And Nothing But The Truth

Truth Serum

You’ve come into possession of one vial of truth serum. Who would you give it to (with the person’s consent, of course) — and what questions would you ask?

You know that saying, ” It’s funny because it’s true?” I like the truth when it comes at me like that.

I hate it when people use the truth like a mallet and bash your brains out with it and then say…”I’m only telling you the truth because I care.”

Oh really.

Anyway.

I’d use my little vial of truth serum on one of those people ( and we all know a few of them, don’t we?) and I’m sorry but I’d skip the asking part. I’d dose them and turn them loose in let’s say, I don’t know where is the last place anyone wants to hear the truth?

Oh got it.

At a funeral.

Second to that, weddings.

Funerals and Wedding are planned, they are arranged and we know how to behave and what the steps in the process of each are. We even know what we’re suppose to wear and what to say when we talk to each other.

Do you know what happens when you don’t observe the ritual as agreed upon?

You not only get voted off the island, you get sent to another island where you are buried up to your neck in the sand, your face is smeared with honey and then you are covered with ants and bees.

Nobody wants to know ‘the truth’ at these events and much in the way of reality tv I don’t expect to hear it there either.

So using this truth serum would be like lighting the fuse on a bottle rocket.

You know, you stick the bottle rocket in a bottle ( or a beer can ) then you light the fuse and wonder- is it going to go up or just blow up there on the ground and in your face?

It would be fun just like that.

Yes.

Without a doubt.

That’s what I would do- and that’s the truth.

 

 

It’s Like This

I read an  article called Stephen King On How To Write -and King says:

Oftentimes, you have to continue writing even when you don’t feel like it. “Stopping a piece of work just because it’s hard, either emotionally or imaginatively, is a bad idea,” he writes.

I agree but the truth is there’s always exceptions to rules and in this case the exception is puppies.

That’s right if you get a puppy you get to take time off from writing.

So that’s what I did.

Me and my husband got a puppy.

I named our pup Hamish Macbeth.

Hamish Macbeth was one of my favorite TV shows...and by far that name is one of the best names that’s ever been given to a character.

I almost named him Boris in honor of Karloff and Halloween.

Anyway, I’ve spent the last few days getting to know my own Hamish but  now it’s time to get back to writing and Dude..Halloween is on its way.

And in addition to writing I have to get a costume for Hamish to wear on Halloween.

Yes. I mean it.

On both counts

amm

HELP!!!!! Wanted

Daily Prompt

Ready, Set, Done

Our free-write is back by popular demand: today, write about anything — but you must write for exactly ten minutes, no more, no less

 

I was reading one of those articles that they aim at people who are either just choosing a career path or maybe they’re looking to go on a new one.

My day job is great- there isn’t a lot of money involved, but I like the company, my co-workers awesome  and  and I like what I do.

At night I write.

Life is good.

But that article made me think outside the box. The thing of it is when I think outside the box I end up far afield. I might not learn a lot and I’m sure I’m not using the information provided as it was intended but at least I can say I enjoyed the heck of the article.

So here it is, if I could chose a dream job- if I could be anything in the world…get ready for it…

I’d be the Headless Horseman

 I’m not particularly enchanted with the idea of getting my head cut off, but in the  past I’ve worked at jobs that broke my spirit and made me feel small and stupid so how does a little decapitation compare to that?

 Exactly.

It doesn’t.

In addition I like to be out at night- the darker the better, cold enough to rattle your bones? I’m good with it. Big plus here-  I’d get to ride a wicked horse and that takes me right back to the days when I rode motorcycles – wow- be still my heart- I’d probably get to wear leather again too.

 And of course the fun part- chasing people around who like to tempt fate and pooh-pooh what they don’t understand,

I tempt fate now and then, but I don’t wait for it to turn it’s back and then sucker punch it in the back of the head. People who act like that manage to hurt everyone around them so I think it wouldn’t hurt them to get chased across a bridge on a dark, foggy night by a demonic horse and someone who really and truly loves her job.

And as for the Pooh-Poohers?

They’re the  one’s who think they know it all because they are so enlightend of heart and intellect that they can tell themselves in all honesty that  they’re not ramming their view point down your throat because they’re actually the most vicious and intolerant human beings to walk the face of the earth and are only listening  to you talk long enough so yes…they can pooh pooh what you say..

I’d like to introduce you to my not so little friend who was created to chop off limbs and is not known for making  surgical style incisions.

