An Amusing Death Threat & My New Stack On Writing, Art, Life

A kickoff to 2025 with a fun, revamped newsletter

An amusing death threat & my new Stack on writing, art, life is a kickoff to 2025 with a fun, revamped newsletter. Please join me as I thread memories with the present day, and, dare I say, the future, for my goal here is to provide entertaining insight into the work, brain, influences, and the art, of course.

And yes, I will share some details pertaining to my first death threat – it really is a hilarious tale - and the juicy particulars of the infamous JUNO review that incited so much rage and backlash.

But first a note from our sponsors (I kid) - Today is all about the positive

Because of the state of the world being, um, what it is, I will keep any negativity, or outright fury, to myself at this time, and you will instead be privy to my sense of humor and candor, at least for today.

Yes, even in regards to my first death threat, you can expect hilarity and lighthearted directness in this piece.

I think we can all use a bit of laughter and intrigue without the doomscrolling wheel of fortune pinning us down.

I know I can.

In 2025 I am doing something new and making a more personal newsletter on Substack – a new Stack! - to scratch the itch of introspection, philosophy, and deep-dives into the crafts I have dedicated my life to.

As for news: I have a lot of projects in the works, mostly art in writing, and some of these I have talented collaborators I am working with on (comic books, anyone? There are at least two kicking around), and others include a few novels, short stories, non-fiction, and poetry, from various stages ranging from wailing infancy to shovel-head thrumming, motorcycle speeding in the fast lane toward publication.

Insight (not Incite)

I will continue to keep you informed of all of these things, but I also want to add an attempt at being insightful and sharing.

I recently made a major move from New York to Portugal (my two loves that I now divide my time between), and that thoroughly kicked my ass.

As I feel my lips swell and the warm trickle of blood pool in my left nostril I am exhilarated, as if I just attended my very first Fight Club.

I love Fight Club, if you need a new/old book to queue up on the TBR.

My wife, daughter, our cat Khaleesi, and our dalmatian Indy are all wonderfully Lost In Translation (watch it if you need a good new/old film to queue up) and eagerly eating up culture shock and busily learning to bark Portuguese with as little of an accent as possible (the pup is doing the best so far).

The pronunciation is difficult, the hearing of it is harder still. But Portuguese is such a lovely language.

The people, the culture, the food, the history, the architecture, the street graffiti, the golgothas, secret stairways, the wine (my gawwd, the wine), castles, the plethora of local cafes and coffee, from the hallowed abatanado (a stronger version of an Americano that the northern Portuguese perfected) to the tastiest of cappuccinos, Portugal is grand.

Delights in dalmatians

Now, despite a British book and then a Disney adaptation taking place in England, very few dalmatians have crossed their black spots and dotted their amber eyes and made it east of the United Kingdom.

Even in the US, the polka-dotted dogs are becoming rarer to see, as the puppy mills had bred many ill-tempered dalmatians to meet the demands of the 101 Dalmatians franchise fanbase many years back, resulting in many an unhappy puppy and family and a subsequent bad reputation that caused the speckled breed to dwindle.

The reality is dalmatians are great – they are smart and stubborn, which is why they alone could be fire fighter dogs, because they were dumb enough to brave getting a deathblow from a horse’s hoof in order to steer the four-legs pulling the old firetrucks.

Dalmatians have tons of energy, which is another reason why I feel many people who could not handle them wrote them off – these pups always want to play and be social and mind the kids, their pets.

As I walk Indy – yes, we named the dog, Indiana (sorry Harrison Ford) – she receives smiles, audible kisses, and outright squeals of mirth from the Portuguese and the myriad others who live in our city, which is a remarkable place full of immigrants and travelers from all walks of life and from all regions on earth (I love it).

Indy brings out pure delight.

As we traverse the gentle slopes, the gardens, and lawns, the alleys and ruins of old buildings and statues and smell the plethora of new and exciting scents, there are involuntary, spontaneous smiles that arise.

And I cannot help but smile in turn.

People call from moving cars and motorcycles and rush to meet her, sometimes bringing with them a baby or toddler or child of ninety to see if they can pet her.

Indy is the talk of our little part of town. She is so happy.

She eagerly greets anyone and nearly everyone, and is ever-ready on her mission to find some morsel of food – she is more wolf than dog, I think – and is often gifted fresh-roasted chestnuts from the street vendors.

