Well, there were things about this blog I could change, and things I couldn't. I spent hours clearing out old posts and updating dead links and book covers, but for some reason blogger seems to adore the YouTube links.
Go figure.
Clunky crap like that just seems beyond me. I'm quasi-amused at the most inordinate of things lately. So, we're taking a militaristic view of my quirks. Meaning if you don't ask the blue haired mad-woman, she probably won't tell you. Yes, my hair is blue. No, you probably don't want to know.
But if you do find yourself really wanting to know. That's what the reply button is for. Machine gun style, here's life:
My son has moved out, he's on his own, doing well with his (now) fiancé.
Seizures are under control and I've not only got my driving privileges back, but a really awesome radiant red, Toyota FJ-Cruiser.
My hair is blue, my family still gives me hinky looks at the dinner table at holidays. Totally sweet.
I'm writing again; about 5,000 words per day when the muse moves me. Took apart Dog Wild 3, Trickster's Folly and started over from the ground up. It's cooking along nicely now at the 20,000 word mark so I hope to be done in about two or three weeks. Seriously. This one will be polyamorous and have lots of violence. I'm giddy thinking of my plotlines.
I'm also doing a lot of gay and lesbian stuff. I know most of my readers are going meh. Sorry. I have some other things in the works as well, don't feel bad. Getting out of the doldrums and being able to do things has really helped a great deal.
Well gots to go cook dinner. TTFN and will post more as soon as this piddly sat service chokes up more 'net service for me.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Goin' to the dogs
Between shopping on Black Friday and post-turkey day clean up, I missed posting on Frightening Journeys this week, so I decided to take advantage of the crickets and cobwebs over here and ramble on the subject: what is my favorite shifter. Believe it or not - it isn't the werewolf.
Yes, I know, shocking considering how many of my books have featured werewolves or man-wolf shifters, but I'm finding a new fascination taking me over. Cynanthropy for one, before you go looking it up at Wikipedia and getting all disappointed - trust me, there is next to nothing there, if you want information on occult studies you've got to hit the stacks - it's dog shape-shifting. I know a lot of people won't see much of a difference between a dog and a wolf, but they are there trust me. If you ever want to see, or learn some really nifty (read nerdy) differences between wolves and dogs look up two different articles, one on the hunting patterns of wolves and the other on the instinctive knowledge dogs have of calculus. Yes, ladies and gents, calculus. It took me a good long time to wade through that article, but it was well worth it, notably since I learned something interesting. The only other animal that has been known, or observed, to apply the same analytical skills while hunting prey individually has been the Kodiak bear.
Leading me to my next type of favorite shape-shifter, the berserker. No, I won't call them were-bears or therianthropes. I subscribe to the old school philosophy that everything has a name, and deserves to be called accordingly. There aren't many stories out there featuring berserkers, the bear shape-shifter, and the ones that do exist always seem to want to make the bears misunderstood and cuddly - not at all the way I picture them.
I am thinking it's time to kick my writing into high gear and rectify some of this shit ;)
Right now I'm working on addressing the lack of cynthropes with my female/female stories Leash Laws and The Relation Chip. So people, keep on me, keep nagging, push me little and I promise they'll get to you. Why do dogs have to be man's best friend? Sheesh...lol.
Yes, I know, shocking considering how many of my books have featured werewolves or man-wolf shifters, but I'm finding a new fascination taking me over. Cynanthropy for one, before you go looking it up at Wikipedia and getting all disappointed - trust me, there is next to nothing there, if you want information on occult studies you've got to hit the stacks - it's dog shape-shifting. I know a lot of people won't see much of a difference between a dog and a wolf, but they are there trust me. If you ever want to see, or learn some really nifty (read nerdy) differences between wolves and dogs look up two different articles, one on the hunting patterns of wolves and the other on the instinctive knowledge dogs have of calculus. Yes, ladies and gents, calculus. It took me a good long time to wade through that article, but it was well worth it, notably since I learned something interesting. The only other animal that has been known, or observed, to apply the same analytical skills while hunting prey individually has been the Kodiak bear.
Leading me to my next type of favorite shape-shifter, the berserker. No, I won't call them were-bears or therianthropes. I subscribe to the old school philosophy that everything has a name, and deserves to be called accordingly. There aren't many stories out there featuring berserkers, the bear shape-shifter, and the ones that do exist always seem to want to make the bears misunderstood and cuddly - not at all the way I picture them.
I am thinking it's time to kick my writing into high gear and rectify some of this shit ;)
Right now I'm working on addressing the lack of cynthropes with my female/female stories Leash Laws and The Relation Chip. So people, keep on me, keep nagging, push me little and I promise they'll get to you. Why do dogs have to be man's best friend? Sheesh...lol.
Monday, August 31, 2009
First Love
Dear Diary,
I am tired of feeling so alone. All I want is someone to love, who loves me in return. I will never understand those romance books my mom reads by the bag-load. All of those exotic, pretty, intelligent, perfect women being so damned stupid about welcoming love. If I am ever given the chance, I am going to grab it with both hands and heart and never, ever let him go.
Casting furtive glances left then right, she snapped her journal closed then hugged it tight to her chest. For a moment Bart felt jealous of the red, cloth-bound book. He loved watching the way she seemed to hide behind her dark brown bangs, withdrawing into her own world as she wrote.
Grinning, he watched as she slid the journal into her book bag then retrieved a book. That was something else he liked about Lauren, she didn’t read those stupid cock books like all the other girls she read real books, horror novels. His cousin told him the easiest way to spot a dyed-in-the-wool virgin was to watch what they read. If they got all flushed and starry-eyed over romances, don’t even bother, they were waiting for a happily-ever-after, i.e. engagement ring, before getting down and dirty.
Sliding a look at the study hall teacher, Bart had to stifle a laugh. This guy did not fool anyone. Every day Mr. Dan loaded his thermos with double malt whiskey and snoozed through the post-lunch study period. Mr. Dan was the nickname slapped on the droopy faced geometry teacher from time immemorial. His real name was, fantastically enough, Charles Daniels. No one dared to call him Charlie Daniels after the renowned country and western singer, it was the only time the old fart came alive. The last time a smart-ass freshman got cute and lipped off, the boy ended up with a week of detention, extra homework and when no one was looking (meaning everyone was stunned into silence) a smack upside the head. The title Mr. Dan, however disrespectful, fit, in fact the guy took to it so well that other teachers and school administrators even used it.
Today seemed to be an especially long day on old Mr. Dan, no more than ten minutes into the period and he was sleeping, no, snoring face-down on his paper strewn desk. Bart shook his head in amazement the guy not only still had a job but that he was half-way proficient at teaching the few classes he had. Everyone in the school eventually had Mr. Dan, even if it was only for study periods. A few years back Bart’s older sister Naomi had Mr. Dan for math, the dude got so trashed over lunch she ended up teaching the class. The whole school knew about it, up to the principal, but everyone looked the other way. It was a mystery to Bart, and to the hundreds of other students in the school, as to just why the old man was allowed to get away with so much.
Instead of wasting time on the snoring mass of frizzy brown hair and ugly brown tweed (the dude seriously looked like a half-shaved bear), Bart slung his book bag across the floor and slowly made his way behind it, heading towards Lauren. The first time he had done this, she almost fell out of her chair. He liked watching her face turn all pink and red. He liked watching her get nervous and shake. He enjoyed listening to her soft voice as it got all tongue-tied. She still jumped and turned pink when he did it, but now she peeked up at him through those thick bangs and smiled, that he liked even better.
No one understood why he spent his entire free period chatting up the class geek-girl, Bart least of all. In the ninth grade it had been easy to dump on her, with all that hair and braces and those clothes. Her hair had been waist long and done in two braids like a little kid. After tugging unmercifully on a fat braid, Bart wondered what her hair would look like freed, sliding over his arm. About a month into school, the braids were gone, replaced with bangs and a softer layered cut that was still nearly waist long. Any thoughts regarding her hair was short lived, all he had to do was look at her clothes.
The insult, “your mom wears combat boots” really applied to this girl. Literally. It did then and still did now. But, her mom did wear combat boots. A Marine Corps Drill Sergeant of all things. Obviously, her mom saw no problem with her one and only daughter dressing like a recruitment poster gone wrong. G.I. Joan was one nickname that stuck. “No one wants to call her G.I. Jane because that Demi Moore movie is way too cool for this chick,” at least that was what his best friend Mark sneered.
