Random thoughts from life as an Artiste

Random thoughts from life as an Artiste.

I sucked the big one at guitar lesson today. Despite the highs and lows of the last 2 weeks I practiced every day. Every single day. And it was like I took 15 steps back! I SUCKED. The Maestro was as lovely as ever but I could sense his frustration with me. Part of my core skill set, the ability to sense and gauge the level of a man’s frustration. Well, in my defense the entire day was an exercise in trying to focus. When things happen to me I need a lot of alone time to process, and didn’t get that so the fact that my brain went to the Dragon Nebula and back every hour or so…I did actually manage to crank out some product and speak in full sentences to my co-workers upon topics on which they have keen interest.

I got a one line email from Sir Lancelot. Quite frankly surprised I got even that given all the thoughts that we each respectively need to think. About business kids. The business of being creative. About where the lines need to be. About the fact I can make him laugh at will and the fact that he can stay with me for hours. For hours people. How many young men of my experience can do that? Count ‘em on one hand that’s for sure. Yikes.

It was a rare and lovely day.

I feel like I want to say something. Something wonderful and amazing to reflect the energy and conversations and sunshine and good food that I enjoyed today. I should be asleep. But I don’t want to let this day go. It was work and play so intertwined that I neither require nor desire to separate them. Bye God I love stories. That sentence should have an exclamation point but since one of my fans recently sent me advice that claims only 3 exclamation points per 10,000 words is acceptable I am trying to cut back. I am. Am I really taking Elmore Leonard’s writing advice? I guess so. In the end I find that I have nothing more to say than it was a lovely and amazing day. Time very well spent and a new friendship to treasure. Or maybe three. MMMlsssgh. I don’t like that phrase “ a new friendship to treasure” it doesn’t in anyway reflect the intelligence and vitality and simpatico of the liaison. Humph. But that last sentence might come close. So let’s leave it there and I really will get some sleep. Expect great creative things very soon. I promise.

Shadows Gather - Chapter 2, Part 1

Shadows Gather - Chpater 2, Part 1

Copywrite 2009, Carolynne Ciceri

I don’t really see why I have to say anything at all. Not like I’m the heroine of this piece or nothing. 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.

See how easy it is?

So, due to lack of feedback of any kind from my faithful readers, I've been thinking of abandoning the writing of Shadows Gather. Which is kind odd because writing it has been the most fun I've had in ages at the keyboard. It feels very dangerous and exciting since I never know where it is all going. I didn't even know the nightclub's name was going to be Shadows Gather until it came out of my fingers. I just picked the name for the novel cause it is some thing I like to do, sit in the twilight with a glass of wine or a martini and just watch the shadows gather across the landscape, or city scape or sea scape, that last is my favorite. However it is taking up more brain real estate than it has any right to. I'm thinking I might contact one of the Dames at Sea workshop leaders and get a bit of writing coaching. Kind of therapy for my inner writer to try and figure out how to better focus on finishing the pieces that could actually pay for themselves and stop haring off every time a shiny new story catches my eye.

I did finally receive some positive feedback on the novel thing from the Earl of Scallion, who in fact possesses an opinion that is super important to me. It was only a one line email "Enjoying the novel..." and it was signed with "Butterfly kisses". So Shadows Gather will live another day. See how easy it is to give encouragement to an artist and how easy it is for that artist to wander away from something that might be something? Maybe just a thought for all you folks to think about a small word of encouragement. Don't take for granted that the favorite artist in your life knows your high opinion of their work. It's like saying "I love you." - once is never enough.

Shadows Gather - Chapter 1, Part 4

Shadows Gather

Chapter 1, Part 4

Copywrite 2009, Carolynne Ciceri

“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. “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 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 – 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 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.

Shadows Gather, Chapter 1, Part 3

Shadows Gather

Chapter 1, Part 3

Copywrite 2009, Carolynne Ciceri

Come on baby, just a little bit more. I nudge my chair back just a smidge. “Quit moving!” Michael barks. 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, relaxed 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.” Its 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 shouldn’t 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.

When you let the pen go where it will

The exercise was to set the timer and spend ten minutes writing a list of the things I want. So I did. I include this here as an example of what can happen when you heed the teacher’s advice and let the pen take you where it wants to go. I left out the cheese, charcoal and fried chicken, but then the timer did cut me off.

Reproduced unedited. Day 4 Homework - Dames at Sea Writer's Workshop

The Wanting

I want music from the morning

I want respect from my mother

I want worship from my book club

I want adoration from my muse

I want health from joy

I want joy from every day

I want healing from my guitar

I want strength from my heart

I want nimbleness from my feet

I want money from the industry

I want a vineyard in Bordeaux from myself

I want friends from my love of story

I want story from my pain

I want beauty from my breath

I want shadow from my soul

I want love from surprising and joyful people

I want absolution from my conscience

I want to be released from penance

I want more coffee from the steward

I want safe passage from the wild things in the Land-of-What-If and-Maybe

I want passion from men

I want kindness from women

I want compassion from myself

I want my body from college days

I want a new car from the universe

I want a room with a view and five hundred a year from my pen

I want laughter from my wit

I want protection from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

I want to give from head, heart and spirit

I want to watch the gloaming from the terrace of my castle for the next 100 years

For the next 100 years

I want to watch the gloaming from the terrace of my c

For the next 100 years

I want to watch the gloaming, sometimes alone, sometimes in good company from the terrace of my castle

built of breath and sticks shit and rusty barb wire, belly laughs and snide snickers sequins and cotton candy strawberry jam guitar strings and sea shells creosote and Carrara marble ice and comic books, empty read lipstick cases, silk shawls, cinnamon hearts cocktail umbrellas, day old baguettes, broken crayons, throwing stars, red silk lingerie & used condoms dried lavender and 600 thread count sheets crucifixes and broken glass paper clips and diamond bracelets thunderstorms and Catherine wheels body shots bloody bandages and lace hand kerchiefs rock salt and silver candle sticks purple velvet and grape vines wicked daggers and leather bound books, rotten fish & pepper pots prayer flags pine cones cinder block neon tubing crocodile tears warm hugs and butterfly kisses