like what I make, then there are a few exclusive pieces that will only be in the book that you can read.

I’ll announce the title in coming weeks, but until then, I hope you enjoy the work that I’ve been putting up here.

Thank you,

Scott McAuthor

P.S. – I’m the one on the right in the picture below.

Image may contain: 3 people, including Mike McKinney, people smiling, suit and outdoor

Scott McAlittlemoreaboutme

Hello!

First and foremost, thank you to the new followers that I’ve gotten. I don’t know how or why you followed me, but I’m just going to assume that it’s because you like the stuff I put out. I’d love to get some comments on my posts letting me know what you like and don’t. I value your opinion and really want this website to a productive way to better my own writing skills. Enough of that though – I’m writing this to talk a bit more about the cog that moves this blog. I’ll be focusing on the projects that I have going on right now and what kind of direction I’d like them to head in.

  1. Blog
    • Clearly this blog is a way to get my writing out to the public, but it’s also an archive for my stuff. I’m writing to try and help people that might suffer through the same stuff but not necessarily know how to say it or what to do to feel better. What I write stems from my own personal struggle and the thoughts that go through my head. I want to be as transparent as possible because I think authenticity is more important than a lot of other things.
  2. Book
    • As you can likely tell by the vague project heading Book, I don’t want to go into too much detail at this moment in time, but I finished writing my second book in March. The first one that I wrote is written like shit because I was a very unseasoned writer. The idea is good so I’ll rewrite it eventually, but currently, I have my second book going through the rejection process of the traditional agent/publishing route.
  3. Business
    • I am working with my girlfriend and a few of my college buddies to make a business that should help a college students in the future. Again, for the sake of protecting my ideas, I won’t go into too much detail, but know that this is a huge time draw for me right now.
  4. Podcast
    • If you’re a super follower, then you must have noticed the Episode 1 post that I put out. I’m experimenting with podcast format and equipment to make a podcast that covers a lot of the topics that I’ll cover in this blog, but with a bit more personality since you can hear it through my voice and not a screen
  5. Games
    • I have a few card games that I’m getting ready to throw at Kickstarter in the hopefully near future. One is fast-paced and surely has a lot of playful screaming involved, while the other is a strategic and chance based game that brings an educational and fun component.

I’ll go into more detail about all of the projects as they develop, but for now I want to just say that I have a lot of stuff cooking and I hope that you can find at least a piece of it to enjoy. If you have any questions, feel free to ask and comment. I like to keep myself busy so I’m always doing something and I’m sure that I’ll have new projects brewing soon. Now, I know you’re thinking “wow, that’s a lot. That’s never gonna happen,” but I promise you… it’ll all get done.

Scott McKinney

The Liebster Award

Hello and welcome to something very different from what I normally do. Joseph from Iskarius nominated me for this award and, although I don’t really know how or where it started, it seemed like something interesting to do. It’ll give a bit more insight into the person behind the blog. So thank you Joseph and please check out his blog.

Scott McKinney

THE OFFICIAL RULES: LIEBSTER AWARD

If you are nominated for The Liebster Award and you accept it, write a blog post about the Liebster award in which you:

  1. Thank the person who nominated you and post a link to their blog on your blog.
  2. Display the award on your blog by including it in your post and/or displaying it using a “widget” or “gadget.”
  3. Answer all 11 Questions about yourself, which will be provided to you by the person who nominated you.
  4. Provide 11 random facts about yourself.
  5. Nominate 5-11 blogs that you feel deserve the award, who have less than 1,000 followers.
  6. Create a new list of questions for the blogger to answer.
  7. List the rules in your post. Once you have written and published it, you have to inform the blogs that you nominated for the Liebster Award and provide a link for them to your post so that they can learn about it.

 1. Why did you start blogging?

  • I started blogging because my friend Isaac told me I should. I have been writing for the better part of a year and a half and I have loved every second of it. At first, it took time to share my work with anyone, but as time progressed and I became a bit more confident, I started sending it to friends and family. It didn’t take long for me to want a bigger and more diverse audience to share my work with so this was a kind of the natural progression.

2. If you were a superhero, what would be your power?

  • This is a question that I’ve spent more time on than I should probably admit. I’d love the ability to bend light. I know that sounds weird but hear me out. If you could bend light, you could change how it bounces off surfaces, so I could do something as simple as turn someones shirt from green to purple, or theoretically travel at the speed of light by using the waves or maybe even make a hard light surface like a light bridge. I don’t know. Maybe I’m full of shit and none of this will work. Oh well.

