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Necromancy Week Ending

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 22, 2010| Leave a Comment »


This is the last post in Necromancy Week. In honor of Suzanne’s new Kitten, I thought I’d write in the perspective of a new character, a smart talking Necromancer’s cat.This is not related to previous posts.

Buttons sat on the open window sill, his green eyes narrow slits. He calculated the amount of force it would take to propel himself through the air to the robins flitting about outside. Nevermind the two-story drop.

“Buttons, come away from there,” his mistress sternly called.

He obeyed, begrudgingly.

Mind your own bee’s wax, he thought.

“You don’t want to eat them anyway.”

No, duh, the whole cat of the undead thing.

Katherine’s eyes narrowed.

Buttons pretended to ignore her, closing his eyes. Sometimes he thought she could read his mind. She was unnerving like that and cats are hard to unnerve.

He seemed like any other cat unless you looked too closely. Other than the scraggly fur and an ear that had seen better days, he seemed quite normal. His mistress had resurrected him when she was four. She was the most powerful necromancer in a thousand years, maybe ever. People avoid someone with power like hers.

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Do Dogs Have Self Esteem?

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 21, 2010| 4 Comments »


My dog, Peaches, is afraid of the broom, the mop, cell phones, the car, white linoleum, ipods, sticks, bugs, leaves, loud noises, … She’s brave enough to bark at things from our livingroom window. In an effort to increase her self esteem, I’m now encouraging her to bark at other dogs from the window, saying things like “Get em Peachie, blood makes the grass grow green”. I don’t think that’s odd.
 
They say dogs are like their owners, I don’t see it. Must be my husband’s dog.
D

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Necromancer’s Nightmare

Posted in Fantasy/Scifi, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 19, 2010| Leave a Comment »


This is a continuation of the last post about the team of necromancer’s in the inquisition after returning from their first mission. I’m going to try this entry in third person instead of first person.

Liza had been eight. Her and her sisters had slipped under the shed at the back of this yard, slingshots at the ready. Sarh had following them as she always did. This was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. Midsummer’s celebration was always a target rich environment. Everyone was there. Liza had just struck the first blow. Dad, back of the neck. Perfect shot. He turned, confused for a moment, eyebrow lifted.

Then he spotted us like a hungry wolf sighting its prey. Before he could act, there was a scream. Aunt Illa fell. After that everything exploded – screaming, shooting, blood, death.

Dad motioned for us to stay. What took minutes seemed to take hours. Some of her cousins, not much older than her, tried to defend their dying parents and their siblings, but they had been mowed down. They were no match. Her own brother, Kell, 12 threw himself over a pram, trying to save their younger brother. Kell had been struck down with little effort and the infant with him.

Men in long robes of the brightest blue, the royal order, walked among the bodies, killing any who managed to survive. Even the infants and toddlers. None were spared, only those few who like Liza and her sisters managed to hide.

Their leader looked straight at Liza. Before he turned and left.

“I see.” The inquisitor, Timble closed the book.

Did his face seem to soften? Perhaps.

The inquisitor to Timble’s left Baerik leaned forward. His features were sharp, hawk like. “Perhaps they were targeted?”

“Because they had no elders?” Timble asked.

“Or perhaps they have no elders because they were going to be targeted.”

“That was ten years ago.”

“Who’s to say someone hasn’t been waiting for this moment?”

“Why would destroy an entire family?”

“No one was ever charged.”

“It’s farfetched but I suppose possible.”

Baerik turned to Liza. “Did you notice anything different about that day? Something unusual? The feeling of being watched perhaps?”

“I wish I could say there was, but there wasn’t.” Liza ran a hand over her forehead. “It was just like any other morning.”

“Take us through it then.”

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Warning: I’m no poet

Posted in Random, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 7, 2010| 1 Comment »


Sometimes I have words stuck in my head. The only way to get rid of them is to write them down. This is an example of phrases taping me on the shoulder when I should be writing —

Remember those childhood games we use to all play
when a do over would save the day?
And you look and you think and you wonder.

You wish you had those do overs in life.
You could back it all up and make it all right.
And you look and you think and you wonder.

And now that you’re grown
You have to play it alone.
And you look and you think and you wonder.

Is this the day that will end it all?
Is this the day that you finally fall?
And you look and you think and you wonder.

Should you be playing at all?
Would you be safer not risking the fall?
And you look and you think and you wonder.

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Posted in Personal, Random, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 6, 2010| 4 Comments »


Several times a week I see an elderly woman working in her yard. There she is wearing tan slacks, cotton shirt and wide brim straw hat, bent over pullling weeds under the shade of tall trees. This is what I think of when I think about America. Some people might imagine parades, fireworks on the 4th of July, fishing at the lake, picnics in the park or a roaring fire and a good book.