Of course I’m sure there are great benefits like-

I am sure you get to travel or maybe fill in for other Headless Horseman on other Bridges or Roads. Or maybe you get to chose. That would be great.

Halloween must be awesome. I’ll bet you could arrange a take your kid to work day. Of course my kids are grown up but I do have a few cats who would probably love the ride along experience because who wouldn’t?

You get to set your own hours. From what I understand the Headless Horseman pretty much show up when they want to. Awesome.

I’ll bet the Headless Horseman get to meet some cool monsters like Werewolves and Mummies and Ghosts. My guess is that they hang out in cemeteries which is fine with me because I actually used to work in one.

Indeed.

This could be the perfect job for me.

I’ve heard a bunch of different legends for how The Headless Horseman came to be.

But.

I think  ( at least I hope ) that somewhere there’s a piece of paper nailed to an old tree and written in dark brown ink ( because that’s what happens to blood when it turns old ) that says:

Do you have dedication, skill, flexability and determination to complete  your task at hand? Are you a self starter and self motivated?

Do you like horses and  are you willing to work late hours?

Then wait here.

We’ll be along shortly.

Open Up And Say ” Ouch “

Daily Prompt

Handle With Care

How are you at receiving criticism? Do you prefer that others treat you with kid gloves, or go for brutal honesty?

Really? There’s a choice?

Because in the past when people have tried to help me be an all around better writer they used brutal bare knuckle honesty because hey- they care.

I would prefer the kid glove treatment but does anybody really do that?

In my experience: No.

I was in a class once where my grade on an assignment went from average to A PLUS!

How?

Well, I listened to my critics and wrote the story exactly the way they said it SHOULD be written in order for it to be CORRECT.

I gutted – and I will admit was a less then perfect but fun read-  and made it like any other piece of crud, done to death, predictable horror story. But hey that was the RIGHT way to tell that sort of story.

I moved from the back of the class to the front ( metaphorically speaking ) when I crafted little ditties that could have been written by anybody EXCEPT for me.

That’s right, my work was recognized for being great as long as I removed any trace of Anita Marie from it.

I finished the class and this is what I learned.

If you ask for help, consider it when it is given.

If you want to ‘help’ someone take the ” I would have”  You should have ” and the infamous ” This would be better if…” out of the conversation. When it comes to writing there is a lot of technical things involving structure that we should know, so that kind of advice  is gold. And in my quest to be a better writer ( which I work at everyday) I pay attention when that advice pops up on my radar.

But I do filter it out because in my mind telling somebody how to be a better writer or  how to tell their story in a ‘better way’ (which for some reason always turns out to be their way- I know weird right? ) , verges,  in my opinion on telling them how to be a better person.

I don’t view writing as something I do, it’s who I am. So with that in mind I’m always open to finding unique ways to tell a story, different styles of writing . And I’m careful that when that criticism wanders off into the weeds to treat it for what it is- grandstanding.

So I will smile and nod hold my tongue and remember I’ve been doing this for about 40 years and remember what my Grandfather used to say when  the Kid Gloves come off and the Everlast Gloves come out.

” There are always going to be some people who are harder to love then others. “

He Really Is The Son Of Dracula

I think there’s a  new Dracula movie coming out.

I think I’d be more into Vampire movies if they wouldn’t have and continue to riff  shamelessly off of Lugosi.

 The only exception I can think of
is Christopher Lee in the Hammer films ( list HERE ).

This is an older clip that Bela’s son did about his Dad, it was a touching tribute so I’m going to share it here:

I also found this  great interview with Lugosi Jr by Armand Vaquer HERE.

Life And The World Of Secret Handshakes

Daily Prompt

Litmus, Litmus on the Wall

If you had to come up with one question, the answer to which would determine whether or not you could be friends with a person you’ve just met, what would it be? What would the right answer be?

This question might be harsh, but if you’re going to write you can’t be afraid to be harsh, to kill off your favorite character if the story calls for it or to face some painful truths about yourself.

So I’m going to give this prompt a go:

No matter how I phrase it, the question is

Would you want to be Captain of the USS Enterprise

or

Battlestar ( Galactica )

I’m old school, and adventurous and I really do love the strange, the campy and the unique.

The Galactica  and it’s crew are streamlined, sexy, edgy, and dare I say desperate?

Well.

Yes I do say that.

I could see myself in the world of the Enterprise, but in the Galactica  world?