3. Can you perform a magic trick?

  • Yes and no. The only magic trick that I’ve ever really performed was giving a friend a deck of cards and told them to shuffle it completely ten times if they wanted to see a magic trick. When they were done I just put the cards away and went “ta da! I magically got you to shuffle cards for no reason!” It’s stupid but I had fun.

4. What are you exceptionally good at?

  • Following a burning passion. I love writing, so I’ve written two books in a year in my attempts to get published. I love business, so I’m always working to push forward different business ideas. I know that if I want something to happen, I need to make it happen, so I work as hard as I can.

5. What is your favorite dish?

  • Burgers. I love them. They can be simple or complex, but if you can find ingredients to compliment the meat, it can be divine.

6. How do you avoid getting into trouble?

  • By telling the truth and being transparent. My whole purpose for starting to write was I needed an emotional outlet. I’d rather tell someone ten bad but honest things and work through it, instead of keeping something locked up and being forced to deal with it alone.

7. Would you try extreme sports?

  • It depends on what it is. Like would I skydive? Sure. Bungee jump? Maybe, it seems like it would hurt your neck. I would try stuff that’s extreme but has a high success rate. I wouldn’t do something that ends in a lot of deaths because I value my life more than I need an adrenaline rush.

8. What are your 3 favorite books?

  • I Am Legend by Richard Matheson
  • 1984 by George Orwell
  • The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

9. What do you think we take for granted these days?

  • Communication. The ability to talk to everyone has made it easy to neglect the really important relationships because you’re focusing on keeping every relationship you’ve ever had. It also creates a false sense of closeness that I believe can be really bad for anxiety and stress.

10. You are now the wealthiest person in the world. What do you do first?

  • This might seem selfish, but I would retire and focus on stuff that I’m more passionate about. If I had more time in the day to focus on my books, ideas for podcasts, videos and businesses, then I might really make something that can do even more good than just money. I’m not a materialistic person so I don’t want much other than more time in the day for my passion projects and family.

11 Random facts about myself:

  1. Favorite color: Purple
  2. Favorite song: Mad World by Gary Jules
  3. What am I listening to right now: She by Cocainejesus
  4. Book that I’m going to read next: The Forever War by Joe Haldeman
  5. Height: 5’8″
  6. Favorite brand of coffee: Eight O’Clock Original blend
  7. Least favorite book of the past year: Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
  8. Biggest motivators: My girlfriend Alex and my own drive for success
  9. Favorite holiday: Groundhog Day, strictly because of how ridiculous it is
  10. Favorite season: Summer
  11. Favorite candy: Take 5

I nominate:

deseoamor of Dear You

justjim251 of Just Jim

Amy of Amytobefree

kemyogendi of Musings of a Nomad

Eos of EOS EVITE


My Questions:

  1. What do you listen to when you read/write?
  2. Do you have any pets and what are they?
  3. Do you meditate, do yoga or anything else to really try to relax yourself?
  4. What is your favorite childhood television show?
  5. What’s your dream job?
  6. What inspires you to get out of bed every morning?
  7. What’s your favorite movie and why?
  8. If we could visit any planet in the solar system (and live), which would you choose to visit?
  9. What’s something that you find interesting about yourself that not many people know about?
  10. What’s the best joke that you know?

 

Welcome to Acceptable Madness

Hello!

My name is Scott McKinney. I don’t know how you stumbled on this website, but I’m happy to have you here! Before we get started, let me tell you a little about myself.

I’m 22 as of this post. I graduated from Penn State Behrend with a Marketing degree in December 2017 and snagged a job in Pennsylvania as a Multi Media Sales Executive, which is a fancy way to say that I sell advertising. My favorite hobbies are writing (the whole reason for this website), spending time with my loving girlfriend, Alex, and family and just generally creating stuff. I’ve experimented with painting, creating songs and YouTube video’s under the name “Mr. Eighth Wonder”, where I’ve amounted a whopping 14 subscribers. The only song that I’ve written so far is called “My Girlfriend Thinks It’s Hot When I Rap,” which if you want to hear some cringy shit, listen to that on SoundCloud.

I hope the main reason that you’re here is because you heard about my writing. That’s my main passion and my long term writing goals are to publish a book and hopefully put a compilation of short stories on the Amazon eBook store. I also hope to become a bit of an emotional outlet for people. Life is hard and sometimes it’s even harder to put into words why it’s hard. I hope that my writing can help people with that.

Hopefully you like what I write and keep coming back for more. Not everything will be perfect and you won’t like it all, but I hope you bear with me as I try to become a better writer.

Thank you,

Scott McAuthor

blur book stack books bookshelves
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