As he made his way over he considered her glowing face. What made things progressively worse for Lauren wasn’t that she stayed quiet or never fought back, but each year she got prettier and smarter. That first year, wow, what a wreck. Sophomore year the braces came off and mom must have relented on the year round diet of camouflage because she started wearing solid color shirts. This year mom must have really given in; she had pierced ears, jeans and even casual running shoes. Nothing designer label, but a huge improvement over the old men’s wear, Bart, as well as a number of other guys, had noticed those changes with the unerring nose of a hunting hound. Not that he gave up his steady string of girls, not at all; this was a bit of a challenge, a game, a toy.
At first he wanted to see if she’d give it up fast out of never getting any real attention. Instead of being slavishly easy, she had nearly stuttered herself off her chair and ran for the bathroom in a panic. It had taken nearly a week of saying ‘hi’ in the halls to get her to relax to the point where he could actually talk to her. Normally, that sort of non-rewarded effort pissed him off, this time it didn’t. Naomi, now a know-it-all college girl, just snickered and quoted annoying crap from literature books about him “only being attracted to the hunt and not the cunt.”
Naomi never put it so simply or so crudely, Mark did, for which his sister promptly slammed the book she had been reading down on his head. For a straight-A smart guy, Mark was a real moron whenever Naomi came around. Gave some credibility to the comments of her clique that the male IQ dropped by 20 points for each inch of an erection. He knew Mark. Too well. If he dropped that many points each time Naomi got him going he wouldn’t be fit to tie his shoes, but then given his mouth around her lately it was making more and more sense. And well worth making popcorn and charging for admission.
Bart slid into the chair next to Lauren and leaned over to ask her something stupid when he noticed that she smelled pretty damned good. Not that she normally stank, totally not the case. Normally she smelled clean, like soap and stuff with a hint of girl underneath. This was totally different. He put his arm behind her on the chair and leaned in, “Nice! Mom letting you go for perfume now too angel eyes?”
He loved teasing her that way. Her eyes were this dark brown, like melted chocolate with a little warm gold. Pretty, but also pretty common. Or so he thought before. He frowned, when did her eyes actually start making him think of stupid stuff like that? Oh well.
“One day Bart, I am going to think you are serious,” she smiled up at him through those thick bangs. He gave in and touched her hair, sliding a finger in the tresses that had fallen along her ear. Another drift of sultry scent reached his nose making him think harder about the soft curves on display in her tighter than usual shirt. Without thinking he slid closer. “I was going to ask you over to my house tonight, so you could see for yourself the fun of Mark and Naomi in action.” He frowned lightly as the fingers of his other hand lightly caressed the skin of her arm. Silky hair and satiny skin, his mind tumbled to other fields than watching his sister and best friend denying they were hotter than the sun for one another.
He was stunned out of his reverie when Lauren leaned back into his arm and pushed into his shoulder, almost cuddling. Bart felt his jeans grow tight and realized uncomfortably he didn’t want to share her tonight, not with anyone. “I don’t know Bart, your sister and Mark in the same room? I think I’d be the bigger target.” Her soft laughter vibrated against the side of his chest and all he could think about was how close her mouth was, how soft her lips looked. Instead of acting on impulse, he cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t let them.” The words came out thicker than he’d liked but he was more surprised that he meant them. Lauren’s eyes widened then narrowed. “Bart. Are you okay?”
All the months he had put into getting this close were so he could dupe her into doing his homework, which she did in this sickeningly happy way. She was content to talk about her horror books and scary movies as some sort of weird payment.
“How about instead of going to my place tonight, you see if you can go with me to the movies. Death Watch is set to open tonight.” The idea of sitting alone in the dark with her had him shifting in his seat. She blinked at him. Then she started stuttering again. He more than liked that, he craved it, wanted to taste it as she managed to say, “A-a-a-are y-y-y-you a-a-a-asking m-m-me out on-a on-a date?” He figured ‘what the fuck?’ and whispered “yes” against her lips as he planted a soft kiss on her open mouth.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Festival of Lights
It's the year 167 BCE and the practice of Jewish faith has been outlawed in Jerusalem by the Hellenic overlords, the Seleucids. Hoping to protect his aspiring Rabbi son, Jacob, Moshe makes a most unusual purchase at the Syrian slave markets - a female Scythian warrior.
Saka Ishkuzi has known nothing but deprivation, battle and the harsh extremes of icy mountains and sand dunes. Her background forged the perfect weapon. Her biggest battle won't be protecting the aspiring Rabbi Jacob's life, but her heart from his gentle touch.
Travel back in time through Festival of Lights to the first Hanukkah to witness miracles of faith and love.
***
“Your father hoped to sell my horse and part out my things.” She had tried valiantly not to let her upset show in her voice, but Jacob heard the quaver under the strength.
“Greed was in his heart, but I hope to balance his misdeeds by teaching you our ways and by treating you with as much honor as possible.” A fine sheen of sweat covered his body under his clothes and gathered in his hair.
“Is that why you do not touch me or look at me?” The question was completely without guile. Looking at the small pout, Jacob made a spur of the moment guess.
“No other man has seen you without clothes, has he?” The sweat beaded and rolled down the side of his face. Hoping for a reprieve, he redirected his vision to the nasty wound on her left upper arm. That did it, instant erection kill, he was back to worrying about washing, dressing and treating his new…what exactly was Saka? Then it hit him, he had a single pallet. All of his good intentions died as visions of her eager body, slicked with sweat, writhing under and over him in the dark, clouded his mind.
“It is my shame.” Saka hung her head, “no male has wanted to see me without my clothes.”
Hoping he didn’t shake or look lower than her bent head, Jacob lifted her face, cupping her chin.
“I desire to see you without clothes and I hope by all I hold holy God knows I honor you by not taking advantage.” Her eyes turned an incandescent color that stole his breath. In a strangled tone he eked out, “I must hurry or I’ll not see to your needs before the shops close for dinner and the night’s prayer.”
***
Now...follow this link to Jeanne Barrack's Blog for her story, The Game.
Contest hint guys, you've gotta go blog to blog in order. I missed my day because my health sucks, don't let these good folks down - follow the blogs and have a great time reading and collecting stories and characters that will make your heart (and other parts ;) ) sing.
Saka Ishkuzi has known nothing but deprivation, battle and the harsh extremes of icy mountains and sand dunes. Her background forged the perfect weapon. Her biggest battle won't be protecting the aspiring Rabbi Jacob's life, but her heart from his gentle touch.
Travel back in time through Festival of Lights to the first Hanukkah to witness miracles of faith and love.
***
“Your father hoped to sell my horse and part out my things.” She had tried valiantly not to let her upset show in her voice, but Jacob heard the quaver under the strength.
“Greed was in his heart, but I hope to balance his misdeeds by teaching you our ways and by treating you with as much honor as possible.” A fine sheen of sweat covered his body under his clothes and gathered in his hair.
“Is that why you do not touch me or look at me?” The question was completely without guile. Looking at the small pout, Jacob made a spur of the moment guess.
“No other man has seen you without clothes, has he?” The sweat beaded and rolled down the side of his face. Hoping for a reprieve, he redirected his vision to the nasty wound on her left upper arm. That did it, instant erection kill, he was back to worrying about washing, dressing and treating his new…what exactly was Saka? Then it hit him, he had a single pallet. All of his good intentions died as visions of her eager body, slicked with sweat, writhing under and over him in the dark, clouded his mind.
“It is my shame.” Saka hung her head, “no male has wanted to see me without my clothes.”
Hoping he didn’t shake or look lower than her bent head, Jacob lifted her face, cupping her chin.
“I desire to see you without clothes and I hope by all I hold holy God knows I honor you by not taking advantage.” Her eyes turned an incandescent color that stole his breath. In a strangled tone he eked out, “I must hurry or I’ll not see to your needs before the shops close for dinner and the night’s prayer.”
***
Now...follow this link to Jeanne Barrack's Blog for her story, The Game.
Contest hint guys, you've gotta go blog to blog in order. I missed my day because my health sucks, don't let these good folks down - follow the blogs and have a great time reading and collecting stories and characters that will make your heart (and other parts ;) ) sing.
Hanukkah celebration underway!
The Glowing Lights of Chanukah will soon be here and there are Gifts waiting for you!
Beginning Wednesday, December 17th join Ten authors who have gathered romance stories with Jewish heroes and heroines from all walks of life:
From the days of the Maccabees to Regency England to modern day America to parallel worlds; from sweet to spicy hot.
Tell us the names of their heroes and heroines and send them to borntowrite @ writeme.com (minus the spaces of course) to be entered in a drawing of Gifts for the Season. The winner will be drawn December 22nd, the first day of Chanukah!
Start the celebration with authors: Keira Andrews, Astrid Amara and Cheryl Dragon on Wednesday, the 17th.
