Level UP! Please


Beware my Psycho Power!

Okay, so I must admit-I am a fighting game junky. For some reason, there is nothing more rewarding to me than talking crap about being good at a fighting game and being able to back those words up by lashing out combos and supers of relentless nature.

One of the newest games to enter the fighting game arena this year was Street Fighter V. With the introduction of V-Skills and V-Reversals, I must admit, I have never put in more hours in a Street Fighter game before.


I mean, mechanics aside, just the sheer beauty displayed in the graphics are enough to pique one’s interest.

(And if it isn’t obvious by now, my favorite character in the entire game is none other than the Emperor of Evil M. Bison).

With an inclusive roster of 22 characters, the various match combinations make for an interesting splash of color, projectiles, and quippy one-liners across your living room television screen.

But what will the future of Street Fighter v look like? Street Fighter v already follows a newness with the franchises first ever cinematic story mode. Not for nothing, it was fun but even with everything the game has to offer since its release earlier this year, it still feels to be lacking. There is no iconic Arcade Mode, the roster of 22, 6 of which must be obtained through either hours upon hours of gameplay to accumulate fight money or by whipping out that handy-dandy wallet and purchasing them. And the characters only come with one Critical Art with no Super Special! What’s up with dat!

Now I know it sounds like I’m crapping all over this game but in all honesty, it is damn fun. Capcom has never disappointed in the realm of DLC-let’s just hope we won’t have to wait for Ultimate Mega Super Duper Spectacular Street Fighter V Arcade Special Edition in order to see that because it was the multiple re-releases of Street Fighter IV that I lost my interest.

So go out in pick up a title and RISE UP!

My Rating: 4 out 5




The Choice by K.D. Davis


Image Reference

Vietrov, D (Photographer). (n.d.). Serious guy in a black robe. [Photo]. 

(Short Disclosure Before Story)

Hello, everyone.

I am an aspiring author and writer. What makes or breaks a writer (I am learning) is the amount of content one writer has circulating out there in the world. The more content, the more likely it is for you to be noticed so it is logical that the lack of content can make it harder for audiences to know your voice and genre of mastery. So I’ve decided to begin posting some of my private works along with some of the insight I learn throughout my journey in the writing industry. Below is my short story, The Choice. This is only Part 1 so look for Part 2 later this month. Enjoy!


  1. The Choice

An aggressive bedlam absorbs the world into utter desolation. Dizzying red and blue lights perched atop distinguishable vehicles rotate everywhere but I’d lost the ability to hear their wails some while ago. Heroes of the community, too, discernable by their uniforms are laden with apprehension, overwrought by the scene, running about with masks of desperation, attempting control over the unassailable chaos, screaming words that are inaudible to me. Camera crews capture the occurrence, broadcasting the fatal news to millions of people. Everything is blocked off by a massive perimeter enforced by yellow tape and officers.

Disbelief won’t allow me to look away from the horrific happening, this chaotic scene surrounding a smaller, more dreadful one—a boy with his small brown arm sticking from underneath the back end of a white sedan lying in a pool of red with a teddy panda clothed in green overalls just inches away from his fingertips.

The car’s nose had shattered upon striking the wooden electric pole, the driver’s face painted with a bloody, wide-eye death. Black fumes rise into the air from the front end of the car.

I should smell the smoke, shouldn’t I? And given the monumental fear and panic disseminating about the ether, delimiting everything and growing thicker and thicker, it should possess perfume too…shouldn’t it?

I remember my left shoulder being hot by the summer sun’s kiss. Now, I can feel nothing but a cold numbness. All I feel is the overbearing weight of an emotion that I cannot begin to decipher.

A woman across from me stands shouting at one of the uniformed heroes dressed in black and blue. Her black hair sprouts out in natural curls around her head like the petals of a sunflower. Pain shreds her more than anyone. Tears relentlessly stream down her smooth face.

The rescuers and heroes work against time to get the child from underneath the car. A stretcher is yanked from the back of an ambulance. Others try and migrate the crowds away from the wreckage that has now turned violent. A fire begins to feast upon the parts and wires underneath the hood.

The dead driver is removed first. A device is used to inch the car off the ground. Both hurriedly and meticulously—once the car’s back tires are elevated—some heroes help the boy from under the car.

The fire no longer eats with subtle hunger. It now professes its insatiable appetite. With every bite it grows mightier and fiercer.

Once the child is pulled free, they rush across the asphalt. Seconds follow and the car ruptures the silence that had taken my hearing, spitting noise, fire, car parts and energy against the air. I cover my ears as a hot wind pushes against me. My head throbs from the immediate presence of sound and the blast leaves a residual ringing inside my ears.

As I watch the world shift from frantic to elegiac, a memory enters my mind.

“Baby boy,” Mother says with a smile. “You don’t know how much I love you. You are the best thing your father gave me. But you must make me a promise, okay?”

I nod, the sadness in her eyes constructing her face in such a way that I inadvertently mimic the expression.

“The world will not understand you. They will hurt you. They will try and take you from me. They will destroy us if you show them your gift…your beautiful gift. Even if something happens to me, you must never use it. Okay? Promise me.”

“I promise,” I say. 

I am tugged by desire and obligation to promise. I see so many heroes trying to make the pain go away but can’t. They can only do so much, only that which the description of their worn uniforms define.

No. I can’t. I made her a promise. Even when I lost her I kept my promise. I did not use my gift albeit my overwhelming desire to. Besides, with the whole world watching, the ramifications are unspeakable.