An older gentleman and owner of a tiny restaurant and bar on a cobblestone road too small for cars saw us every day for some weeks when finally a younger friend of his greeted me outside his place.

He introduced himself and said Senor, the owner, does not speak English but he wanted to speak with me – I apologized for my bad Portuguese and said I am learning (I have a good class and am working at it).

Senor wanted to tell me a story.

Then he went back inside his place, rummaged around in a fridge behind the bar, and came out and offered some freshly cut cheese and meat to Indiana.

And he said to me, very seriously, “If you give a man in need food, he will remember you for a few hours or a few days. But if you give a dog some food, they will remember you for three times thirty years.”

So nearly every day as we walk the streets and see Senor as he steps to the doorway and puffs on a hand-rolled cigarette, I greet him happily and he me, and Indy with many a lethal tail-wag says ‘Hi’ to him as well.

It is so small a thing – to see a beautiful wolf – and yet this is not taken for granted here.

I will also add that so many of the shops and eateries have dog bowls set up and encourage four-legged family in their establishments; it is refreshing.

As I walk, as I sit, as I breathe, I am inspired.

Life has always been inspiring – everything makes its mark, especially books – but this is a special place and a welcome change.

You can expect to hear about my very first death threat and Juno soon, I swear!

On the new Stack

I do not usually get too in-depth as to my personal life for a number of reasons.

For one, there is privacy, especially for my family (I have seen some explosive shiiit in my day, let’s leave it at that haha).

For another, I have never been one to have a diary or journal – I have tried a few times over the years, but it never stuck – and I feel this may be for the simple reason that I have been too interested, too wrapped up in, and/or too busy scrawling my stories and poetry and comic books and whatever the hell else I continually dream up and feel need creating to fulfill something, for as long as I can remember (we can get soulfully metaphysical later on, perhaps).

This is all the more reason to take up a retrospective, and if, for nothing else, it will help jive my gods-awful memory and let me sit back and digest some of what I have made and why I have made it.

I sometimes feel like I, knowing time is Napoleon short (he really was not either, but you get the point), rush to make the next thing or to the next step in the making of said thing that I can miss out on thinking about what has just been given life (It’s Aliiiive!).

That changes now.

Substack Assemble!

I often learn and empathize and become inspired by reading about what past and present artists are reading, creating, or simply existing, so I thought some of you may get something out of hearing from me once in a while.

I was also inspired by a good friend and one of my favorite artists living today, Fred Harper, whose own newsletter is a brilliant look into his work, and I can hear his voice as I read it (you can check out his Stack here – it is well worth your while).

I am fortunate to have a few friends spread out all over this tiny world of ours, and I do not get to hang out or talk to them nearly as much as I would like to – this Stack is a chance for them to hear my voice and see what is going on in my crazy sphere.

I write daily. As part of that, I read daily. For months now, I often draw daily.

All of these things, I do for me. First and foremost.

I am moved. I act.

I love what I do.

And some of the fun in creating – as an author, artist, writer, musician, blacksmith, woodworker, gardener (not me, I accidentally kill any chlorophyll-based life-form requiring water or not), etc. - is that art can make a positive impact on others, as it does ourselves, and so, even in the most infinitesimal way help change the world for the better, even if it is only for a fraction of a second.

A few special people receive things I have written for them specifically (my High Lady frequently does, for one).

And then there are the Eager Readers that enjoy my published work, and I take something I made for myself – that moves me – and I share it with them, so they too may enjoy it.

Joy is the word. This makes me feel joy.

Just as seeing the joyful expression of someone seeing a dalmatian cross their path does.

Time as eluded by a neurodivergent

And for me, especially being neurodivergent, I am forever in a battle with the laws of nature and psychics and relativity as it pertains to my orbit, for time is always failing me.

I have little concept of time.

Minutes can pass feeling like years – as often happens in my dreams – and, more often, the seconds slip away as though the hours were mere minutes.

Time is precious, my Preciosss.

Let’s revel in art – screw time.

So what does it all mean?

How the hell do I know? Watch, read, listen to everything George Carlin did, and then read everything Mary Shelley and Joseph Campbell wrote and grasp those inklings into ‘it all’. Then seek out your own ka, as the Buddha did.

All I can do now is give you formidable snippets from diverging points of view that I think are important, and I will do my best to make ‘em insightful and entertaining.

You can expect a lot more of that and a lot more of my views pertaining to writing and specific pieces, methods, and examples.