The Celebration begins with Keira Andrews at: http://slash-and-burn.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-novel-daybreak.html
Thursday, the 18th: Melissa Glisan, Jeanne Barrack and EM Ben Shaul
Friday, the 19th: Samantha Kane and Eva Gordon
Sunday, the 21st KZ Snow and James Buchanan
Hope you'll join us!
Beginning Wednesday, December 17th join Ten authors who have gathered romance stories with Jewish heroes and heroines from all walks of life:
From the days of the Maccabees to Regency England to modern day America to parallel worlds; from sweet to spicy hot.
Tell us the names of their heroes and heroines and send them to borntowrite @ writeme.com (minus the spaces of course) to be entered in a drawing of Gifts for the Season. The winner will be drawn December 22nd, the first day of Chanukah!
Start the celebration with authors: Keira Andrews, Astrid Amara and Cheryl Dragon on Wednesday, the 17th.
The Celebration begins with Keira Andrews at: http://slash-and-burn.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-novel-daybreak.html
Thursday, the 18th: Melissa Glisan, Jeanne Barrack and EM Ben Shaul
Friday, the 19th: Samantha Kane and Eva Gordon
Sunday, the 21st KZ Snow and James Buchanan
Hope you'll join us!
Friday, April 11, 2008
Friday Flash
(a return to the Dear Diary tale)
10 Years Later…
Lauren dragged her fingers across the musty pages of her high school journal. With a sad smile she remembered putting the slim, red book in the banker box before sealing it with duct tape and leaving for boot camp. It hurt, she reflected, and her words were poignant, even for a naïve teenager. It feels like my world is crashing around my feet and my ears are full of the sound of a siren pounding in time to my heartbeat…
Time to grow up. Those were the words starting her new journal, a brown leather-bound day keeper where the pages lifted out and were replaced. A somber, grown up color. Ever since she had to learn the mnemonic Roy G. Biv for the colors of the rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Lauren had picked a new diary according to the catchy color scheme. For her, growing up went hand in hand with all the color leeching out of the world.
It was all Bart’s fault. The nasty accusatory comment welled up before she could squelch it. “Face facts Lauren,” she murmured aloud. “It wasn’t all Bart’s fault.” No, it wasn’t. What had she done to show she was different from her wild, war-like siblings? Grew her hair hippie-long and dressed like a normal teenager. She hadn’t joined any groups, made any friends or even volunteered to do anything that might call attention to herself. Everyone thought I was the same as my brothers because I didn’t give them reason not to. It only made sense for Bart’s friend and sister to try to protect him from the ‘Military Mama.’
The words she’d penned recounting that night swam in her vision as her eyes filled with tears. So much lost and so much gained. An image of scales flashed behind her eyes as the lids closed, squeezing the tears to slide down her cheeks. Which way would the balance go, to the good or the bad? The invitation to her five year reunion had gotten lost in the shuffle as she moved from an air base in Texas to an aircraft carrier off the coast of North Africa. By the time it had caught up, the event was over and relief was the only thing Lauren had felt. Ironic, at the tine she had been flying Blackhawk helicopters into combat zones. If the guys she lifted knew she was more scared of her high school classmates then going wheels up into a war zone, she would have never lived it down.
Today…she was afraid that her cowardice in running away from the fight brought to her door by Naomi and Mark might have cost Bart his life. Opening her eyes, Lauren read the simple invitation to her tenth high school reunion. “Please join us as we reminisce and raise money for a heart transplant for Bartholomew Michaels.”
“I wanted his heart broken, but not like this,” she tucked the invitation into the breast pocket on her uniform and filled out the forms requesting leave.
* * *
It had seemed like such a great idea at the time. Bart would have laughed but he couldn’t, a tube wound down his throat, keeping his lungs working until the multiple holes repaired enough for them to stay inflated. Too many things had seemed like a good idea until he jumped in, feet first, only to have things blow up in his face. This time the explosion had been literal.
Mark, his best friend and now his brother-in-law, had needed specialized help blasting away a section of rock in his backyard. He’d arranged to have an in-ground pool installed to celebrate his and Naomi’s sixth anniversary. Everything went swimmingly; Naomi was called out of town to do a lecture series on the culture gaps between the East and the West and the twins were having a campout with their grandparents. The pool company dug where the county stipulated the in ground behemoth had to go when they hit a snag, more like a boulder of black granite. To go the last few feet would run tens of thousands of dollars – money his sister and brother-in-law didn’t have.
Owning a construction company, Bart made a few calls and got the blast crew for a long wall mining firm to agree to do the removal as a side job the weekend before Naomi was due home. The only problem, the whole regular crew couldn’t come. At the last minute they replaced an experienced tech with a new recruit, one who forgot to check that the wires weren’t live when he connected them to the switch. As a result, the auger holes where the dynamite was inserted weren’t quite ready. Bart had been lowering the last of the charges into the final hole when everything went dark. He’d woken up in the hospital, lungs collapsed, perforated with pieces of stone and his heart on a ventricular assist machine.
He couldn’t image what was more surreal, dreaming of Lauren Walker ripping his heart out, or waking up to the sight of a machine keeping his heart running as a pencil thin geologist with pop bottle thick glasses waxed poetic on the basalt quality in the granite. As a result, he’d had nightmares about Martians on the moon picking through his innards looking for gold-tipped stone chips wearing masks of Lauren’s face. The real nightmares though, happened when his eyes were open. His health insurance was tied to his contractor’s license and didn’t cover acts of incompetence by unlicensed techs on a non-contracted job. The doctors were convinced his heart couldn’t be pieced back together and the artificial device was only good for a few months. His sister was threatening to divorce Mark for being an idiot and Mark was moping and moaning like he was the one facing death.
Why the hell had his brain picked Lauren of all people to obsess over? I need to make my peace with her before I die, he thought as his eyes fluttered closed. Darkness swallowed him, lights flashed past coalescing into the opening credits on the screen of the old Manos Theater. It was too warm, but he still held the delicate boned hand of the girl next to him. The arterial color of the screen painted the fine bones of her pale face in hues of bloody red. Still, Lauren had never looked prettier. Her brothers, bookends named Carl and Anthony sat stone-faced and silent three rows back and to her right. His sister Naomi and best friend Mark were in the same row but to his left. Unfortunately, they weren’t as quiet.
Every word, giggle and cat-call made Lauren flinch, wince and slowly withdraw behind the curtain of her hair. He tried to ignore them, to get her to watch the movie and ignore the pair, but it blew up on him. As the end credits rolled and Lauren stood up and left without a goodbye let alone a backwards glance, he realized how bad he screwed up by not telling his chaperones to shut up. It cost him more than a bad date, it cost him a shot a being happy with the only woman who held his attention for longer than a round of beers and a night of empty sex. His eyes opened the dark of dreams dispelled by the sanitary white world of the ward.
“Don’t worry bro,” Mark patted his hand clumsily, “Lauren called, she’s coming to the reunion next week. Maybe we can get her in to see you.” Bart had a moment to wonder how Mark could have known what was bothering him before relief pulled him back into the arms of sleep
10 Years Later…
Lauren dragged her fingers across the musty pages of her high school journal. With a sad smile she remembered putting the slim, red book in the banker box before sealing it with duct tape and leaving for boot camp. It hurt, she reflected, and her words were poignant, even for a naïve teenager. It feels like my world is crashing around my feet and my ears are full of the sound of a siren pounding in time to my heartbeat…
Time to grow up. Those were the words starting her new journal, a brown leather-bound day keeper where the pages lifted out and were replaced. A somber, grown up color. Ever since she had to learn the mnemonic Roy G. Biv for the colors of the rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Lauren had picked a new diary according to the catchy color scheme. For her, growing up went hand in hand with all the color leeching out of the world.
It was all Bart’s fault. The nasty accusatory comment welled up before she could squelch it. “Face facts Lauren,” she murmured aloud. “It wasn’t all Bart’s fault.” No, it wasn’t. What had she done to show she was different from her wild, war-like siblings? Grew her hair hippie-long and dressed like a normal teenager. She hadn’t joined any groups, made any friends or even volunteered to do anything that might call attention to herself. Everyone thought I was the same as my brothers because I didn’t give them reason not to. It only made sense for Bart’s friend and sister to try to protect him from the ‘Military Mama.’
The words she’d penned recounting that night swam in her vision as her eyes filled with tears. So much lost and so much gained. An image of scales flashed behind her eyes as the lids closed, squeezing the tears to slide down her cheeks. Which way would the balance go, to the good or the bad? The invitation to her five year reunion had gotten lost in the shuffle as she moved from an air base in Texas to an aircraft carrier off the coast of North Africa. By the time it had caught up, the event was over and relief was the only thing Lauren had felt. Ironic, at the tine she had been flying Blackhawk helicopters into combat zones. If the guys she lifted knew she was more scared of her high school classmates then going wheels up into a war zone, she would have never lived it down.