I think of my Grandmother working in the yard.

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Old Files

Posted in Personal, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 4, 2010| Leave a Comment »


You never know what you might find if you clean out your old files. For instance, I found a novel I wrote when I was 16. Yes, it was with much fear and trepidation that I dare read this horror from the past, a romance novel. It was only two short years later that I was told I should give up writing by a college professor and took her at her word. I stopped writing for more than 20 years. Here is an excerpt —

Standing at the top of the stairs, the darkened corridor seemed strangely threatening. In Mariah’s haste to escape her Father’s lecture, she had forgotten to take a lamp. She heard a low voice from the shadows.

“From the sound of things, I win. Get use to it. I always win.”

Mariah felt the warmth of Damon’s body behind her. She trembled in spite of herself.

“We’ll make a splendid couple.” Damon’s breath was hot against her ear.

“I’ll not submit to this without a fight.” She threatened, turning to face him.

Damon’s dark curls fell across his forehead. His chiseled features settled into a thin smile, but the hard glint in his steel-gray eyes betrayed him.

“I can be very persuasive.” Damon griped her arm.

Mariah stiffened. The knot in her stomach tightened. She wanted to run, but Damon held her fast.

His hold tightened. “And you know what they say.” His voice barely audible.

Mariah shook her head.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

She detected a threat behind his words. She tried to pull away, but the more she struggled, the harder he held her.

“You’re hurting me.” She gasped.

“Was I? I didn’t realize.” Damon smiled, releasing her.

Mariah stumbled before regaining her balance.

“Good night, Love.” Damon quickly disappeared down the stairs.

Mariah retreated to her room. She lit the lamp on the table. The light danced across the wall and the shadows retreated to the corner. Blank canvases leaned against the bulging bookcases. Paints and brushes were strewn liberally about. Books were stacked in precarious piles. Everything was familiar, but different. What was important this morning, didn’t matter now. Mariah sank down on her bed. Her shoulders slumped. Her slender figure cast a small shadow on the wall in front of her. She stared at the wallpaper without seeing it. Pastel pink and blue flowers wove up the walls on pale green vines.

How could everything have gone so wrong? Staring at the flowers, she couldn’t help but replay the day’s events in her mind. …

I don’t think it’s that bad really. I don’t have the last 1/3 or so, but I remember it ended with Mariah knocking Damon in a raging river, presumably to his death. Damon of course, was not the hero. I was told I was too dark. That may have been right for 1978/79. Makes me wish I hadn’t stopped writing for so long.

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Universal Toilet 4

Posted in Fantasy/Scifi, Random, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2010| 2 Comments »


DC needs a posse, a team to help him conquer evil. A trifecta is in order. DC is of course the first in our trio. A male companion, one able to stand up to a personality like DCs is needed. I think I’ll add the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama. Since this is a farce, he was reincarnated as a dog and is a little chauvinistic. The third personality should be female, beautiful and have a history with the Dalai Lama, perhaps Illiana, Godess of War and Love. So the first encounter might not go smoothly after a few centuries of feuding. —

A beautiful woman stood at the chair across from mine.

“This chair taken?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

She sat.

“What a cute dog,” she said, patting Dalai’s head so hard he winced.

“Ass,” Dalai growled.

“Pig,” she replied, tossing her dark hair back with a flip of her head.

The dog and woman seemed acquainted, but refused to look at each other.

“You didn’t call,” the woman said, malice evident in her voice.

“It was one date,” the dog replied. “Centuries ago, lay off it.”

(As the conversation continued, Dalai and Illiana disagree with the approach for saving the world.”

“I think I know best,” Dalai continued, lecturing, “I have lived for five centuries.”

“Four and a half.” Illiana’s dark eyes sparkled.

“What?”

“Four and a half. Remember the snake in Bangalore?”

“That was you. That snake bite killed me.”

“You didn’t call.”

“Enough with the calling.”

“Jerk.” Illiana slammed her cup down.

“Bitch.”

“You should talk.”

“Check again, I’m all man.” Dalai’s ears lifted.

“You check again.” Illiana smirked.

Dalia gave a quick double check only to realize Illiana was right. He was indeed a female dog.

“Are you kidding me?” he yelled, looking skyward. “Not just a dog, but a female dog. Are you kidding me?”

“Karma sucks.” Illiana took another sip of coffee.

“Asshole,” Dalai replied.

“You might want to stop calling me names. Last time it was bitch and look what happened. Keep it up. You never know what you might come back as next.”