I’m not sleek, sexy or dangerous. I don’t have a great set of boobs and a High IQ. I do think I look good in a mini-skirt and I’m no genius but the smarts that I have I use well.

So I’m not saying I wouldn’t make friends with someone who sees themselves as Captain of The Galactica. But I can see myself hanging out with someone who can be great in a fight and has a bunch of weird and wonderful friends.

So Beam me up Scotty and let’s go for it.

Tain’t What You Do

 

Daily Prompt

Flash Talk

You’re about to enter a room full of strangers, where you will have exactly four minutes to tell a story that would convey who you really are. What’s your story?

When I was about six years old and we

were living in Seattle we had this great cherry tree in our back yard.

Now the sweetest cherries are on the highest branches, so I used to scoot up there and lay on a branch and for each one I picked to take down to my Mom I’d eat three.

The problem is I’d when I’d get up I’d fall and down I’d go. It’s safe to say for awhile there I fell out of trees more often then I’d actually climb down.  In fact, it took me awhile to learn that part. I think that for awhile I just assumed that was the way you got out of trees.

So be it a big tree or a small tree- a fruit tree or a maple tree I had no fear in climbing up and zero fear of falling down.

Luckily I never broke anything. I twisted my ankle a few times and I knocked the wind out of myself more times then I could count.

If you’ve never been able to draw a breath, you know it’s a pretty terrifying experience. But for me, I’d just wait and then I took a breath and I was good to go.

I guess you’d think I’d have developed a fear of heights or falling or I’d have developed some kind of morbid fear of trees.

But I didn’t.

So that little kid who always climbed to the top of a tree to get to the sweetest fruits or wanted to climb as high as she could because it was fun to watch the world turn from being big and intimidating to small and very far away…

became the woman who wasn’t afraid to be who she wants to be or to go where she wants to go.

And Just in case you’re wondering.

Yes.

That kid is still with me.

Ella Fitzgerald –

‘Tain’t What You Do (It’s the Way That You Do It) lyrics

When I was a kid about half past three
My ma said “Daughter, come here to me”
Said things may come, and things may go
But this is one thing you ought to know…
Oh ‘t ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
That’s what gets results
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the time that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the time that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the time that you do it
That’s what gets results
You can try hard
Don’t mean a thing
Take it easy, greasy
Then your jive will swing
Oh ‘t ain’t what you do it’s the place that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the time that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
That’s what gets results
You’ve learned your ABC’s
You’ve learned your DFG’s
But this is something you don’t learn in school
So get your hip boots on
And then you’ll carry on
But remember if you’re tryin’ too hard
It don’t mean a thing
Take it easy
(band members:
‘T ain’t what you bring it’s the way that you bring it
‘T ain’t what you swing it’s the way that you swing it
‘T ain’t what you sing)
– it’s the way that you sing it
(That’s what gets results)
(band members sing while Ella adlibs:
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
That’s what gets results
Re-bop!)

// //

Something Wicked

DAILY PROMPT

Autumn Leaves

Changing colors, dropping temperatures, pumpkin spice lattes: do these mainstays of Fall fill your heart with warmth — or with dread?

 

What’s there not to love about a dark and dreary night?

How could you not love a bitterly cold foggy morning? Or better yet a foggy night with dead dry leaves crunching under  foot as you make your way home to a fire, something warm to drink  and your favorite novel, ( or in my case for sure ) a little something by Mozart.

I do love the Spring, I love the green and the fresh cool air. It’s full of promise. It’s open and free.

But Autumn is secret and sly. It’s the bad boy in the leather jacket  who plays the guitar or rides the motorcycle- the one you’re Mom warned you about because guess what. She probably met the bad boy’s acquaintance before too.

When the Fall shows up  those flowers you planted seem to just disappear one night, the leaves on the trees turn slowly from gold to red and fall off one by one until boom! They’re on the ground and being carried away to wherever  it is winter lives.

This is the time of year  when take out our dark clothing and we put on  our hats and scarves and cover our faces. We make our way, wrapped in our shadow friendly clothing, through a world covered by low dark clouds, full of snow or rain. Now is the time we blend easily almost naturally  into the shadows and doesn’t that just make you feel…just a little wicked?

People are alive during the Spring and Summer.

But I believe during the Fall and into the Winter

Everyone wakes up.

HELL NO GMO’S!

It’s Alive!

• DAILY PROMPT

  Brevity Pulls

  “I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.” — Blaise Pascal
  Where do you fall on the brevity/verbosity spectrum?

