Yah, so I'm a Story Lunatic, so sue me.

Further to yesterday’s blog, I feel it is important to point out that the reason that I was a bit put out with The Producer was a strange and stupid reason and was only a big frackin deal because I’m a Writer. So I’m not going to detail the brou-ha-ha except to say that I was pissed because I have been noodling around this idea that we have in development and in one (or six) of those collective unconscious things, I have included massively pertinent details of his life and upbringing that for some reason he had hitherto not identified.  So I freaked out at him.  You see when I tell him where the story is going and what is happening in my head, he listens.  He listens as deeply and completely as anyone that I have ever met. He thinks, he nods that special Hoosie nod that comes from the shoulders, and I think “Okay, he heard me, he is smart enough not to say “no” yet to anything and he is still in the room, so it’s all good.” 

So when the details arrived after the signing of the contract and broaching of the bottle of Champagne, I felt strangely betrayed.  Which really is funny. First time I barked a man, not for paying attention to another woman, or picking me up 2 hours late, or for being unkind to a waiter, but because he didn’t share something that was pertinent to the Story I was crafting. And crafting for him thank you very much.

See I’m laughing right now as I type this.  An odd couple we are too be sure.  We have known each other for about five minutes and act like its been ten years.  Still a few surprises in store for both of us, Methinks.  I can hardly wait. Great, great week. Superlative friends. All kinds of new thoughts to think about the nature of love and so many stories I had to rent a mental storage locker for the overflow until I can get to them. Let’s hope that the next 54 years will be long enough to get to them all.

Journey safely Hoosie, I look forward to hugging you soon and making you laugh even sooner.

Love. Go figure.

I can’t say that I would give up this past week, if you were to offer. But it certainly hasn’t been comfortable. Not in sleep or waking. Eating or driving. Typing or brushing my hair. Every thing conspiring, asking pushing prodding, tripping and smacking. No, comfortable it was not. Now even, sitting typing. He’s reading. Too late, too much wine, too many things said that can’t be unsaid. Ah there we are. Just when you think that maybe what you thought you were talking about maybe wasn’t at all what you thought it was.  “I’ll go brush my teeth,” I say, “ Then I’ll apologize.” Apologize for what you ask? No frackin idea. Yet it was there somehow.

Anyway, he said I had to ask, so I did. Didn’t want to. I’m nosy enough by the light of day, am I not? Yet it seems he wants me to push, to ask. He answers honestly and passionately and poetically and fully when I do.  But he says I must ask. So I do. Past my line of comfort. Certainly miles past propriety as such things are measured. Such a gift to have him here.  Such a flashpoint for revelations about so many things. So easy. So very joyful in waking and in snoring. Which for the record, we both do, he never more than right now as I type, late into the early morning.  Profoundly uncomfortable and yet so easy and familiar, how can such a friendship be? Well. I suppose all I can offer up, is just when you think life can’t surprise you, it does. And no matter how hard and far you run from loving people and needing them, you really just can’t. I had the strangest week watching someone fall in love. I don’t believe in it you know. Love. Never have, never will. Yet here I am writing a romantic comedy. Here I am watching a man fall in love with a woman 3000 miles away, and yet she is present in every moment, waking and sleeping. I must confess I’ve been watching with an almost morbid fascination. I thought I’d seen this before. No. Not like this.  I’m puzzled and humbled and profoundly befuddled. It makes me really happy and dreadfully lonely all mixed up together.

So I’ll go drop a blanket on my exhausted Knight of Cups, kiss his brow if I think I can get away with it, and take myself to bed. Alone, and yet not. Sad and yet happy. Sleepy and yet buzzing with energy. Love. Interesting. Guess maybe I should give it some thought. It has been a wonderful week. Maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to believe. Just a little bit. I’ll let you know.

GRrrrsplichize

Not quite so shiny happy today. Just trying to hang in till dinner with Bucky and Hoosie and Chef. Must go do mail merge for address labels. Got eight hours sleep but didn't seem to be enough.  Maybe cause Hoosie was acting like the little brother reading comics under the covers till the wee hours. And Not really super annoying except every time I rolled over some part of my brain asked why the light was still on. Also that big sister thought that he was going to screw up his circadian rythmn even more. But you know what? Hoosie's a grownup if he wants to live like a vampire, hey, it's his vacation! Okay, that yawn nearly broke my jaw. Heading back to the office for more coffee.

