My First Literary Death Match

Art by MONTELL

I attended my first Literary Death Match this past Wednesday in West Hollywood. I mainly came out to support my boy Kyle Seibel. We’ve been Twitter friends for a little while (I will forever refer to the social media site as Twitter), move in the same circles, and most importantly he’s a helluva writer.

I entered the venue which had a decent amount of activity going on outside. A woman sitting at a desk asked my name and she checked her clipboard, approving my entrance. She gestured towards the drinks, food, and books to the right of us. I grabbed a water bottle and a fig bar. I was trying to stay out the way as I guzzled some water, but this old couple was moving all over the place. I couldn’t figure out why…

The husband disappeared and I felt like I should say something as I just stood there chewing on my fig bar.

“You here to support anyone?”

“No, I just go to events and this seemed cool. Are you supporting someone?”

“Yeah, my boa Kyle, great writer.”

“Oh great!”

“Yeah.”

“I like your necklace,” I said complimenting her wooden necklace hanging down from her neck. It looked like globes connected to smaller globes connected to larger globes. Funky, but it worked for her.

I tossed the plastic wrapper in the trash and dipped inside the venue. A good amount people sat in what looked like a theatre. I situated myself in the back, but I debated with myself if I should move closer.

A bummy-looking guy with a receding hairline asked if he could sit next to me. This made me question if he was homeless and wandered in, but they check tickets at the front so I figured he should be good. Still, I don’t know why he sat next to me. I broke the ice and made some small talk.

“You know it’s Wednesday and my girlfriend wanted me to go so…”

“Where’s your girlfriend at?” I looked around confused.

“She dropped me off to find seats and she’s parking the car.”

“Oh I see…”

I wondered why he wasn’t parking the car and the roles weren’t reversed, but it isn’t my relationship so I let it be. His girlfriend materialized out of thin air about a minute later. Very sweet girl. Shoutout to her.

I told them I’m supporting Kyle and they should do the same. They nodded. The Australian host came out on stage with boatloads of charisma and literary facts. He broke down the event and explained how there would be three rounds. The first two rounds would whittle it down to two contestants who would go on to face each other in the championship round.

Jen Cheng came to the stage, the poet laureate of Weho and read a lukewarm poem related to fighting and competing. She meant well, but I don’t think she had the proper energy to pull off what she wanted to do. She wore a lovely hat though. Shoutout to her.

The host introduced the judges one by one and I realized these were some notable people. Felt like I should have done my research beforehand. Rasheed Newson is a writer/producer on shows such as The Chi, Narcos, and Bel-Air. I should have brought a copy of my crime novel Black Gypsies to give this man. Always keep a book on you especially if you live somewhere like LA. The next judge introduced was Pickle aka the Drag queen Laureate who reads to children at the library’s story hour. Then we had Timothy Simons who acted in The Veep, Draft Day, and The Interview. And finally we had Natalie Palamides who is a comedian and has voiced a ton of cartoon characters such as Buttercup on the recent run of The Powerpuff Girls.

The first contestants brought out were ex-NFL player R.K. Russell and short story writer Kyle Seibel (my people). They flipped a coin and had to answer a literary trivia question correctly. I believe Russell won the coin toss and decided to read second.

Kyle walked up to the mic with a sigma confidence, yoked up, with a few pieces of paper in his hand containing a short story. He read a story about a father explaining why he’s always late picking up his son. The events that occur get more and more absurd, but the emotional tenor in which Kyle spoke, drew you into the story, a vacuum sucking you in. It was a helluva story, great performance, and Kyle killed it.

Russell opened his memoir The Yards Between Us. He read a poignant section about his struggle to process grief over the loss of his teammate Joseph Gilliam. He explained his trauma, black plight, and finding safety in pain. Totally different tone, but it worked well and his use of hand gestures was dope.

The judges explained what they liked about the stories in a hilarious yet fractured way. They pointed out the strengths, the most random asides, and more. Afterwards, they deliberated amongst themselves who the winner should be. I was a bit worried they would just give it to Russell since he expressed black pain and wore his heart on his sleeve. Thankfully, they picked the better story/performance which was Kyle’s and he went on to the second round.

While all of this was happening a side plot unfolded in front of me, this blonde girl continuously pulled her shirt down to expose her left shoulder. It distracted me to the point where I was confused and began wondering what the purpose of this gesture was. Was she doing this for attention? Was this shirt even meant to expose the shoulder? Was she burning up? She had to be fucking up the fabric.

Who knows? I wish she would stop though and let it be. She eventually pulled the shirt down both her shoulders, exposing both lumps and her upper back.

The second group of readers came to the stage: Jessamyn Violet who is a writer/musician and author of Secret Rules to Being a Rockstar. And Melissa Chadburn who is a college professor/activist and author of An Upward Shove.

Violet was first and approached the mic with an edgy aura. She asked the crowd if anyone plays the guitar and a random guy with thick curly hair, a red ribbon tied around his neck and sunglasses, hopped up and grabbed the guitar.

“Give me something ominous and foreboding.”

The guy nodded and played something ominous and foreboding. It was perfect. She read a passage from her book about musicians, the struggle of musicians, and why people shouldn’t date musicians/artists. It was cool, but highly elevated by the music. I wondered how Chadburn would follow this act up since the performance value was so good.

Chadburn walked to the mic with a thick book in her hand, cracked it open and slammed it shut. She tossed it to the ground, ushering a new energy into the venue. I said holy shit, she’s going in. She started reading straight from memory, lovely tonal inflection, and pauses. For the life of me, I can’t remember what the story was about, but it was good.