Today…she was afraid that her cowardice in running away from the fight brought to her door by Naomi and Mark might have cost Bart his life. Opening her eyes, Lauren read the simple invitation to her tenth high school reunion. “Please join us as we reminisce and raise money for a heart transplant for Bartholomew Michaels.”
“I wanted his heart broken, but not like this,” she tucked the invitation into the breast pocket on her uniform and filled out the forms requesting leave.
* * *
It had seemed like such a great idea at the time. Bart would have laughed but he couldn’t, a tube wound down his throat, keeping his lungs working until the multiple holes repaired enough for them to stay inflated. Too many things had seemed like a good idea until he jumped in, feet first, only to have things blow up in his face. This time the explosion had been literal.
Mark, his best friend and now his brother-in-law, had needed specialized help blasting away a section of rock in his backyard. He’d arranged to have an in-ground pool installed to celebrate his and Naomi’s sixth anniversary. Everything went swimmingly; Naomi was called out of town to do a lecture series on the culture gaps between the East and the West and the twins were having a campout with their grandparents. The pool company dug where the county stipulated the in ground behemoth had to go when they hit a snag, more like a boulder of black granite. To go the last few feet would run tens of thousands of dollars – money his sister and brother-in-law didn’t have.
Owning a construction company, Bart made a few calls and got the blast crew for a long wall mining firm to agree to do the removal as a side job the weekend before Naomi was due home. The only problem, the whole regular crew couldn’t come. At the last minute they replaced an experienced tech with a new recruit, one who forgot to check that the wires weren’t live when he connected them to the switch. As a result, the auger holes where the dynamite was inserted weren’t quite ready. Bart had been lowering the last of the charges into the final hole when everything went dark. He’d woken up in the hospital, lungs collapsed, perforated with pieces of stone and his heart on a ventricular assist machine.
He couldn’t image what was more surreal, dreaming of Lauren Walker ripping his heart out, or waking up to the sight of a machine keeping his heart running as a pencil thin geologist with pop bottle thick glasses waxed poetic on the basalt quality in the granite. As a result, he’d had nightmares about Martians on the moon picking through his innards looking for gold-tipped stone chips wearing masks of Lauren’s face. The real nightmares though, happened when his eyes were open. His health insurance was tied to his contractor’s license and didn’t cover acts of incompetence by unlicensed techs on a non-contracted job. The doctors were convinced his heart couldn’t be pieced back together and the artificial device was only good for a few months. His sister was threatening to divorce Mark for being an idiot and Mark was moping and moaning like he was the one facing death.
Why the hell had his brain picked Lauren of all people to obsess over? I need to make my peace with her before I die, he thought as his eyes fluttered closed. Darkness swallowed him, lights flashed past coalescing into the opening credits on the screen of the old Manos Theater. It was too warm, but he still held the delicate boned hand of the girl next to him. The arterial color of the screen painted the fine bones of her pale face in hues of bloody red. Still, Lauren had never looked prettier. Her brothers, bookends named Carl and Anthony sat stone-faced and silent three rows back and to her right. His sister Naomi and best friend Mark were in the same row but to his left. Unfortunately, they weren’t as quiet.
Every word, giggle and cat-call made Lauren flinch, wince and slowly withdraw behind the curtain of her hair. He tried to ignore them, to get her to watch the movie and ignore the pair, but it blew up on him. As the end credits rolled and Lauren stood up and left without a goodbye let alone a backwards glance, he realized how bad he screwed up by not telling his chaperones to shut up. It cost him more than a bad date, it cost him a shot a being happy with the only woman who held his attention for longer than a round of beers and a night of empty sex. His eyes opened the dark of dreams dispelled by the sanitary white world of the ward.
“Don’t worry bro,” Mark patted his hand clumsily, “Lauren called, she’s coming to the reunion next week. Maybe we can get her in to see you.” Bart had a moment to wonder how Mark could have known what was bothering him before relief pulled him back into the arms of sleep
Monday, March 31, 2008
Post Secret
I added a link on the right to a blog called Post Secret. Why? Because a memory from my teenaged years surfaced after reading and led to a spate of late night jotting. Things that happened spun into story lines, weaving what could have manifested into regrets into different unrealized potential futures...but not for me, for characters who would be smart enough, brave enough and possible flexible enough to see those dreams to fruition.
One such story is the "Dear Diary" flash I began on Friday. My goal in high school was to go to the Air Force, only they didn't want me. I was too short, my blood pressure was too low, my feet were flat and they really didn't need recruits at the time, not even ones who nearly scored perfect on the ASVABs (military fitness tests). I wanted to fly, be a pilot and if denied, I wanted to go to Texas A&M in the ROTC for aerospace engineering. Didn't happen, not by a long shot.
Keep an eye open Fridays to see new additions to an idea that grew out of being picked on and wanting to fly away to soar above it all.
One such story is the "Dear Diary" flash I began on Friday. My goal in high school was to go to the Air Force, only they didn't want me. I was too short, my blood pressure was too low, my feet were flat and they really didn't need recruits at the time, not even ones who nearly scored perfect on the ASVABs (military fitness tests). I wanted to fly, be a pilot and if denied, I wanted to go to Texas A&M in the ROTC for aerospace engineering. Didn't happen, not by a long shot.
Keep an eye open Fridays to see new additions to an idea that grew out of being picked on and wanting to fly away to soar above it all.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Jacob and Saka, as interviewed by Michelle
(To read Jacob and Saka's story, Festival of Lights, keep an eye out for Babes in Toyland II - coming Nov. 30 to Aspen Mountain Press.)
***
I just sat back down after a break to freshen up when Tina pokes her head through the doorway.
“Michelle, your next interview is here. Are you read for … umm… them?”
“As ready as I'll ever be.” I reach for my notepad. Would this guest be as much fun as Jenna? If my first interviews are anything to go by, I'm in for a treat. Wait - had Tina said “them”?
Tina reappears with two figures behind her. I expected Jacob bar Moshe of the Kohanim, but not a …guest.
My confusion must be evident.
“Guardian.” The lone terse word from the thin-lipped woman was almost as startling as her appearance. She stalks into the room, without so much as a by-your-leave, staring and sniffing suspiciously at the most innocuous items. Her height, coupled with her brilliantly beaded vest, leather pants, a bow and an axe made her stand out against my tasteful Holiday décor.
I wait politely while she reassures herself that there is no threat in the room. I shift to raise an eyebrow at Tina. She is as clueless as I, judging by the subtle shrug she gives me in return.
I turn back to my guests and the woman's arctic blue eyes stare back at me with all the passion of a chunk of ice. Wolf's Eyes.
The man who silently steps into the room is just as striking. This must be Jacob.
He's wearing clothes that look more suited to a Nativity scene reenactment than an interview. Somehow the odd beige and brown stripped raiment suits him, though. It highlights the warm tan tone of his skin, kindles golden highlights in his shoulder length hair and turns the simple brown eyes into a warm sherry. A nice sandy beach with a surfboard would be more fitting for the man with the shy smile than following in the wake of a glacial-eyed warrior woman.
“Thank you for joining me tonight.” I put down my file and pick up my notepad and pen. The woman's watchful gaze follows my movements.
“I am honored to be invited to your home, but I must confess this is all confusing and unexpected. The man who came to my door…” He seems uncertain.
The woman spoke up. “He was not Hebrew. Jacob did not know him. He was viewed as a danger, at first.”
I look over at Tina. “Tina, please call and see if the publisher's rep made it home okay.”
She nodded and darted off. For once she didn't even glare back.
“My apologies.” Jacob bows elegantly. “There was a slight misunderstanding until these necklaces,” long brown fingers brushed against a pendant hung around his neck, “were given to us. By the man's impossibly light skin, I should have known him to be sent by Elokim to bestow the gift of tongues.”
I have no clue who the Eli guy was, but I recognize the translator pendants marketing had somehow obtained from a defense contractor. At least that was the rumor.
“I hope you don't mind if I take notes this way. The last time I used a tape recorder there were…difficulties.” I was now more than a little tired of saying this because of the looks that accompanied some of the responses. I didn't want to go into details so I just smiled and held my pen at the ready, hoping no one would protest.
Jacob's eyes brightened. “What is a tape recorder?” He looked around the room like a kid at Christmas. “There are so many things here I do not know or understand, but perhaps we can begin with that?”
Oh, that's right. I'd been warned that Jacob wasn't exactly up on the modern conveniences. “This is a tape recorder.” Pulling the malfunctioning device from the table's drawer I click 'play' and a distorted woman's voice came from its tinny speaker. It still wasn't working correctly, the tape playing first too fast and then too slow.