Who do love?

Okay must write something.  Tired. Long day. Fun.  Trying to keep both self and the Producer awake to a decent hour. Hard . He is on TO time and though could easily sleep 10 or 11 hours , don’t want him to have to be staring at the ceiling from 4 am on if we lights-out too early. 

Crazy script reading day. Gotta admire the Empress, she is one kinda firecracker assembling a really good professional cast to read her feature script. It was interesting. It went well. Lots of good notes for her on giving it a final tuneup.

Big giant bonuses for me abounded too in that not only did I get the shiny happy deep abiding joy of hugging a another couple Sister’s of the Pen, Delicious and Pixie,  but then got to drink, dine and plot with two very hot, and when I mean hot - I mean Caliente, Scotch Bonnet pepper hot-Actor/Producers. Not to mention my  newest Gorgeous Girlfriend – Bucky to all you unwashed. Gosh the life of a screenwriter is glamorous and interesting.  Really quite taken with the New Josh, I was impressed both in my easy to impress areas – yah, he’s cute – and in some of my more discerning impervious to bullshit areas. For those of you who know me, I can see the raised eyebrows.

While it is true that I love all humanity in a general warm fuzzy way, in that I would defend each and everyone of you from invading aliens, the ones I love best and deepest are neither those you see me fuss over in public, nor the ones with whom I have the most volume or consistency of interaction. That is perhaps the source of that tiny patch of sadness way back in my eyes.  You can catch a glimpse of it when the light is right.

What kind of party would that be if I could really and truly gather together all the people I love – the ones that make me sparkly shiny happy.  The ones that hug like nobody’s business. I think some would be deeply surprised to have made the guest list. Maybe be a bit puzzled. Some bit be a bit put out when they recognize others in the room, having had  no idea. Which elicits a slightly evil laugh – gotta say.

That is still something I can change maybe over the next 54 years.  Make sure that those that I love know it. So here I go.  Tell someone I love every day that I do in fact, love them.  One of my better ideas, don’t you agree?

Life Lessons

Tank Girl sent me a list of the life lessons that she has learned so far, so here is mine in reply

1) Always eat the stinky cheese

2) Mistakes are only bad if you don't learn from them

3) Don't step over a dollar to get to a dime

4) Good girls have lots of signatures in their yearbooks, but crap stories to tell in the old folks home

5) Vodka should be kept in the freezer

6) The truth really will set you free if you can face it and kick its ass

7) The secret to eternal youth is 8 hours of sleep at night and the pursuit of inappropriately young men by day

8) A really good friend is someone who designs you a Jolly Roger tattoo, even though she doesn't approve 'cause she wants you to have something elegant and custom

Could Should Will Wont Might Mightent

At least 5 things I should be writing at this very moment. None of which (obviously) I am.  But I just wanted to think some thoughts all over the place and if I write them down and post them to my blog then at least is can be called “writing practice” instead of navel gazing.

I’ve never really understood women very well. I know I’ m not alone. All you guys out their going “Duh” at reading that. But I do try. Like this book that the E-litter-ati are trying to conquer for this month’s book club. Supposed to be a Steel Magnolias set in NY. Sigh. Maybe it is. All I know is I found myself wondering how you would get expelled from book club for making two crappy selections in a row. I fancy it would be like getting the “Black Spot” from the pirate crew in Treasure Island. (Best Book Ever in my opinion) Hmm. Maybe that should be a hint and I should change my next selections to Treasure Island and Princess Bride.

Speaking of pirates though, I think I may have just walked myself off the plank. Lil’Dude and I made a date to get matching tattoos. A gesture of abiding friendship. Thing is, I have no tattoos. And not cause I’m afraid of needles. In the main I am very very fond of sharp things. It’s the commitment. That I ain’t so good at. I am a bit concerned that I just pledged Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum to get a Jolly Roger tattooed on my ass, while stone cold sober. Well, maybe my ankle and not my ass, and a very small one at that. The size of which can be covered by a kiss. Or a large band-aid.

Still, what am I thinking? It is supposed to be a celebration of finally finding my voice. It scares the shit out of me which means I should do it, though perhaps twin tattoos of ravens on either shoulder might be more appropriate. Or a Raven sitting on a rock with the gaelic clan motto Creag an Fhitich – for the Raven and the Rock – which is the clan badge, not to confused with the family Crest which  has the latin motto per mar per terras – by land and by sea. Or the other way around. Neither gaelic nor latin declensions my strong suit.