Now, would you like to learn about the early publication that got me into so much trouble?

My movie review of Juno pissed off a lot of people.

Newsday. It is one of the big three daily tabloids (beside from the Times and the Post) in lower New York, New York City and the tri-state area – you know the kind of paper that features news on the front page and the Mets (and other sports) on the back page so we can pass bye them shaking our heads?

This was my first job in journalism, my first publication of any kind outside of school; and how did I get this gig in my early twenties, aside from my writing samples and resume?

I had no clips of journalistic publications to share, but I had a voice, and I told the editors that their pop culture “Impulse Reviews” Section – that covered everything from new music, new bars in Manhattan, and new movies – was not fulfilling its purpose because it too frequently published luke-warm reviews that did not definitively say or grade something as being great and worth seeing or terrible and not worth your time.

I gave a candid criticism. What good is a film review that rates the work as a B-? Do I go and see a B- film? It’s not a C or D, but it is not an A or even a B+. What is the point of the review if it does not take a stand?

It was a good lesson for me.

Not that I recommend everyone to go and try and rip apart and criticize their potential employer to get work, because it may not be warmly received.

But certainly be confident in yourself and your beliefs.

I was hired as a columnist at Newsday until the paper was sold - this was right around the time I feel traditional journalism was started dying out, just as the sales of paper newspapers and magazines were becoming extinct.

Now, every week the Impulse Reviews got a rare color page when most of the paper is in cheaper black/white – much of the paper was jealous of this – and once a week one of the five reviewers covering the same story were chosen to get the Spotlight!

Let me back up a bit: for every bar I went to review (the Sixth Ward had an Irish brewmaster come across the Atlantic with the perfected formula for the Guinness on tap and it is or was the closest thing to the draught outside of Ireland), or music album I covered, there were four others who would write and rate it.

In this way, New York readers got five opinions and lettered ratings on the pop culture happenings and art and could make a decision as to whether it would be worth checking out based on the five takes.

For months I wrote and reviewed and was happy with my work but not happy to not be highlighted in the sensational Spotlight – with a larger than life picture added in for good measure.

I am not terribly vein, and I do not love the limelight, so I am not sure why this mattered to me so much, but it did.

Probably I felt it would further my writing career, but also, I knew I wanted this unofficial reward for me. I guess for validation of my work in the writing craft.

‘Who knows? Not me,’ to quote David Bowie.

Then I was given an assignment to go and see and watch the movie Juno, which had a stellar cast of Elliot Page, Michael Cera, and Jennifer Garner (an old crush from when my wife introduced me to Alias).

Now, I ask you to please show me some grace and/or pity, because I was but a young early twenty-something-year-old, and I was extremely aware of and jealous and/or furious about anything I considered ‘wasted time’ – I now know that this is in large part because I am neurodivergent.

It is a thing many of us do. And that is okay.

But I was absolutely flummoxed with rage over this trivial thing – a movie about an hour and a half in length – because it had been pitched to me, and I had seen a trailer that clearly labeled Juno as an edgy comedy, albeit centered around a teenage pregnancy.

I love comedies. This was not a comedy.

To this day, I have a hate-hate relationship with movie trailers (I often skip them entirely now), because of the Juno marketing, trailer, and commercials.

The trailer was hilarious. The film appeared to be well-written, well-acted via a phenomenal cast (which it was), and full of humorous things that examined a tough subject through a comedic lens (it did not).

For anyone that has seen Juno, it is a drama about teenage pregnancy, and it made my blood boil.

Over and over, through a span that seemed to stretch on for millennia, I sat in the movie theatre and asked: ‘when is it going to be funny?’

Nothing was funny, except maybe whatever raise the marketing team got for roping in people at the box office.

I get now that people identify with the characters in the fictional story that plays out in Juno.

And with good writing and endearing actors, the audience can feel empathy and really get a lot of positivity out of the movie-going experience, even as it pertains to Juno.

To this day, I love the actors that were in it, but I will not and have not rewatched that flick.

At the time though, I hated it, loathed it, abhorred it, and felt it my mission as the Great Movie Critic in a local paper no one has ever heard of to pronounce my doom: utter disappointment.

And I did.

Well, I was very happily surprised when my frowning mugshot was blown up and my review was chosen as the Spotlight for the week!

I gave the movie a ‘D’ rating, which really stood out beside the other four reviewers grades: two A’s, an A+, and an A++.

