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Archive for July, 2011


Picture it, a dark, smoke filled bar. I hiked myself up on a black leather stool. The bartender slid a glass of soda water with lime in front of me. (I gave up alcohol two weeks ago and can’t for the life of me remember why.)

I recognized a frail, elderly lady from a writer’s group at the end of the bar. She looked like the typical Grandmother, petite, prim and proper. She reminded me of Estelle Getty as Sofia on the Golden Girls. Let’s call her Gert.

I decided to join her trying to tap in to the wisdom a seasoned writer might impart.

“I’m taking it up the ass on ebooks,” Gert said as she down the last of her drink. She motioned to the bartender. “Give me another whiskey and make it the cheap stuff this time.” She sucked deeply on the cigarette she had in one hand. If I thought it was for show, she then blew so much smoke out of her nose I wondered at her lung capacity.

“Really?” I was curious now.

“Oh yea, Honey. I’ve been writing a long time. There wasn’t e-publishing back then.”

“I guess things were different.”

“Hells bells, I wrote my first manuscript on a manual typewriter. It’s not like I saw it coming,” she continued, lighting another cigarette. “Bartender.” She motioned to her glass. “Give me another and no ice this time.” She launched into a coughing fit that I as none smoker I was trying hard not to join.

This tiny, old lady continued discussing the good old days using expletives that would rival sailors and slamming whiskey straight up. My idea about Grandmas were completely shattered by this point.

Finally, I asked, “What genre do you write?”

“Erotica and none of this light hearted crap. I write hard core. The kind of stuff that use to come in brown paper.”

That’s when I almost choked on a peanut. Exercise caution when talking to whiskey slamming, chain smoking, foul mouthed Grandma who writes hard core erotica.

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It was late one evening or early one morning depending on your perspective. I was finishing the last chapter of a great book (reading, not writing) when I heard a loud bang come from my garage. I could see the garage from another room in my house, so I peered across to see the garage lights on and the door open.

If I was sure of only one thing, it was I always close the garage door. All was silent, so I grabbed my home phone and called wait for it – a friend.

“Are you behind my house by any chance?” I asked.

“No, I’m in Louisville.”

“Holy crap, I think someone’s in my garage.”

“Just go check.”

Another crash. “I’m going to call (wait for it)  my sister.”

I called my sister who suggested 911 might be a more appropriate group to get in touch with. I didn’t want to bother 911 in case it turned out to be nothing. But finally (3 minutes later) I decided, What the hey I’d give them a call.

The 911 operator said, “Police are already on the way. Your sister and your friend already called.”

More banging, clanging and mayhem came from the garage. As I crouched behind the kitchen island, I realized how flimsy the door between the garage and the kitchen was.

My cell phone rang. It was my friend, a man as you’ll see from the following conversation. I had him on one phone and the 911 operator on the other.

“Go see if you can see anyone outside the window,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“What did he say?” the operator asked. I told her, she said, “NO, stay down.”

“Turn on the outside light,” friend said.

“What did he say?” the operator asked. I told her, she said, “NO, stay where you are.”

“Go listen at the garage door,” friend said.

“What did he say?” the operator asked. I told her, she said, “tell him to shut up.”

After a time of hiding in the dark behind the kitchen island, the 911 operator said, “The police are outside. Do you have a weapon?”

I said, “I have a wire hanger.”

The operator snickered and told the officers that I was armed with a wire hanger. The officers snickered but said I could hang on to the hanger if it made me feel safer.

Yes I in a room full of knives I picked up a wire hanger and was ready to throttle any intruders.

NO MORE WIRE HANGERS. Remind you of anyone?

P.S. I slept with that wire hanger for quit for almost six months.

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I’m thinking of letting one of my characters blog. Any thoughts on that? We have -

Ambrose – Guardian from the Blood Guardian/Feral Series whose been immortal for close to 3,000 years fighting werewolves.

Madison – Daughter of the Goddess Innana from the Blood Guardian/Feral Series whose been hunting Feral (werewolves) for years.

Prairie Jones (PJ) – Dream walker from the Dream Walker series (duh) who walks into people’s dreams and then uses the information about them.

Fiona – Child of Cain and Naalan (fallen angel) from the children of Cain Series, made immortal in 1400’s. Hunts mortals for food and sport.

No, none of these are available in stores. Translates to unpublished. :(

 

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I feel like I’m starting to get my writing mojo back. Last night I couldn’t sleep because the words wouldn’t stop. I’m going to record my random musings.

In no particular order:

Someone sighed out loud and woke me up in the middle of the night. I had to get up and help him. I hate it when people make broken-hearted sighs in the middle of the night. Put it on hold and be broken-hearted in the morning.

Took Blind Dog to the park. Two yippie dogs were loose. Blind Dog was barking and growling. I had to pick her up. She went limp, hanging her head in humiliation. Sorry BD, you’re mean.

Someone’s been pawing through my desk and I’m missing two pages written in long hand. Do you know what I do to people who paw through my desk? This isn’t like work where my desk is communal property.

Something sinister is lurking in the bottom of my cup. Could it be just bad enough to take me out on Monday but be over by Friday? Nah, those things only happen in the movies.

To the person who saves medicine bottles – Your Grandmother and mine must have been sisters. I’m saves glass jars.

If one more person asks if I want to watch True Blood, you’re dead meat. What’s the point of recording it if I can’t keep saying NO. :)

It must be hard to maintain a stoic image as president these days. Back in the old days they only had to deal with a sketch and the occasional portrait. Now with a thousand frames a second, it’s only a matter of time before someone catches a president pulling his underwear out of his crack.

That’s it, the rest will go on twitter. Let me know if you want to see more or not.

Happy Monday.

Not – Gotcha

 

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We apologize for the recent Doodle Bug massacre that occurred in our garage. It was purely accidental as we have always been on friendly terms.

All except for one of our younger sisters who as a child ate your ancestors. Even though you’re crustaceans, she assures me you do not taste like lobster or I would be eating you by the handfuls with melted butter.

But I digress. You see General Orkin-man detected our mutual enemy the cannibals, El Cockeroacho. (No, I don’t speak Spanish. I speak German, but El Cocheroacho sounds better than Kuchenschabe.)

So in the future, please don’t setup colonies in the garage as it is Battle Groundus Primus in our ongoing war.

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