Okay. All I do know I that I’m gonna run off now and eat something before I check in with Hoosie. He had a big photo shoot today for a magazine cover, I’m looking forward to hearing about his day as a super model.  Shout out too to Lil’ Dude for the props on the writing and the advice, and to Lady M for her cheerleading and simpatico.

Shadows Gather - to date

By popular demand (well, one request to be honest) here is Shadows Gather in order to date.


CHAPTER
So much promise. It really would be a shame if I have to kill him after all. Michael Slotnick is a sort of protégé of mine I suppose you could say. An accidental one to be sure, but a protégé nonetheless. I'm a fixer for the local preternatural community, and of late I've been showing Michael the ropes.
Yah, I know, I haven't figured out how to phrase it on my tax forms yet either. "Supernatural Fixer", "Cleaner to the Undead and Unholy" you begin to see my problem. But there it is, when the things that go bump in the night get scared or screw up, I'm the one as gets the call. The question is, when I'm scared or I screw up, who am I supposed to call? And I might of this time. Really screwed the pooch. Up shit creek without my paddle. Staring down the nickel-plated barrel of the revolver of destiny held in
the shaking hand of a strung out pretty boy who has just learned that the blood in his veins ain't quite as purely human as he thought. That shaking hand belongs to part-time model, part-time construction worker Michael Slotnick, and if I don't say just exactly the right thing right now, I think he's going to shoot me dead.
"You knew, didn't you?" Michael cried," You knew all along what a freak I am, didn't you? Didn't you!" A spray of spittle from the corner of his perfect lips adds marvelously to the whole crazy wild-eyed, hand shaking, psycho out of control thing. "Michael, Mica baby calm down." I'm scrambling for something to say. How did I lose control of this so fast? "Mica, tell me what's wrong, I can't help if I don't know what's wrong." There, ball is in his court - that's the way to handle a crazy person, right? Make him use his words?
"You set me up, from the moment you met me, you knew." His voice has dropped a bit and the hand is steadier on the gun. That's a good sign, right? "From the moment I met you I knew that you were special, if that's what you mean." Wow, I sound a hell of a lot calmer than I feel. "Mica please, you know I want to help, you know I'd do anything for you. Please put the gun down." I push backward slightly on the wheels of my chair and open up a few inches between me and that amazingly sparkly gun barrel. Serves me bloody right for installing crystal chandeliers in every room.  The play of a miniature rainbow off the barrel of a 45 is not the lighting effect I had in mind.
His eyes drop to the chair and the gun barrel droops
accordingly. Damn, I thought I taught him better than that. Oh well, time for remedial gun-handling 101 after I talk him out of shooting me. "Haven't I shown you that already?" My voice falls too, to almost to a whisper. He's the reason I'm in this chair and hell, I'm not proud of rubbing it in his face at a time like this but sometimes a girl has gotta do what a girl has gotta do.
Come on baby, just a little bit more. I nudge my chair back just a smidge. "Quit moving!" Michael says. The gun barrel and his attention snap back to my face. No worries, a beam of light now hits the large aquamarine ring on my right hand, and that's gonna be all I need. "Sorry," which I in fact am. "Being held at gunpoint makes me a bit nervous." which in fact, it does. Not that you could tell from the deep, dulcet tone of my voice. I fiddle with the ring and a bead of blue light flicks across his eyes. "I trusted you. Trusted you with everything." His voice fades away into a yawn and his eyes blink, suddenly sleepy. "I know you did baby. I know. And I've tried to do right by you, didn't I take you in, teach you things, make you safe?" I twitch the ring again and manage to get a slow nod. "You're safe now.  Safe with me. You can put the gun down now. You're safe." More sleepy nodding and the gun-hand does in fact drop to his side.
You know, I had a real sharp twinge in my conscience when I first implanted that hypnotic suggestion, keying it to a ring the color of my eyes. To be specific both ring and eyes are the color of the Adriatic Sea just off Venice. And no, they aren't colored contact lens, thanks for asking. But I digress. I thought the hypnotic implant was maybe a bit too manipulative, even for me.
But given the circumstances of our first meeting and my immediate suspicions about his true nature and of course the whole threatening my life thing just now, kinda glad I stomped that little angel voice into an unpleasant squishy spot on the pavement.
"Mica, baby" I pitch my voice into as warm a caress as I possibly can, "Seems like you've been partying hard with some very nasty people. Who've you been a bad boy with?" "Nobody. Not a bad boy." It's mostly a sleepy slur but still too much push back for me. "Well it sure ain't just booze honey. Someone give you some pills? Some kinda blow? You can tell me baby, you're safe now." Michael shakes his head heavily, "Nope. You'll be mad." Damn straight I will, but you won't have to deal with that till you're stone cold sober and nursing a headache the size of St. Louis. I try again, "Mica, sweetheart, somebody told you some nasty things about me, right? Who was it?" "Like it when you call me sweetheart Reinee. It's nice." Damn, he should not be able to dodge my question like that, I sure did a piss poor psychic hack job on him. Crap, serves me right for going soft on a pretty face.
"Michael. Tell me who has been talking to you about me. Answer me true!" There, I invoked the key obedience phrase, it'll scare him, but I really need to know who's been messing with his head. That's entirely my prerogative thanks very much. "St-tst-tst" he's choking trying to tell me the name but someone, it appears, has put a mind block on him. If I don't do something fast he'll choke to death trying to speak my enemy's name. "Ereshkigal!" I shout out the name of the ancient Sumerian goddess of the underworld and he collapses into a dead faint. "Fuck!" Now I am