  When Stephen King was a little kid his grandfather said to his mother, “Why don’t you shut that kid up, Ruth. When Steven opens his mouth, all his guts fall out.“

  On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

  Stephen King

  

  When I was a kid my family used to stand there and watch me talk with the same look on their faces that they would have had, had our family dog walked up to them and asked what the time was.

  One of my cousins was more blunt. When I was about seven he was listening to go on about the possibility of the lady next door being a  a Mad Scientist like Dr Phibes  (mostly because she sort of looked like Vincent Price ) and he said,

  ” There should be some kind of law about what you use words for.”

  At the time I didn’t get it, but I was smart enough to know that doing anything against the law was bad so for what felt like days but what was more like seconds I watched what I said.

  Personally I love to hear people talk. Use as many words as you want.I think it’s great. I mean, if you want to open your mouth and your guts fall out I will listen and watch and hang on to every word.

  Verbal Vomit holds  no fear for me.

  To tell the truth,  I have been known to not just paint a picture with words,I have been known to take a spray can and tag an entire city block, just because it was the best way to get my story or point across.

  Most of the time, it was just to see how people reacted.

  I used to work in a funeral home and to do embalming.

  To this day at Thanksgiving I can’t reach into the turkey and put stuffing into it. My heart races, I break out in a sweat and I feel like I’m going to faint.

  And it goes without saying that I will not be eating turkey that day.

  I can stretch that story out to last so long I should have commercial breaks.

  So, I will tell that story and use as many words ( and big ones ) as possible if it’s right for the moment, other times I don’t go into great detail but I”ll tell the story differently.

  All you’ll get then  is, ” I don’t stuff  Turkeys. I used to. But I got traumatized at work and now I can’t stand to stick my hand into cold dead things.

  Conversations, storytelling, letter writing, they take on a life of their own. I say let them go where they want. It makes for better listening and reading.

  Make it an Epic conversation, make it a little one.

  Because.

  It’s…alive

Sincerely Yours

Writing 101: Be Brief

You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. 

 

The envelope light blue and the stamp was from Christmas- it had a smiling Santa with the standard red nose and chubby cheeks.

It was August and 85 degrees out, the sun was hot and Christmas seemed years away. So I picked the envelope with the Santa stamp up and turned it over.

It was addressed to MLT  at a post office box in Seattle.

The return address caught my eye

S. Stanwood

C/O Fenton Estates

Bridgewater,WA.

I know Fenton Estates. Most people around here do. It was the States First Mental Hospital and it closed about 20 years ago.

I pulled the letter out.

It was written in purple ink in small neat block letters.

Come Visit . I am so lonely.

Sincerely Yours,

Sienna

I turned the envelope back over and looked at the post mark.

It had been stamped a week ago Bridgewater, Washington.

I folded it, put it into the envelope and wondered-  who would reply if I wrote and said I’d be there soon.

I guess there’s only one way to find out.

It’s Like We’ve Always Known Each Other

Delayed Contact

How would you get along with your sibling(s), parent(s), or any other person you’ve known for a long time — if you only met them for the first time today?

I think that what makes me and my sister so different from each other would make it possible for us to be friends if we just met.

Two things: My Uncle gave me the nickname ” Pebbles ” and my sister really is the efficient one who needs to laugh louder.

So this story is sort of based on us.

The bus wasn’t late, it was on time. It’s always on time it’s the passengers who are late.

Today  a woman with long dark hair, a limp and a red backpack was the last person to board the bus and it took her a minute to find her bus pass and scan it.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder and made her way to the back of the bus and took a seat next to Adele.

Adele was always on time. She was never late. For anything.

The woman with the backpack was a few years older than Adele and when she slid into the seat next to Adele she looked over and smiled at her.

” Guess I held the bus up. ” she said.

” Well. Maybe a little. “

Adele looked at the backpack on the woman’s lap and saw a tag with the woman’s name on it. It was written in gold glitter pen and edged with hot pink marker.

” Pebbles Macleod”

Adele wondered if the backpack belonged to the woman’s daughter .

She must have been staring at the tag for a little too long because the woman volunteered” Oh yeah. That’s my name. My Mom was a big fan of the Flintstones cartoons. To bad she couldn’t have been a fan of a show that involved real humans. Then I could have had a normal name like Emma Peel or Barbarella. “

Again Pebbles laughed and Adele found herself laughing with her. She wasn’t sure why. The woman’s laugh was deep, heartfelt and a little too loud. Usually Adele didn’t bust a gut, but she thought she easily could with Pebbles.