A sudden a streak of buttery gold flashed past my face, knocking the stupid tape recorder to the floor where it shattered.
“Saka!” Jacob stumbled over his own feet to stand in front of me, arms outspread.
I was not about to complain. That woman had just won the prize for most volatile guest. I could just see Tina in the doorway behind, holding a cell phone and making some odd hand signals. I shook my head. She'd startled me but I still don't think she wants to hurt me.
“It sounded like a demon.”
“These people have given us a gift only God can give.” Again he pointed at the pendant. “You must abide by the rules of hospitality of my people this night.”
She went from looking furious to sporting the world's best poker face before turning to stare out of the window. The motion revealed a wrist-thick braid of dark brown hair that fell to mid-back.
“Please, accept my apologies for the damage to your… tape recorder. Can it be repaired?” He looked so upset, I found myself nodding, despite it being an utter loss. “There is a war coming to my homeland. My father decided I needed protecting and bought Saka.”
“Bought?” How far back in time did these people come from? “What day was it when you left?”
“It was Yom Shabbat, seven Kislev in the year 3928.” He seemed puzzled by the question. Oh, that's right, they were Hebrew. I made a mental note to go online and figure out when the odd pair came from. I picked my pen and paper back up from the table and took a few notes.
“My family does not often buy slaves from the Syrian market. It was need that lead to my father purchasing Saka Ishkuzi.”
“What an interesting name,” I remarked. She was facing me again. I hope the smile I gave her provided some reassurance..
“She is of the Kimmeroi.” Jacob's smooth, almost hypnotic, singer's voice hurried on, “Scythian from the area above the Black Sea.” Oh, them I'd heard of. Given the way history texts described the Scythian race, she seemed positively sedate now. I jot a few more notes to myself.
“Are you ready to get started on the interview? Can I offer you some refreshments? Food and beverage, name your desire and my super-efficient elf Tina will be delighted to bring it.” I smile and see Tina tuck the cell phone away in her skimpy skirt. Very skimpy - where did she tuck it. Maybe I don't really want to know.
“Of course, tea would be perfect.” His smile is conspiratorial as he leans forward. “Is your handmaid a Scythian? Saka has the same look when my mother asks her to be helpful with food.”
“She has no Scythian blood that I am aware of.” I smile brightly and hear Tina's teeth grind. “Please, sit down.”
After Jacob settles into his chair, I raise my pen and smile. “What are you?”
Jacob tilts his head. “I am a man, a simple scholar of the Talmud hoping to one day be a member of the priesthood.”
“What problems do you face in your world because of what you are?”
Saka paces forward and stands behind his chair. The long wooden haft of her battle axe thuds on the hardwood floor and she leans against it, the blade a full head taller than her fierce angular face. Oddly enough, Jacob seems reassured by the action instead of flustered.
“In Judah, the Hellenes rule through their Seleucid forces. They have passed laws forbidding my people from worshipping our God. To that end the Temple Mount was desecrated and turned into a place of pagan sacrifice. If it is revealed that I study to be a Rabbi, my life is forfeit.”
Okay so the Barbarian Queen makes better sense. ”So what do you do for a living, and do you enjoy it?”
A wide smile breaks out on his face and I instinctively smile back. “My father and brothers all work on the caravan trails as spice merchants. They return home at different times of the year and stock our store, but always come home in time for Rosh Hashanah, the New Year. While they are gone I tend the shop with my younger brothers. My mother is a renowned weaver, but she handles her own business.”
“Mmm. What do you do for fun?”
“Fun?” The statue behind him says something guttural I couldn't catch and his face brightens. “Ah, I see! I enjoy reading scrolls, learning new languages and recently Saka has been teaching me to use her bow.” The last admission brings a slight blush to his cheeks.
I smile and try not to let on that I can imagine what has transpired during those lessons. I don't need to make them uncomfortable again. “Do you have any hobbies or interesting information about yourself you'd like to share?”
“I do not believe so, I am a simple man. There are lessons with Rabbi Pathai, my mornings in the store and caring for my donkey and Saka's pony.”
“What are your plans for this holiday season? Which holidays do you celebrate, if any, and how do you celebrate them?”
“Holiday? There is Rosh Chodesh, the celebration of the new month, but there are no holy days until Purim.”
Hmmm. How far in time HAVE they come? Maybe from before they celebrated Hanukkah, otherwise I'd have expected it to be mentioned by a Hebrew “Is there anyone special in your life?”
Jacob's finely sculpted cheekbones flush with color again and he looks at his hands. “There is one I consider special to me, yes.”
“Can you tell us about her?”
“I...I do not know what to say,” he stammers. Lifting his gaze to mine, Jacob flicks doe-eyes at the hatchet-faced woman now looking at Tina with something akin to respect.
My helper had to have raided her Halloween wardrobe. Instead of her skimpy Santa outfit, she wore suede leather pants and a bustier very similar to Saka's. What a suck-up. I'd stick my tongue out if I didn't think I'd lose it.
With a smug smile she set the tea cup in front of Jacob and flounced out of the room. I see a look pass between the soft and sweet Jacob and the violent and terse Scythian. It does make a warped sort of sense, actually.
“Um…okay then… What are your goals for the rest of the year?”
Sipping his tea, Jacob sighs in contentment. “It isn't often that we get these leaves from the Xian province, this is a treat. Our year has just started but before the year concludes, it would be a blessing for the Maccabeus' army to retake Jerusalem from the Seleucids and free our people from religious oppression.”
“I certainly hope your people are successful. I fear I'm taking up too much of your time. Thank you so much for joining me tonight. I really enjoyed getting to know you...both.” I smile and ignore the scattered remains of my tape recorder.
“It was an honor to meet you, even if I do not understand the reason for it.” Jacob stood and he and Saka made their way to the doorway where Tina waited to escort them out.
Saka grasped my helper's arm firmly. “Until next we meet, Taihnah. May your arrows fly straight and true and your enemies fall at your feet.” Jacob touches her shoulder and the Scythian woman walks to the door, opens it and stares into the darkness, looking for…I don't know what, but I certainly don't envy whatever it is.
Interesting, Jacob is taller and broader than the woman chosen to guard him. His gentle demeanor and smooth, attractive features made him seem softer, delicate. Feminine good looks with a man's strength. A shame he seems hooked on the Barbarian Queen.
I look at my now gloating assistant. What does Taihnah mean that, coupled with Frederick's of Hollywood's best, a Scythian would suddenly treat her so well. Mostly, I wonder if I'd ever get her ego deflated over this coup.
As I watch Jacob and Saka leave, I wonder what my next guest would have in store for me. I have high hopes for my meeting with Thanet Blake.
***
Melissa Glisan
http://www.melissaglisan.20m.com/
http://dogwild.blogspot.com/
***
I just sat back down after a break to freshen up when Tina pokes her head through the doorway.
“Michelle, your next interview is here. Are you read for … umm… them?”
“As ready as I'll ever be.” I reach for my notepad. Would this guest be as much fun as Jenna? If my first interviews are anything to go by, I'm in for a treat. Wait - had Tina said “them”?
Tina reappears with two figures behind her. I expected Jacob bar Moshe of the Kohanim, but not a …guest.
My confusion must be evident.
“Guardian.” The lone terse word from the thin-lipped woman was almost as startling as her appearance. She stalks into the room, without so much as a by-your-leave, staring and sniffing suspiciously at the most innocuous items. Her height, coupled with her brilliantly beaded vest, leather pants, a bow and an axe made her stand out against my tasteful Holiday décor.
I wait politely while she reassures herself that there is no threat in the room. I shift to raise an eyebrow at Tina. She is as clueless as I, judging by the subtle shrug she gives me in return.
I turn back to my guests and the woman's arctic blue eyes stare back at me with all the passion of a chunk of ice. Wolf's Eyes.
The man who silently steps into the room is just as striking. This must be Jacob.
He's wearing clothes that look more suited to a Nativity scene reenactment than an interview. Somehow the odd beige and brown stripped raiment suits him, though. It highlights the warm tan tone of his skin, kindles golden highlights in his shoulder length hair and turns the simple brown eyes into a warm sherry. A nice sandy beach with a surfboard would be more fitting for the man with the shy smile than following in the wake of a glacial-eyed warrior woman.
“Thank you for joining me tonight.” I put down my file and pick up my notepad and pen. The woman's watchful gaze follows my movements.
“I am honored to be invited to your home, but I must confess this is all confusing and unexpected. The man who came to my door…” He seems uncertain.
The woman spoke up. “He was not Hebrew. Jacob did not know him. He was viewed as a danger, at first.”