mad. I had to burn a perfectly good safe word there. The good news is that he's stopped choking. The rest of the news is bad, bad and bad. Not least of which is the fact that he's slumped half on me, half off, and in trying to lower him to the floor without banging his head on my workbench the shattered bone,scar tissue and ground meat that currently makes up my left leg starts screaming agony like all the smoke alarms in hell.
Scrabbling through the cut herbs and metaphysical apparatus on the workbench I come up with a cell phone and bottle of Percoset. Tough-bitch multi-tasker that I am, I manage to dry swallow two pills and hit the speed dial during the time it takes for three hot tears of pain to splash onto the spill from a tiny vial of dried Dragon's Blood. I deeply inhale the puffs of resulting smoke. Now man, that is some good shit. I can see my reflection in the mirror over the bench and my eyes flash that gorgeous red that promises a world of pain to Stanislav, whenever I catch up to him that piece of Gorgon vomit. I'm pretty sure the St-tsts-stts that Mica was trying to choke out before I pulled the plug on his consciousness was Stanislav's name - he's the only one of my current enemies with that particular consonant configuration.
The interminable ringing in my ear finally ends with Tequila's rasp, "Shadows Gather, watering hole to the Unholy and the Undead. Whatchawant?" "Get up here. Now." Hmm, sounds like my rasp is finally a match for hers. I try and put the phone down but no. Her tirade pulls it back to my ear. "Irene? That you? You got a lotta damn nerve commanding me to your presence. I may run this
den of depravity for you but that don't mean I'm your damn slave!  Your Royal nothingness! Get up yourself!" she pauses for breath and I know from experience that she's working herself up to a full on hissy fit so its dive in now or forget it. Tequila is one long tall tranny that can out-howl any of the local were-pack leaders. Not kidding. Won 2 large on her during the regionals last Halloween. "Tequila! I need your help putting Mica to bed." There. That shut her up. All I can hear now are the sounds of the bar, techno music blaring.  I hate techno night. "I need help undressing him." I add, somewhat unnecessarily. "I'll be right there." She answers. Hah, I bet she will. I'm not sure it's the 22 year-old underwear model side of him or the sometime construction worker from the bad part of town that she likes best, but I guess I shouldn't talk. Hard to know if I'd a taken him in if he were ugly. I'm kinda shallow that way.
And now the phone does go down and a half full bottle of Jack Daniels takes its place. I take a long pull and watch as the rainbows from the chandeliers reflect in the bottle glass. Pretty.  Like baby boy here. Pretty. I can hear my heavy breath and the swish of the bourbon. Not much else, even though the bar that Tequila runs for me - "Shadows Gather" - takes up the first floor of this warehouse. Given the nature of my work and my proclivity for solitude you can bet your ass that a lot of profits have gone into soundproofing over the years. So, I wait in the silence, looking at my pretty things and wondering if there will still be any bourbon in the bottle when Tequila arrives. Cause things aren't so quiet inside my head now as that Techno Music starts up in my
shattered leg and the throb of pain also known as the beat tries to pull me down into its madness. Nope. Another swig of bourbon and a dab of that dried Dragon Blood on my gums and I'm good thanks, go ask someone else to dance. Besides at the very least, I got me a pretty boy to rescue and a bad guy to punish, gotta stay frosty, there's work to be done.
CHAPTER II
I don't really see why I have to say anything at all. Not like I'm the heroine of this piece or nothing.  Not like you people are the boss of me. Fine. I owe Irene something. She did save my ass once and by that I really do mean save my ass from some Trolls thinking to BBQ my magnificence and serve me up with a side of slaw. Still, some serious water under the bridge since then and I paid her back on that more'n twice over. The deal now is strictly business. We're partners in Shadows Gather. Okay fine not partners exactly, she owns it and pays me to run it but I'm buying from her one crappy chrome and leather barstool at a time. At my last tally I now own 12.5% of this den of iniquity and by that I mean den of iniquity.
Well excuse me if you have no interest in our business arrangements, I was just trying to explain how and why I came to be involved in this whole sorted business. She's my boss. She calls "Tequila!", and Tequila comes a runnin'. Besides, I don't as a rule believe in taking advantage of naïve and inexperienced boys but I know Rennie well enough to know that she has no such moral compass. So, I was up there as fast as my Jimmy Choos would take me. Yeah, they both tell me he's 22 but I can smell a lie
for a possum from 500 yards. Michael might be 18 just, but he's claiming 22 and Rennie is claiming to believe it.
Things were pretty rough when I walked in that's true enough. I can see the shine in her eyes and smell that weird coppery apple smell she gets when the pain is bad. Actually she smells kinda nice with the bourbon splashed over top but you tell her that and I'll call you a damn liar. And that pretty boy all draped at her feet like, I don't even know. A Greek statue, an angel fallen to earth? His t-shirt all pulled outta his waistband like that you could see every muscle of that six pack and that smooth white skin. Any way never mind, you get the point. He's a sweet boy and she is, well you know better'n me what she is, not like I have to be explaining.