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Voice of the Universe 3

Posted in Fantasy/Scifi, Random, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 30, 2010| 1 Comment »


Since I won’t be able to poste tomorrow, I thought I should write this early.  Remember DC hears the voice of the universe through the toilet. Now if you seriously hear the voice of the universe through your toilet, you can’t really use it for its intended purpose. So now, poor DC is a regular visitor at the corner gas station. I imagine his visits might go something like this —

“Hey, Bubba.”

“Hey, DC,” the man behind the counter said, without looking up from his newspaper.

“Brought my own,” I said, waving a roll of TP, a long stream threading the air after me.

“Good boy. Weathers good today,” Bubba continued, with his soft southern drawl.

“Hey, do you have any red rhino?” It was my favorite power drink.

“Got a shipment last week.”

“Can I get a case?” I yelled from the men’s room, flushing the toilet.

“Sure. Planning a road trip?”

“Yep.”

“Voice of the Universe?”

“Yep.”

“Beef jerky, you need beef jerky for a road trip,” he stated more than asked, as I came to the counter case of red rhino in hand.

“No… Yes… No… Twelve Slim Jims.” I finally decided.

“Good choice.” Bubba loaded the beef jerky into a plastic bag. “Get the details before you leave,” he yelled, as I was leaving his face back in the paper.

“What?”

“Get all the details from your toilet. You never know when you’ll find one that resonates with the right frequency and wavelength. So get all the details before you leave.”

“Oh, yea thanks.” I started out the door. “How …?”

“You think you’re the only one who’s ever heard the Voice of the Universe.”

“No, I guess not.”

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Voice of the Universe Installment 2

Posted in Fantasy/Scifi, Random, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 29, 2010| 5 Comments »


Since there is a non-believer out there, I will continue with the idea the Voice of the Universe speaking through a toilet. I imagine this book would be in the style of Terry Pratchett of Discworld fame. In the previous installment, I explored the kind of character who would hear the voice. Here is DC talking to the toilet.

I sat in the bathroom floor at the appointed time, notebook and sharpie in hand waiting for the voice of the universe with his instructions.

Minutes ticked by. The minutes turned to hours. In an act I can only expain as boredom, I drained the water from the toilet and began drawing. The voice of the universe should have a face. Two eyes, a nose, the mouth was well obvious, and a moustache. I was just finishing the beard.

“I have a beard now? Seriously, the voice of the universe has a beard? What do you think I’m ZZ Top?” A rumbling voice echoed from the toilet.

“You’re late,” I replied.

“So I’m a few minutes late.”

“Minutes? Try hours.”

“In the span of the universe, you’re lucky I got here this decade. You think the voice of the universe doesn’t have things to do? A train wreck in Nepal, a tsunami off of the coast of New Zealand, the merger of Google and Yahoo, and that’s just on planet. Meteors colliding, suns burning out prematurely. You think  I don’t have things to take care of?”

“Yea, okay. I’m sorry.” I felt like self center bastard. “Which was it?”

“What?”

“Train wreck, tsunami, meteor, sun, what?”

“I was playing botchy ball with the Guardian of the Moon.”

“What?”

“I was down by two.”

“And so I waited?” I was tempted to flush.

“You think the voice of the universe isn’t competitive? I’m very competitive. It’s how I got this gig. Now, let’s get down to business. I don’t have all century here.”

…

I imagine poor DC would be sent on some adventure to save the world or perhaps the very universe.

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Growing Up Poor in the Land of Opportunity

Posted in Personal, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2010| 7 Comments »


Growing up poor in America, though I heard of the streets of gold, I had never actually seen them. In fact, I lived so far from those streets, I didn’t know anyone who had seen them. I remember the year I first saw those streets where money seemed to grow on trees. It was Christmas and my Mother was taking us to the nearest city to see Christmas lights. We drove up and down the streets of Highland Park and University Park in Dallas. It seems the cities with streets of gold were in parks. I remember seeing grand two story houses with large lawns. These houses had lights on the outside. We only had lights in the window, illuminating the foil wrapped TV antenna. 

I remember seeing perfect trees through the windows, not like the lopsided tree we had cut from the back field. They not only decorated the trees inside their houses, they decorated every tree outside too. These children wouldn’t be getting used clothes their Grandmother mended and hemmed. They wouldn’t be getting used shoes that were too large. They wouldn’t know the thrilil of removing the tissue paper or newspaper in spring when they had grown enough to fit their shoes. These children made lists and Santa really brought them things from their lists. I never asked for anything because I already knew Santa didn’t bring children like me what we asked for.

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