” Have you taken this bus before? ” Adele- the same Adele who never spoke to anyone she rode the bus with.

” Oh. You know how it goes. I just grab whatever shows up.”

” Nah. I like to be home at the same time. Stuff to do for the family.”

That laugh again. ” Wow. If my boys waited for me to do stuff they’d be walking around naked and hungry. They’re teenagers. They can manage.”

Adele and Pebbles made small talk all the way to the Transit Center and when they got off the bus Adele was sorry to see Pebbles head towards another bus.

” Hey. So maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.” Adele said.

Pebbles swung around and smiled. She laughed. “I think so.”

Dream A Little Dream

Today’s Assignment: publish a post for your dream reader, and include a new-to-you element in it.

 Francie Paulo’s favorite writer in the entire world- for her entire life time – is the slighyly famous yet very  infamous Violet Hale.

Violet’s first book was published when she was seventeen. By thirty she was dead- executed for the murder of her husband’s lover.

Violet hung Clarissa in her husband’s law office and in turn the state Washington hung Violet. Violet found that amusing, which is the real reason she was laughing when the trap door snapped open below her feet.

Of course the witnesses at Violet’s execution thought she was crazy, which was slightly true. But that isn’t the reason, like I said, for her laughter.

Francie has Violet’s books- all slightly worn but well cared for books, all first editions in an old china hutch in her bedroom. The shelf and the books are the only thing in her room that could count as decoration.

She has a bed, a nightstand with a small ceramic lamp on top of it and that’s about it.

Francie leads a very simple life.

When Francie comes home at night she is welcomed by her cat and Violet Hale.

Nowadays she doesn’t pull her books down from a shelf. She does however have to pull her cat down from the shelf because it likes it up there.  Then after a very small meal she gets into bed and pulls out her phone (which never rings) and she goes straight to the internet and the site where Violet’s books are.

Francie never has a problem stepping into the worlds Violet created over thirty years ago. The problem is, sometimes Francie gets a little carried away when she’s there.

Like a few nights ago.

Francie was reading a particularly disturbing account about a Vampire and a school teacher and a meat grinder. ” Oh no.” Francie said bringing the phone up to her nose. ” She can’t mean to..”

Francie read on ” Oh. Oh. That’s just. No.”

Francie put her phone down for about a minute (which was a record of sorts for Francie). And then she picked it up back up and began to read.

Her face was lit only by the glow from the phone and her big dark eyes widened and then snapped shut. ” Why do I read this stuff before I go to sleep. WHY?”

But Francie read on.

She felt a sliver of sweat run down her spine. She wondered if it was really possible to make a  body snap in half like that. She hoped not. It was so…she put her phone down again. For less then a second.

And then Franice got to the part of the story with the Vampire and the embalming fluid and the holy water and she shrieked

‘ Yuck.Yuck. And Gross. Violet Hale you are the most twisted monster that ever walked the face of the earth…”

That’s when the light bulb in Violet’s room blew and she threw her phone against the wall and dove under her satin comforter.

And for good measure Francie Palo Born November 5th,  1864 died at the hands of a real vampire on July 10th and brought back to life again on July 17th of 1904 reached up and slammed her coffin lid shut.

” You’re a monster Violet Hale!  An Honest to goodness Monster! “

And Top Of The Mourning To You Too!

 

Ready, Set, Done

Today, write about anything — but you must write for exactly ten minutes, no more, no less.

Reflecting the biblical account of the Fall of Man, the snake-entwined figure epitmoizes evil and sensuality

I was in search of a Good Mourning Comic, but this picture from the artist Franz Von Stuck was the way to go.

The Seattle Times, in their review of Von Stuck’s work which was being shown at the Frye Museum in Seattle ( and I was lucky enough to see- Thanks Colleen!) was described as ” Spooky, Sinful and Seductive “

Why wouldn’t you know it.

Those are my favorite topics to write about.

In Von Stuck’s work I found it interesting that the less than holy subjects seemed to be more in charge of their enviroment then the more ” pure ” figures- even to the point to where the models representing all things “spooky and sinful and seductive”  seemed to be burning their way into Von Stuck’s and in turn the viewers eyes.

I like that in a monster.

I actually like it in people who are NOT monsters, but that doesn’t happen very often.