Goat Fuck

Yes. I said it. In conversation. To a co-worker. Whom I do not know well. At my day job. I said that the upcoming Olympics in terms of us trying to accomplish our time sensitive processes  was  going to be… I apologized immediately and tried to laugh it off, but man, it is certainly going to be “business unusual” as the PC folk around campus are trying to spin it.

A strange day in a strange week. I have to say a couple people I care for a lot have shocked me this week like it is kinda hard to shock me.  I’m not sure really what to do with some of this information. Some of I must go into the vault and get locked away, to be made public in the year 2113, fifty years after my death. Thing with me is, if you tell me it is secret, it is. If you do not tell me, it goes into a story somewhere, somehow. 

Kids, if people know more of your ‘secrets’ rather than less, they are in fact kinder to you. Yes, you’ve been hurt. But facing with world with the assumption that people are out to get you or put you down or prevent you from advancement because they know something about you that you aren’t proud of. Well, that is just a negative, sad way to go through the world. And I’ve not seen so many negative people prosper. And those that do, I still don’t want to be them. I want to be someone who laughs every day. Who is awed by some new knowledge of the universe. I even like people shocking me, cause it is nice to know it can still happen. Like still being able to blush.

I suppose I’m asking you to proceed under the assumption that most people are good. And in truth, I think they are, or want to be anyway. You just need to understand that in order for them to be true to you, you’ve got to give them every opportunity to succeed. Don’t back them into a corner on anything unless you absolutely must. Be sensitive to issues on which they don’t agree with you, and in friendship don’t take silence for assent.

Jeepers, when did this blog post turn into a chapter in self-help book?

Alright. Enough of the navel gazing. Must play more guitar and watch Stephen Fry on Craig Ferguson.

It was a useful day packed with interesting facts and personal revelation. That’s exhausting. I even managed to take out the garbage and recycling.  My hands are a bit stiff with so much guitar, but I crave playing almost as much as I crave potato chips.

More Shadows Gather coming very soon. I needed to examine and reassess. Which means I read back what I have written and laughed out loud several times, deeming it worth the effort of continuing, regardless of the wants or needs of others. The Muse must be served, and write now he is whispering in my ear.

So good night gentle reader.  If I love you, I do, if I do not, forgive me, for in the beginning and in the end, I belong to the voice that whispers of shadows and moonlight and green leaves in the breeze and the sigh of waves upon the strand.