Skip to main content

My work

ralphantiartistdigital

What do you do when you don't know who you are, when who you thought you were, who you thought would become, is destroyed? This is the story of young man, Chris, seeking an identity after the seemingly catastrophic collapse of his life, seeking what it means to be a creator, and, ultimately, seeking a glimpse of hope and recovery after a rock-bottom event. During his search, he comes to the conclusion that instead of creating beauty for an ugly world, he wants to destroy beautiful things. Because of his background and education in art, Chris knows of a secret: Michaelangelo's David has a fatal flaw, a weakness that if struck correctly would shatter the marble into fragments. What will Chris and his newfound group of society's rejects do with this knowledge? Antiartists is both bleak and darkly comic, playful and serious. It is about broken people doing broken things, and about trying to find a reason to carry on when there seems no escape from the downward trajectory of one's life. It is, in the end, about redemption and hope, about finding a way to keep living when everything seems lost, about finding a light in the darkness. It is the story of an outsider coming to terms with his differences. This story is ultimately about believing, once again, that it is worth carrying on - that even after seeing rock bottom, life can be beautiful again.

https://www.amazon.com/Antiartists-Ralph-Pullins/dp/1941541984/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8



This anthology is made of five stories exploring different aspects of living.
Five different authors bring you beautiful tales exploring a common theme.

All proceeds from this anthology will be donated to the Linerberger Center for Cancer Research at the University of North Carolina in memory of Eric Dejong.

This includes a story of mine, "Paging Mr. Bronson" that I am very proud of.  Only three bucks.

https://www.amazon.com/Life-Living-Anthology-Publishing-Anthologies-ebook/dp/B01MZXEXG3/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1487264309&sr=8-1&keywords=on+life+and+living+anthology

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Wall

I originally wrote this story for an anthology of cosmic horror that ultimately never came to fruition.  It is based on an idea from my son, Cayden, who asked during the run up to the 2016 election, what if they actually did build a wall, and then there is some kind of  apocalypse and instead of keeping people out, the wall ends up trapping everyone inside with the sickness?  So when I saw the call for submissions for cosmic horror stories with a political theme, I asked him if it was alright if I stole his idea as long as I give him a co-author credit, and that he had better say yes, or I would make him pick up the dog poop all summer.  He agreed, his brother got stuck with the poop patrol again, and I sat down and wrote this story.  Since the anthology never came to pass, and it was written for that alone, it has been sitting in my file for quite some time.  Recently, there has been a lot of wall talk in the news again, and so I decided to just put it up here because, after reading …

We Would Be a Song

I seem to define my life with soundtracks, playlists that encompass epochs or periods of change or development.  My earliest music was my mother's: Van Halen and Judas Priest, Def Leppard and AC/DC.  I remember a friend of hers explaining to second grade Ralph that the big balls that Angus was singing about were parties, but even then I didn't buy it.  My teen years were heavy on grunge, Nirvana and Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, and that was the first time that music ever felt like it was mine, that I discovered by myself or through the radio, or like minded friends, that was the first time that I took it and owned it and loved it, and even now I'll hear Black Hole Sun or Rooster or Smells Like Teen Spirit on the radio and back I go.

In the fifth grade, I moved to Kelso, Washington. I want to say that it was hard, but what I remember mostly from childhood is just this sense of taking every day as it arrived.  What else do we have except our own experiences to measure thi…

Something Under the Stairs

Sometimes when you look in the mirror you see some things you don't like.  You see wrinkles, yes, and grey hair, sure, but that's okay, that's just what happens if you don't die young, you get older, and that just fine, but there is other stuff there, stuff that hides behind the eyes, things you hate, that meek child part of you, that broken fool part of you , that sad pathetic needy part of you, it is all there if you look close enough, there hiding behind your eyes.
So what you do is, you take all the parts of yourself that you hate, all the weaknesses and failures, you take those things and you lock them away, somewhere deep, somewhere dark.  All the times you failed, when you should have spoken up but didn't, when someone needed you and you didn't show up, when you could have easily given but chose not to, you reach inside and pull it out of you and you toss it down the stairs.  
What you do is, you look at all the worst parts of the people you love, you l…