Isn’t it said that if someone looks into your eyes for more than twenty seconds they either love you or want to kill you? So I guess that’s why people thinking looking into anyone’s eyes is a sign of aggression. Maybe it is.

Maybe it is.

But when I need a little inspiration or when I just want to look at something that makes my brain and spirit sigh together in harmony I pull out the book ( they call it a catalog ) I bought at The Frye of Von Stuck’s work-

and enjoy.

 

( Click On The Picture To See More of Von Stuck’s Works)

True Love Never Dies

It is said that true love never dies.

HOWEVER.

If you bury it, it will rot in the ground just like anything organic will.

Archaeologists with the University of Leicester uncovered remains of two skeletons holding hands believed to have been resting that way for at least 700 years…

And here ends today’s Lesson In Life And Death

from

Anita’s Bridge.

Mr. Gill From Down The Street

Are you a good judge of other people’s happiness? Tell us about a time you were spot on despite external hints to the contrary (or, alternatively, about a time you were dead wrong).

When I was growing up on 52nd Ave just outside of Seattle, Felix Gill was a neighbor of mine.

Felix was, I thought then, a very old man, in reality he was probably in his mid-thirties. It was the gray hair that made him look old when I think about it, but you know how it is when you’re ten years old.

Anyone over the age of 18 is ancient.

The not really old Felix Gill  had short hair and wore short sleeved shirts and when he came home from work his billions of kids (I’d never seen such a big family before) would rush out to the driveway to meet him.

They always looked glad to see him, so were the neighbors. They’d wave when he drove by their houses and he always said “Ma’am and Sir “ when he talked to them.

Felix Gill was a solid guy, he didn’t drink or smoke or swear like the rest of the Dads on 52nd. He mowed his lawn and dutifully carried the groceries from his wife’s car into their home and not only did he take his garbage cans to the curb he brought them in right away and he hosed them down when they were empty.

I thought Felix was okay.

He coached his kids various sports teams and when he wasn’t doing that he was teaching one of his kids how to ride their bikes.

Felix was just Felix. He talked kind of slow and he was predictable. One of his kids told me his favorite tv show was the Six Million Dollar Man.

One day I was home from school early- I think I’d been to the dentist.

I decided to take my puppy out for a walk until my friends got home from school.

And then I saw Felix driving up the street.

I waved and he pulled over, stopped his car and rolled his window down.

“Hello Mr. Gill.”

“Hello.” he said pleasantly enough. “Say. I was going to ask. Is that  puppy yours?”

I nodded. “Yeah we just got him, his name is-”

“I don’t care what his name is Felix Gill said.  “Because if I see it outside- I don’t care if it’s in your yard or on the end of a leash,  I’ll blow it’s head off and I’ll do the same to you. Do you understand? Keep that dog out of my sight.”

And then Felix Gill drove the rest of the way home and got out of his car. He turned and waved to me and then walked into his house.

Just like always.

Two years later The Gill Family moved out of their house.

When they drove away I was standing on the corner with a few other kids and I saw Felix. He saw me and my now full grown dog.

The he rolled his window down,  he pointed his finger right at me like it was a gun and mimed pulling the trigger.

I don’t know what happened to Felix Gill, but about 20 years ago I saw one of his daughters on TV.

She was being charged with the murder of her stepdaughter.

Later we heard she had even killed the Stepdaughter’s dog at least a week before she murdered the girl.

Everyone in the neighborhood was shocked. A few people even cried. How could someone like that have been related to good old Felix Gill?

I wasn’t shocked. I just wondered though…

if it was his daughter who killed the dog.

I still wonder about that dog.

Good Mourning Comic

This one might take some work.

The Eighth Deadly Sin or Who Makes The Rules Around Here Anyway?

 

Post A Day Prompt: Eighth Deadly Sin

It was something to think about: If you could create the Eighth Deadly Sin what would it be?

I felt like a kid in a candy store.

People do so many idiotic things that you could nail them for. I mean where to start?

Okay. Deadly Sin should do what it says. If you commit this sin the consequences are going to be deadly. Plus you’re for sure going to Hell.

So if I could pick a new one I’d stay with the theme. It’d have to be something people do at least one of every single day : wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony.

Ok. Here it is.

Laughter.

If you laugh you go to Hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect 200.00

 No more laughing when your trying to belittle someone and that laugh, that smile is just one more knife for you to stick in their eye and twist. No more laughing at jokes or movies or happy memories.