A sensation fills my skull and I feel a couple tears fall over my cheeks. As I watch the woman cry over her son’s corpse, this small life taken so soon, I’m torn thin.

Without thinking, I grab the yellow caution tape and slip underneath it, into the thick of funereal air.

“Sir!” one of the uniformed heroes shout. “You can’t be on this side of the tape. Please make your way back—”

“You will let me pass,” I say.

The man’s resolve is shattered and he doesn’t attempt to stop me. I continue through the thickening dejection until I am before the woman and her dead son. She looks up to me, sobbing. Through her eyes, I feel her broken heart shatter mine, her sorrow steal away my breath, and her hopelessness cry for help.

“I am most sorry for this unfortunate fate that has befallen your son. If you wish, I can make your pain go away.”

The sorrow swimming in her stare invites an inkling of intrigue.

“I offer you choice. I can bring back your son. This is something in my power to do. However, it comes at a price. You will live with him until you grow old and die but your price is oblivion. No afterlife. No heaven to rejoin him in. You will become nothing. If you wish for him back, this I will do.”

Consideration overtakes the sadness in her eyes. She contemplates over it and over before nodding.

I place my hand on the boy’s body. I open his mouth and breathe the white Spirit into him. His wounds begin to heal, his heart is revived with a steady cadence, and his lungs start to move his chest up and down. He wakes with a strong cough, gagging off of death’s alleviated hand.

The mother whelps with elation, crying with her boy in her arms.

Smiling, I turn around. Every pair of eyes ogle me, mixed stares of trepidation and awe, bemused by my supernatural performance. An odd and sudden gravity distends inside my chest that sinks to my stomach.

I lift my hands in gesture that I am harmless but my movement attract a series of drawn guns. I see the consequence of my broken promise, the consequence of my ignorance. For the first time in my life, I was truly, truly terrified.

Entering a World of Blogging

In all honesty, I never would have imagined myself to pursue blogging recreationally and for professional gain. Funny, is it not, how life has a way of exposing us to things we’d otherwise brush off as naught and non-essential. If you are an aspiring writer and you are reading this, take advantage of every outlet imaginable to create content and strengthen the chances of your exposure. You never know who may be looking.

So without further ado, let’s get started with the meat and potatoes of this blog. What brought me to the World of Blogging? Well, the answer to this question dates back eight years ago when I first decided I wanted to be a writer. After an impressive eight months (at least impressive to me) I completed my first novel. Proud of myself and excited to make money, I rushed without research to get noticed by agents and publishers so that I could get my work out there and into the living rooms of every day people.

To my shocking surprise, it isn’t as easy as just writing a book and getting it published. You will set yourself up for years of disappointment. (Trust me, I know).

My work, Legendary: The Genesis was, in my humble opinion “the next “big” thing.” It involved creatures and content rarely ever touched upon in the entertainment world with a unique spin that was sure to make me–oh, and the publisher who chose my work–loads of cash.

Heed my caution: Do not be so quick to naivety.

So hence, after eight long years of trying to figure out the who, what, when, where, and why, I discovered I lacked a component of interest to publishers and agents–credibility. No degree, no works, no credentials whatsoever to sell myself as someone to take a chance on. You will more than likely find yourself working at some steady 40 hours-a-week job that you loathe as some department store clerk than living out your dream of being a successful writer if you take this road.

All I had to do was establish my credibility. But I was stubborn. I wanted the fame and the fortune NOW! So I decided, pfft, I don’t need an agent. After researching, I stumbled upon self-publishing.

Yes, you can publish your own work but this option should be ONLY considered, in my opinion, once you’re established. Do not let this be where you try and establish your foundation as a writer because for 1) is costs a LOT of money up front and for 2) you may be disappointed in your distribution options depending on who you go with.

I didn’t know any of this so I spent close to eight thousand dollars on a project that is still sitting on my computer waiting to be finished.

But from mistakes comes wisdom. If you are really serious about being a writer, LEARN about the industry. Read, read, read. Build your credibility first. My first suggestion is to put yourself through school and gain that fancy degree that you can wave around and flaunt. It will set you apart from your competition because agents and publishers will see this certificate as your proof of truly wanting to be a writer. They will take you seriously and you will gain a measure of credibility.

But don’t stop there. As a writer, and this may be a no brainer, you must WRITE. Always stay writing. Even if you don’t intend for the project to get published, doesn’t matter. Your writing is your weapons, armor, elixir, and revival spells. Your content will be your arsenal of choice to help strengthen your credibility.

Once you’ve established your credibility then you will become visible. Let’s put that into an equation shall we. Writing + Credibility = Visibility. Simple, yes?

Now it isn’t a requirement, but it’s an opportunity that I’ve learned to consider. Blogging will keep you writing, will help you with visibility and fatten your credibility. More than that, your content will define YOU.

“But where do I start?”

Highly warranted question. Begin with your interest because more than likely, you will find an audience of likeness. Target these people and deepen your writer’s power. If you like puppies, write about it dog-gonit! Superheroes? Put your Superman cape on, set up shop in front of your computer and write about it. Space endeavors? Voyage to the far reaches of the galaxy and write about what lies beyond the stars. Pick an interest and master it with content.

The last bit of advise is be consistent. Don’t create a blog if you won’t commit to the labor. This will be a testament of your credibility–or lack thereof.

Leverage yourself, take advantage of the platforms out there to strengthen your credibility, and become the best damn writer you can be.