I look over at Tina. “Tina, please call and see if the publisher's rep made it home okay.”
She nodded and darted off. For once she didn't even glare back.
“My apologies.” Jacob bows elegantly. “There was a slight misunderstanding until these necklaces,” long brown fingers brushed against a pendant hung around his neck, “were given to us. By the man's impossibly light skin, I should have known him to be sent by Elokim to bestow the gift of tongues.”
I have no clue who the Eli guy was, but I recognize the translator pendants marketing had somehow obtained from a defense contractor. At least that was the rumor.
“I hope you don't mind if I take notes this way. The last time I used a tape recorder there were…difficulties.” I was now more than a little tired of saying this because of the looks that accompanied some of the responses. I didn't want to go into details so I just smiled and held my pen at the ready, hoping no one would protest.
Jacob's eyes brightened. “What is a tape recorder?” He looked around the room like a kid at Christmas. “There are so many things here I do not know or understand, but perhaps we can begin with that?”
Oh, that's right. I'd been warned that Jacob wasn't exactly up on the modern conveniences. “This is a tape recorder.” Pulling the malfunctioning device from the table's drawer I click 'play' and a distorted woman's voice came from its tinny speaker. It still wasn't working correctly, the tape playing first too fast and then too slow.
A sudden a streak of buttery gold flashed past my face, knocking the stupid tape recorder to the floor where it shattered.
“Saka!” Jacob stumbled over his own feet to stand in front of me, arms outspread.
I was not about to complain. That woman had just won the prize for most volatile guest. I could just see Tina in the doorway behind, holding a cell phone and making some odd hand signals. I shook my head. She'd startled me but I still don't think she wants to hurt me.
“It sounded like a demon.”
“These people have given us a gift only God can give.” Again he pointed at the pendant. “You must abide by the rules of hospitality of my people this night.”
She went from looking furious to sporting the world's best poker face before turning to stare out of the window. The motion revealed a wrist-thick braid of dark brown hair that fell to mid-back.
“Please, accept my apologies for the damage to your… tape recorder. Can it be repaired?” He looked so upset, I found myself nodding, despite it being an utter loss. “There is a war coming to my homeland. My father decided I needed protecting and bought Saka.”
“Bought?” How far back in time did these people come from? “What day was it when you left?”
“It was Yom Shabbat, seven Kislev in the year 3928.” He seemed puzzled by the question. Oh, that's right, they were Hebrew. I made a mental note to go online and figure out when the odd pair came from. I picked my pen and paper back up from the table and took a few notes.
“My family does not often buy slaves from the Syrian market. It was need that lead to my father purchasing Saka Ishkuzi.”
“What an interesting name,” I remarked. She was facing me again. I hope the smile I gave her provided some reassurance..
“She is of the Kimmeroi.” Jacob's smooth, almost hypnotic, singer's voice hurried on, “Scythian from the area above the Black Sea.” Oh, them I'd heard of. Given the way history texts described the Scythian race, she seemed positively sedate now. I jot a few more notes to myself.
“Are you ready to get started on the interview? Can I offer you some refreshments? Food and beverage, name your desire and my super-efficient elf Tina will be delighted to bring it.” I smile and see Tina tuck the cell phone away in her skimpy skirt. Very skimpy - where did she tuck it. Maybe I don't really want to know.
“Of course, tea would be perfect.” His smile is conspiratorial as he leans forward. “Is your handmaid a Scythian? Saka has the same look when my mother asks her to be helpful with food.”
“She has no Scythian blood that I am aware of.” I smile brightly and hear Tina's teeth grind. “Please, sit down.”
After Jacob settles into his chair, I raise my pen and smile. “What are you?”
Jacob tilts his head. “I am a man, a simple scholar of the Talmud hoping to one day be a member of the priesthood.”
“What problems do you face in your world because of what you are?”
Saka paces forward and stands behind his chair. The long wooden haft of her battle axe thuds on the hardwood floor and she leans against it, the blade a full head taller than her fierce angular face. Oddly enough, Jacob seems reassured by the action instead of flustered.
“In Judah, the Hellenes rule through their Seleucid forces. They have passed laws forbidding my people from worshipping our God. To that end the Temple Mount was desecrated and turned into a place of pagan sacrifice. If it is revealed that I study to be a Rabbi, my life is forfeit.”
Okay so the Barbarian Queen makes better sense. ”So what do you do for a living, and do you enjoy it?”
A wide smile breaks out on his face and I instinctively smile back. “My father and brothers all work on the caravan trails as spice merchants. They return home at different times of the year and stock our store, but always come home in time for Rosh Hashanah, the New Year. While they are gone I tend the shop with my younger brothers. My mother is a renowned weaver, but she handles her own business.”
“Mmm. What do you do for fun?”
“Fun?” The statue behind him says something guttural I couldn't catch and his face brightens. “Ah, I see! I enjoy reading scrolls, learning new languages and recently Saka has been teaching me to use her bow.” The last admission brings a slight blush to his cheeks.
I smile and try not to let on that I can imagine what has transpired during those lessons. I don't need to make them uncomfortable again. “Do you have any hobbies or interesting information about yourself you'd like to share?”
“I do not believe so, I am a simple man. There are lessons with Rabbi Pathai, my mornings in the store and caring for my donkey and Saka's pony.”
“What are your plans for this holiday season? Which holidays do you celebrate, if any, and how do you celebrate them?”
“Holiday? There is Rosh Chodesh, the celebration of the new month, but there are no holy days until Purim.”
Hmmm. How far in time HAVE they come? Maybe from before they celebrated Hanukkah, otherwise I'd have expected it to be mentioned by a Hebrew “Is there anyone special in your life?”
Jacob's finely sculpted cheekbones flush with color again and he looks at his hands. “There is one I consider special to me, yes.”
“Can you tell us about her?”
“I...I do not know what to say,” he stammers. Lifting his gaze to mine, Jacob flicks doe-eyes at the hatchet-faced woman now looking at Tina with something akin to respect.
My helper had to have raided her Halloween wardrobe. Instead of her skimpy Santa outfit, she wore suede leather pants and a bustier very similar to Saka's. What a suck-up. I'd stick my tongue out if I didn't think I'd lose it.
With a smug smile she set the tea cup in front of Jacob and flounced out of the room. I see a look pass between the soft and sweet Jacob and the violent and terse Scythian. It does make a warped sort of sense, actually.
“Um…okay then… What are your goals for the rest of the year?”
Sipping his tea, Jacob sighs in contentment. “It isn't often that we get these leaves from the Xian province, this is a treat. Our year has just started but before the year concludes, it would be a blessing for the Maccabeus' army to retake Jerusalem from the Seleucids and free our people from religious oppression.”
“I certainly hope your people are successful. I fear I'm taking up too much of your time. Thank you so much for joining me tonight. I really enjoyed getting to know you...both.” I smile and ignore the scattered remains of my tape recorder.
“It was an honor to meet you, even if I do not understand the reason for it.” Jacob stood and he and Saka made their way to the doorway where Tina waited to escort them out.
Saka grasped my helper's arm firmly. “Until next we meet, Taihnah. May your arrows fly straight and true and your enemies fall at your feet.” Jacob touches her shoulder and the Scythian woman walks to the door, opens it and stares into the darkness, looking for…I don't know what, but I certainly don't envy whatever it is.
Interesting, Jacob is taller and broader than the woman chosen to guard him. His gentle demeanor and smooth, attractive features made him seem softer, delicate. Feminine good looks with a man's strength. A shame he seems hooked on the Barbarian Queen.
I look at my now gloating assistant. What does Taihnah mean that, coupled with Frederick's of Hollywood's best, a Scythian would suddenly treat her so well. Mostly, I wonder if I'd ever get her ego deflated over this coup.
As I watch Jacob and Saka leave, I wonder what my next guest would have in store for me. I have high hopes for my meeting with Thanet Blake.
***
Melissa Glisan
http://www.melissaglisan.20m.com/
http://dogwild.blogspot.com/
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Watermelon Riot character interview
Sorry to have been away so long, but on October 6 it was such a lovely day I decided to take my son's horse for a ride. Long story short - he spooked and we went over with him landing on me. I ended up with spinal fractures. This has given me a lot of time to think - laying flat on your back in bed does that - and to work. To that end I came up with a fun character interview for Scott Reneau and Michelle Butler from The Watermelon Riot - pending publication at Red Rose Publishing.
Author: I thought it would be interesting to turn the tables on a local reporter, Michelle Butler, notably since she recently won the crown of Watermelon Queen. Hello Michelle, thanks for joining us today.