Chadburn won which was the right decision and we came to find out the volunteer in the crowd was Violet’s husband. Now it was time for Chadburn and Seibel to go head to head in the final round. They chose teams which included the judges and other readers. They lined up like Family Feud in the photo up above, answering math questions related to literary classics.

Kyle’s team won and he was awarded a gold medal. Pretty crazy considering he’s the only person without a published book, just a ton of dope short stories. It feels good to move in a circle full of winners.

The couple sitting next to me looked my way, leaning forward. “Congrats on your friend winning. Such fun!”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I nodded. “Nice meeting you two.”

After the Literary Death Match ended, I dapped up and hugged Kyle. You know I congratulated him on the win and he invited me to go outside and smoke some weed with him. How could I say no to such a nice gesture?

A bunch of people stopped him as we tried to make our way out the doors and I stood there nodding my head and introducing myself to random ass people. We finally made it out, but this time with a third person. I don’t remember this guy’s name so don’t ask me, but it was a tall gentleman with a wool sweater and glasses with a little rope thing. He was a political reporter/journalist. I remember he mentioned Playboy Magazine and The Hill along with another recognizable publication.

“So I heard you’re a weed connoisseur?” Kyle asked me while he unveiled a mystery pre-roll.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“What do you like?” He lit the pre-roll and took a sharp inhale. “Let me know, man.”

“Jeeter, Maven…”

Kyle passed me the pre-roll. “I’ve had Maven. Just yesterday…pretty good.”

I took a puff and exhaled the smoke from my nose and mouth. “Oh Alien Labs, that shit is good.”

“Never heard of it.”

The political reporter chimed in. “Oh yeah, Alien Labs is good. Like everything they put out is good. They even have potent cartridges.”

We began walking down the street, moving deeper into Weho. We turned left and both sides of the street were bumping with music, people drinking and colorfully lit venues. I can’t remember where we ended up going. All I know is it was dead, there was a DJ playing some pop EDM type of music and we moved into the bar. I got a beer along with Kyle and the other guy.

Of course the question every writer asks their fellow writers came to fruition.

“You working on anything?”

I grinned, explaining the concept of Bullet Tooth, but I realized I was high and the music was on the verge of drowning my voice out. We moved outside and I mentioned Kyle’s novel specifically the picture of his printed-out novel on Twitter. We talked about that, the infamous Bear Creek Gazette incident, and the Navy.

The judge showed up with Jessamyn Violet, her husband, Jen Cheung, and her band of poets. She called them a band of poets, not me btw. We chopped it up about the event, how this was a standout performance and the judge’s plans of making this a TV show or the very least a media company.

“Time for me to go to bed,” the judge said, slowly standing up and effectively ending the night.

We all said our goodbyes, me and Kyle talked in secret a bit more, and we called it a night. I called my Lyft like a responsible human and took my ass home.

For whatever reason, I’ve been compelled to put another polish on my forthcoming horror novel Bullet Tooth. I’m strengthening some scenes, adding some detail, and slapping on some emotional muscle. When I was younger, I cared about atmosphere, weird shit happening, cool dialogue, and humor. This has transformed into a deep care for my characters, a heavy focus on identity, and an emphasis on the emotional framework. If it’s anxiety, let’s crank that up. If it’s sadness, let’s crank that up.

I want people to feel my characters as if they’re tangible breathing creatures with a bloody heart.

Here’s a small excerpt from Bullet Tooth. Davids Simmons, author of the fantastic Ghosts of West Baltimore approved and gave me a dope blurb.

“Money, murder, mayhem; Bullet Tooth is Sinister if Bagul wasn’t afraid to go to Chicago and he preyed on gang members instead of children. Wamack’s prose is immersive in its authenticity, bringing the streets of the ‘Raq to the pages of this book. Vengeance and violence, gangs and guns, load up your extendos and hundred-round drums and join me in songs of praise for Bullet Tooth,” —David Simmons author of Ghosts of East Baltimore.

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Currently Watching: Love, Death & Robots Season 3 & Lost Season 1. &
& Castlevania Nocturne & Invincible Season 2

Currently Reading: Full Throttle by Joe Hill & Cosmic Horror Monthly #2 & An Altar of Stories to Liminal Saints by Rios de la Luz & The Slob by Aaron Beauregard and Green Fuse Burning by Tiffany Morris.

Let’s just say The Slob did not live up to the hype at all, but I will say Beauregard is a marketing genius in terms of cover art, social media leverage, collabs, and fan engagement.

Currently Smoking: Maven Saturn OG Pre-roll

Listening: Black Tapes Podcast, The Danny Brown Podcast, The Higherside Chats, Agitator, Mutual Aberration Society, and Lost Xplorers

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Fire. Nuff said.

This sample combined with Anycia’s laidback voice is beautiful especially if you’re high. Anycia takes to the lake to explain her player ways, getting neck, and threatening her man’s girlfriend. This song is so addicting and the nature visuals are the perfect complement.

I can’t listen to Playboi Carti, but I do fuck with Ken Carson who has obviously been heavily influenced by Carti. Trippy visuals, teeth, shadows, and a rager type beat work in conjunction to give us “Fighting My Demons.” Carson stands in the darknesss, dripped out in ice and auto-tune, fighting his demons pretty easily.

I’m dying for them, they’re dying for me/that’s how shit’s supposed to be, think twice when approaching me…

Chicago’s own John Wick has been on a crazy run since he got out of jail. Tay Savage has been pushing peace, but he put out a provocative “PSA” that shit ain’t sweet and he stays with the pole. I mean he keeps pictures of his victims so he could keep that coldness in his heart. Tay needs to drop a project soon. I’m ready…

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Until next time…

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