They all loved Juno. Raved about it. Gushing.

The other movie reviews said things like, ‘I am very critical...but I don’t have one negative comment about “Juno”’.

Hollee-shit.

These people echoed what would be the Oscars and Teens Choice Awards and seemingly everyone else on the planet in professing their love for this work of art.

I chuckled to myself, and said to myself, it was still terrible.

Then the emails started pouring in to my Newsday account.

It seems that many of the folks that were so touched by the young highschooler with the baby bump and the hamburger phone (borrowed from Bob’s Burgers?) - and Elliot Page is a brilliant artist, and I am a big fan of his, just not that movie – had had so much happy endorphins running wild (they loved Juno, looooved it) in their brains that they needed to attack the callous and unfair reviewer that had aptly called Juno a ‘high-school drama’ where ‘comic moments were few and far between’.

Among these lovely messages to R.J. the Reviewer was my very first death threat.

I should die if I can’t appreciate Juno.

I must say it was and remains so reaffirming.

I consider this an achievement unlocked in my own personal Zelda game, or a significant level-up in my Warhammer 40K campaign called life.

It is awesome!

My words had an impact.

I would much rather have readers feel something from my writing – have a significant experience – so that they either love or hate it.

Lukewarm words get forgotten.

Why not pour all of one’s self into your art so that it moves you (or enrages you haha), and makes a mark that lasts?

I continue to write columns of reviews for books and gadgets.

When I write about gadgets, I am frank in my assessment and sometimes harsh, though I am always comedic in my approach, and you know where I stand and I hope can glean from that where you might stand too.

When I write book reviews now, it is for my own magazine, The Forgotten Fiction, so I choose what goes up and when I make the review it is almost always positive.

Why spend time on the negative when there are so many great works of literature to talk about?

I view literature / art as one of the most positive and important pieces of humanity and the backbone of any healthy culture.

Reading unlocks knowledge and empathy, and a host of healthy things happen in the brain as a result.

Which is why whenever someone, some institution or authority, wants to ban books (like the Nazis did, not too long ago) know that what they are really trying to do is limit your knowledge and empathy for fellow living things, because it is when we know little of something - and do not relate - that we are most afraid of it.

In closing

In closing, I will usually write less lengthy pieces, but this one wanted to come out, just as you see it, so who am I to argue?

I will in the near future be writing a third article in my Fountain Pens, Paper, and Ink series.

I am also putting together some writing workshops that I may offer locally - I have not taught in so long, it would be nice.

And I would love to hear from anyone who has questions as to the writing craft - this is how we all learn [I am not sure yet how to make comments open here but you can comment on my site rjhuneke.com].

There are so many writers and artists that have so much more material out than I do, and I would try and learn from anyone and everyone you can. Check out the awesome and amazing people I recommend on Substack - they have helped inspire me and teach me. But I will answer anyone as best I can - I feel I have a unique perspective that may be of value.

Speaking of value (I chuckle)…

I am, for the first time putting up a paywall, as supporters can greatly help me as I work to spend more time making art, and it will hide some bonus material – most of what I will write will be free and public for all.

Today, I am only putting my terribly honest review of Juno clippings cut from the newspaper behind there to hide my picture, which I am a bit embarrassed by.

But if you want to buy me a cup of coffee, I will allow myself to be embarrassed – I like coffee haha.

The paper also got such a response from my Juno review that they made a little ad with a portion of my review pointing people to their website with the column in subsequent days in the paper, and the hatemail kept coming. That is in there too.

I want to extend my well wishes to you all, and I hope to hear from you on your own journey as you hear from me on mine.

Thanks for listening, my friends.

Sincerely,

R.J.

P.S. Did you know I founded a book reviews magazine @ ReadTFF.com? Or that my novel Cyberwar is “A Thriller With A Side Of Cyberpunk, James Bond, And Noir” with a kick-ass female lead [read the first two chapters here]?

P.P.S. You can help support me and my art by subscribing to my Stack, and paid subscribers can view all of my previous newsletters, but more importantly exclusive content not seen anywhere else, like today’s actual clips (as in actual pictures of the articles I cut out of the New York newspaper) from my Juno review article that I wrote for Newsday. My Patreons are getting gift subscriptions to the Substack in addition to the other hand signed goodies I dish out there.

P.P.P.S.

Here it is, folks, just forgive the mugshot – I was in my early twenties and smiling had not yet occurred to me (geez, I was scrawny):