Michelle Butler: Hello, it's nice to be here. (She looks distinctly uncomfortable in her chair, idly braiding a long tress of golden blond hair.) But you can call me Shelley, most of the folks in Gallatin know me that way.
Author: Gallatin?
Shelley: Arkansas, sorry, I forgot, not everyone knows where my Gallatin is located. Rural farm towns aren't as recognizable as Los Angeles.
Author: Oh, I see. Since you mentioned Los Angeles, I had heard you had an exciting childhood going between Arkansas and the City of Angels.
Shelley: (Squirms in her chair abandoning her hair to tug at the hemline of her shorts.) Yes, well, my parents have a bit of their own notoriety. I was blessed as a child, having the solid foundation of a quiet home like Gallatin and joining my parents over summer break in the big city of Los Angeles.
Author: Didn't you decide at one time to work with them?
Shelley: You could say that. (Small nervous laugh.) I did work as a script writer on one of the more popular daytime soaps – I was just one of many talented writers – but yes, you could say I worked with them. In the industry, not on their projects, I didn't aim that high.
Author: What made you decide to come home and exchange the glitter of a Hollywood set for local news?
Scott Reneau: Hey, I wondered where you wandered off to. (Drops a kiss on Ms. Butler's temple as he sits beside her on the wooden bench.) Hope I'm not intruding.
Author: No, not at all, I was just asking Shelley what inspired her to leave –
Scott: As someone who did the same thing, left a big city for a small town I can give you a reason. (He puts a comforting arm around Ms. Butler.) Family.
Author: Ms. Butler does have family in Los Angeles.
Scott: And she has family here too, have you met Adele and Gus Strahan? They're the grandparents who helped raise her. (Across the park the gimlet gaze of Adele Strahan manages to quell even this determined interviewer. Gus just laughs and picks a tune on his beloved banjo.)
Author: Thank you, but I've met both.
Scott: They are a well matched pair aren't they? (At ease, he shakes his over-long brown hair back out of his eyes with a sleepy expression of having won something special…thinking of winning.)
Author: How does it feel to be crowned this year's Watermelon Queen?
Shelley: To be honest, I feel kind of silly (her bright pink cheeks betray the truth of her admission.), normally the Queen is a much younger woman.
Scott: Now, you know that is totally untrue Michelle. Didn't your own great-grandmother win the title back in 1927 and she was considered on the shelf at the time. (He taps a folded piece of paper Ms. Butler clutched between her fingers.)
Shelley: (laughs) Okay, you got me there, but I think the vote this year was loaded. (She leans forward with a conspiratorial wink) Grandpa Gus always said I was a throwback in the looks department to his momma, the original Watermelon Queen.
Author: What can you tell me about your great-grandmother?
Shelley: Marietta Gillett was a woman who knew what she wanted and went after him. (She clears her throat with a strangled laugh.) Her momma was dead set against Mari having anything to do with the original Fergus Strahan, but when she set her cap for the man…well, he didn't have eyes for any other.
Scott: That is the way love at first sight is supposed to work. (He gives Shelley a loving but determined look.)
Author: Wasn't there a bit of a scandal involving your grandfather over Marietta Gillett?
Scott: Yes, there was, they were at the heart of the Watermelon Riot of 1927. Instead of asking anymore questions, maybe you should pick up a copy of the story. Shelley and I have to be getting back to our booth, her melons do sell themselves (he leers at Shelley, making her laugh) but someone has to be there to collect the money.
Shelley: (As she gets up and wanders off with Scott holding his hand.) You big fibber, we're down to the last melon and you told me not to sell it, that you had plans for it.
Scott: Ssshhh…(casts a last look and wink over his shoulder) I do and time is wasting woman.
And that concludes the interview between Scott and Michelle. Would anyone like to read similar interviews with other characters? Drop me a note and let me know.
Author: I thought it would be interesting to turn the tables on a local reporter, Michelle Butler, notably since she recently won the crown of Watermelon Queen. Hello Michelle, thanks for joining us today.
Michelle Butler: Hello, it's nice to be here. (She looks distinctly uncomfortable in her chair, idly braiding a long tress of golden blond hair.) But you can call me Shelley, most of the folks in Gallatin know me that way.
Author: Gallatin?
Shelley: Arkansas, sorry, I forgot, not everyone knows where my Gallatin is located. Rural farm towns aren't as recognizable as Los Angeles.
Author: Oh, I see. Since you mentioned Los Angeles, I had heard you had an exciting childhood going between Arkansas and the City of Angels.
Shelley: (Squirms in her chair abandoning her hair to tug at the hemline of her shorts.) Yes, well, my parents have a bit of their own notoriety. I was blessed as a child, having the solid foundation of a quiet home like Gallatin and joining my parents over summer break in the big city of Los Angeles.
Author: Didn't you decide at one time to work with them?
Shelley: You could say that. (Small nervous laugh.) I did work as a script writer on one of the more popular daytime soaps – I was just one of many talented writers – but yes, you could say I worked with them. In the industry, not on their projects, I didn't aim that high.
Author: What made you decide to come home and exchange the glitter of a Hollywood set for local news?
Scott Reneau: Hey, I wondered where you wandered off to. (Drops a kiss on Ms. Butler's temple as he sits beside her on the wooden bench.) Hope I'm not intruding.
Author: No, not at all, I was just asking Shelley what inspired her to leave –
Scott: As someone who did the same thing, left a big city for a small town I can give you a reason. (He puts a comforting arm around Ms. Butler.) Family.
Author: Ms. Butler does have family in Los Angeles.
Scott: And she has family here too, have you met Adele and Gus Strahan? They're the grandparents who helped raise her. (Across the park the gimlet gaze of Adele Strahan manages to quell even this determined interviewer. Gus just laughs and picks a tune on his beloved banjo.)
Author: Thank you, but I've met both.
Scott: They are a well matched pair aren't they? (At ease, he shakes his over-long brown hair back out of his eyes with a sleepy expression of having won something special…thinking of winning.)
Author: How does it feel to be crowned this year's Watermelon Queen?
Shelley: To be honest, I feel kind of silly (her bright pink cheeks betray the truth of her admission.), normally the Queen is a much younger woman.
Scott: Now, you know that is totally untrue Michelle. Didn't your own great-grandmother win the title back in 1927 and she was considered on the shelf at the time. (He taps a folded piece of paper Ms. Butler clutched between her fingers.)
Shelley: (laughs) Okay, you got me there, but I think the vote this year was loaded. (She leans forward with a conspiratorial wink) Grandpa Gus always said I was a throwback in the looks department to his momma, the original Watermelon Queen.
Author: What can you tell me about your great-grandmother?
Shelley: Marietta Gillett was a woman who knew what she wanted and went after him. (She clears her throat with a strangled laugh.) Her momma was dead set against Mari having anything to do with the original Fergus Strahan, but when she set her cap for the man…well, he didn't have eyes for any other.
Scott: That is the way love at first sight is supposed to work. (He gives Shelley a loving but determined look.)
Author: Wasn't there a bit of a scandal involving your grandfather over Marietta Gillett?
Scott: Yes, there was, they were at the heart of the Watermelon Riot of 1927. Instead of asking anymore questions, maybe you should pick up a copy of the story. Shelley and I have to be getting back to our booth, her melons do sell themselves (he leers at Shelley, making her laugh) but someone has to be there to collect the money.
Shelley: (As she gets up and wanders off with Scott holding his hand.) You big fibber, we're down to the last melon and you told me not to sell it, that you had plans for it.
Scott: Ssshhh…(casts a last look and wink over his shoulder) I do and time is wasting woman.
And that concludes the interview between Scott and Michelle. Would anyone like to read similar interviews with other characters? Drop me a note and let me know.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Night Lights...some back ground
Now available through Aspen Mountain Press
Night Lights
Blurb...
Bright lights, cold nights, dark frights …Margaret Thawley's watery nightmares hold the keys to unlocking her past and her future. On the Philippine Island of Cagayan, she places her trust in the enigmatic warrior Rizal Malihim and his night lights, to keep her safe despite the tales. For in Cagayan, the natives warn, fireflies mask the dreaded berbalangs - ghoulish vampires swarming for victims to kill.
***
Set in Cagayan, Malaysia in 1899, Miss Margaret Thawley has been sent away from home in shame following an illicit affair. However, arriving in Malayasia she finds things aren't what they seem. The expedition turns into a witch hunt with her as the bait, and if that weren't enough, the perilous sea journey awakens long dormant nightmares of drowning from her childhood. But are they nightmares or memories? Just what dark secret lies in her past, hidden by dreams of dark waters and burning lights in the forest?
For the curious reader, the tale of the berbalangs is a very real one indeed. In 1896 Mr. Ethelbert Forbes Skertcherley filed a report of his time spent on the island of Cagayan in the Sulu Sea. The report made to the Asiatic Society of Bengal was shared and published through the "unseen university" system. What began as a rather boring recitation on the anthropological facts and findings ended in an unorthodix recounting of meeting the feared boogey-man of the native villagers. This documented event later appeared in the book "Oddities" by Rupert T. Gould.
What was most unusual was the lack of effect the fantastical account raised within the close-knit group of scholars and academics that created the brotherhood of shared information and papers creating the loose "unseen university." In the days before accredited colleges and universities sprung up seemingly in every city, the only way to obtain an education was to travel across Europe and Asia in search of different schools and teachers. As more and more men of means came to accumulate knowledge they began sharing their findings in a series of letters that evolved into newspapers, periodicals and magazines. In order to be a member you had to have something of merit to contribute - either by education or active exploration with documentation. And with this, the "unseen university" system was born.
In the 1800s, fantastical tales were either deeply investigated or shouted down as delusional ramblings. Skertcherley's account, however, passed by in relative silence. Was it because his hysterical account of astral insectoid-humans with vampire teeth and claws feasting on the stomachs of the dead was too bizarre to credit - or was there something else, something unseen that smoothed over the account? Even more compelling, the Royal Society of London within months of having the account published in their own periodical ignored the report and instead launched a multi-year investigation into the vampire of High Gate Cemetery.
Why was one vampire so sought after and the other neglected? Or was it?
That was the inspiration that led to the creation of Night Lights.
Now, from my research notes, some observances on berbalangs:
Skertchley's native informants told him that when the berbalang were not flying around in search of human victims in their astral bodies in the form of reddish firefly swarms, they lived in a small village in a jungle clearing in the interior of the island. Against his informants' earnest warnings, he decided to visit the village and see for himself, and accordingly set out one day with his local guide Matali. When they got to the village, the terrified Matali stayed behind in the jungle, but Skertchley boldly went in--and found the village completely deserted.
Night fell as they made their way back to the village where Forbes stayed and Matali lived. As they were crossing a grassy valley on their way back, they saw and heard a huge swarm of dancing reddish fireflies passing overhead and making a ghoulish moaning or howling noise, while Skertchley and Matali hid in the grass. Matali told Skertchley these were the berbalang, in search of human prey. Just before returning to their own village, Skertchley and Matali passed the outlying house of Hassan, a villager whom Skertchley knew. Matali told Skertchley the berbalang had probably tried to attack Hassan--but that he was safe because he kept a coconut-pearl, locally believed to keep the berbalang away. Visiting Hassan the next morning to inquire what if anything he had observed the night before, Skertchley found Hassan dead, a look of extreme terror on his face.
"Cagayan Sulu, its Customs, Legends, and Superstitions," in the _Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal_, Vol. LXV, Part III, Np. 1, 1896.
Still curious? There is always more...
Night Lights
Blurb...
Bright lights, cold nights, dark frights …Margaret Thawley's watery nightmares hold the keys to unlocking her past and her future. On the Philippine Island of Cagayan, she places her trust in the enigmatic warrior Rizal Malihim and his night lights, to keep her safe despite the tales. For in Cagayan, the natives warn, fireflies mask the dreaded berbalangs - ghoulish vampires swarming for victims to kill.
***
Set in Cagayan, Malaysia in 1899, Miss Margaret Thawley has been sent away from home in shame following an illicit affair. However, arriving in Malayasia she finds things aren't what they seem. The expedition turns into a witch hunt with her as the bait, and if that weren't enough, the perilous sea journey awakens long dormant nightmares of drowning from her childhood. But are they nightmares or memories? Just what dark secret lies in her past, hidden by dreams of dark waters and burning lights in the forest?
For the curious reader, the tale of the berbalangs is a very real one indeed. In 1896 Mr. Ethelbert Forbes Skertcherley filed a report of his time spent on the island of Cagayan in the Sulu Sea. The report made to the Asiatic Society of Bengal was shared and published through the "unseen university" system. What began as a rather boring recitation on the anthropological facts and findings ended in an unorthodix recounting of meeting the feared boogey-man of the native villagers. This documented event later appeared in the book "Oddities" by Rupert T. Gould.
What was most unusual was the lack of effect the fantastical account raised within the close-knit group of scholars and academics that created the brotherhood of shared information and papers creating the loose "unseen university." In the days before accredited colleges and universities sprung up seemingly in every city, the only way to obtain an education was to travel across Europe and Asia in search of different schools and teachers. As more and more men of means came to accumulate knowledge they began sharing their findings in a series of letters that evolved into newspapers, periodicals and magazines. In order to be a member you had to have something of merit to contribute - either by education or active exploration with documentation. And with this, the "unseen university" system was born.
In the 1800s, fantastical tales were either deeply investigated or shouted down as delusional ramblings. Skertcherley's account, however, passed by in relative silence. Was it because his hysterical account of astral insectoid-humans with vampire teeth and claws feasting on the stomachs of the dead was too bizarre to credit - or was there something else, something unseen that smoothed over the account? Even more compelling, the Royal Society of London within months of having the account published in their own periodical ignored the report and instead launched a multi-year investigation into the vampire of High Gate Cemetery.
Why was one vampire so sought after and the other neglected? Or was it?
That was the inspiration that led to the creation of Night Lights.
Now, from my research notes, some observances on berbalangs:
Skertchley's native informants told him that when the berbalang were not flying around in search of human victims in their astral bodies in the form of reddish firefly swarms, they lived in a small village in a jungle clearing in the interior of the island. Against his informants' earnest warnings, he decided to visit the village and see for himself, and accordingly set out one day with his local guide Matali. When they got to the village, the terrified Matali stayed behind in the jungle, but Skertchley boldly went in--and found the village completely deserted.
Night fell as they made their way back to the village where Forbes stayed and Matali lived. As they were crossing a grassy valley on their way back, they saw and heard a huge swarm of dancing reddish fireflies passing overhead and making a ghoulish moaning or howling noise, while Skertchley and Matali hid in the grass. Matali told Skertchley these were the berbalang, in search of human prey. Just before returning to their own village, Skertchley and Matali passed the outlying house of Hassan, a villager whom Skertchley knew. Matali told Skertchley the berbalang had probably tried to attack Hassan--but that he was safe because he kept a coconut-pearl, locally believed to keep the berbalang away. Visiting Hassan the next morning to inquire what if anything he had observed the night before, Skertchley found Hassan dead, a look of extreme terror on his face.
"Cagayan Sulu, its Customs, Legends, and Superstitions," in the _Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal_, Vol. LXV, Part III, Np. 1, 1896.
Still curious? There is always more...
Monday, April 23, 2007
New cover!
I'm super excited to share my newest cover with you guys!
It was made by the ever-impressive Dan Skinner of Cerberus Inc. featuring the talented, and very photogenic sweetheart of a guy, Nick. As most of you know, The Ballet is my lone foray into the world of mainstream romance which was picked up by the newly formed Red Rose Publishing. More details on the story when the release date nears - Red Rose will be officially opening their doors this June. June is a month well known for romance being the traditional month of marriage.
So keep an eye open this June for a new press and a new title.
< moved >
It was made by the ever-impressive Dan Skinner of Cerberus Inc. featuring the talented, and very photogenic sweetheart of a guy, Nick. As most of you know, The Ballet is my lone foray into the world of mainstream romance which was picked up by the newly formed Red Rose Publishing. More details on the story when the release date nears - Red Rose will be officially opening their doors this June. June is a month well known for romance being the traditional month of marriage.
So keep an eye open this June for a new press and a new title.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Catnip candies for kitties
Need a Christmas present for kitty?
Ingredients
1- cup whole-wheat flour
2 tbsps wheat germ
1/4 cup soy flour
1/3 cup dry milk
1 tsp catnip
1/3 cup milk
2 tbsp butter
1 egg
1 tbsp unsulfered molasses
Mix dry ingredients. Add remaining ingredients. Roll on a greased cookie sheet. Cut into bite sized pieces. Bake at 350 F for 20 minutes. Let cool. Store in airtight container.
Borrowed with thanks from Jennah Sharpe
Ingredients
1- cup whole-wheat flour
2 tbsps wheat germ
1/4 cup soy flour
1/3 cup dry milk
1 tsp catnip
1/3 cup milk
2 tbsp butter
1 egg
1 tbsp unsulfered molasses
Mix dry ingredients. Add remaining ingredients. Roll on a greased cookie sheet. Cut into bite sized pieces. Bake at 350 F for 20 minutes. Let cool. Store in airtight container.
Borrowed with thanks from Jennah Sharpe
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)