And if you do. Boom. You’re in a cuddle puddle with demons. And not the cute ones like they have on the TV show Supernatural.

And if you think so- I’d agree: Yes indeed that is twisted and mean.

But isn’t that what the Deadlies are? Don’t we all get angry?  Love to eat too much ( Hello Christmas and Thanksgiving ) Aren’t there days when you just don’t want to wear anything but yesterday’s t-shirt and your favorite ripped up jeans or sweatpants? And on those days when you’re not fitting into your favorite outfit  don’t tell me you wouldn’t  sell a kidney to look like someone on tv.

It’s okay. We’ve all been there.

Seriously. Who decided to make being human not just a sin, but a deadly one?

But this is my blog and my post and my response to the prompt and I have made Laughter The Eighth Deadly Sin.

You just laughed at that didn’t you?

Uh Oh. Uh Oh For You To The Max.

Absolute Beauty

We’ve all heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Do you agree? is all beauty contingent on a subjective point of view?

One of my friends told me about a conversation he had recently had with a woman about beauty.

She said men age with grace and that women turn into hags.

Hags.

Hag is such a bitter angry little word.

When I was young I was told I didn’t have much going for me in the face department so I should probably think about developing a talent.

I chose writing. And resigned myself to wearing a bag over my head- actually I spent a lot of time looking down. Same thing.

But on my worst day I don’t think I’d compare myself to a Hag.

Besides, I did spent a lot of time doing things where I didn’t have to worry about my lack of good looks.

I write, which is something that I do love to do. I rode motorcycles, I worked in a funeral home, I traveled. So I guess that was good. But I did most of those things alone.

But there has been a down side to my way of thinking and it’s a strange one.

I hate mirrors. I loath them. It doesn’t suprise me that there are so many superstitions about them:

… Mirror Superstitions:

• To see your reflection in a mirror is to see your own soul, which is why a vampire, who are without a soul, have no reflection.
• If a couple first catch sight of each other in a mirror, they will have a happy marriage.
• If a mirror falls and breaks by itself, someone in the house will soon die.
• Any mirrors in a room where someone has recently died, must be covered so that the dead person’s soul does not get trapped behind the glass. Superstition has it that the Devil invented mirrors for this very purpose.
• It is bad luck to see your face in a mirror when sitting by candlelight.
• Before mirrors, in ancient societies, if you caught sight of your reflection or dreamt of it, you would soon die.
• Someone seeing their reflection in a room where someone has recently died, will soon die themselves.
• Babies should not look into a mirror for the first year of their lives.
• Actors believe that it is bad luck to see their reflection while looking over the shoulder of another person.
• To see an image of her future husband, a woman is told to eat an apple while sitting in front of a mirror and then brush her hair. An image of the man will appear behind her shoulder

I bought my first full length mirror a month ago- and I’m almost 50 years old.

Mirrors  creep me out. I hate them. I hate that I get judged by a reflection they capture – be it the one I see myself or the one other people see.

What angers me is that the image I cast determines who will love me, if they’ll be kind to me or not, if I’ll be treated with courtesy or disdain.

Because of a reflection.

Years ago I had one of those scream myself awake nightmares.

I was walking through my house and it was full of mirrors. There were heavy ornate mirrors, cheap ones, mirrors with no frames broken dusty mirrors and hand mirrors.

I went from mirror to mirror and I saw…nothing…I didn’t cast a reflection. I couldn’t see myself in any of those thousand of mirrors.

I started ran from mirror to mirror in a panic and I was shouting, ” I’m here. Why can’t any of you see me…I’m here!”

I was trapped in this house with mirrors and because I didn’t have a reflection I felt like I wasn’t real.

Like I didn’t exist.

Is it possible to be less of a person when nobody ‘beholds’ your beauty? Do you get to be real?

More real then a reflection?

I wonder.

Me And The Toxic Baby

 

If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

A few years ago my husband sent me a series of pictures he took  around New Orleans.

Most of them were tourist shots- the St. Louis cathedral, his lunch, a  Voodoo shop where you’re not supposed to take pictures ( he sent me a picture of the sign ).

And one was a picture of a bottle.

And the bottle was full of something called a Toxic Baby.

I was fascinated with that picture. I kept looking at it. Wondering about it.

I had no interest in what was inside of the bottle- I just liked the name

Toxic Baby.

So a few months later I booked a flight to New Orleans ( just in time For Halloween ) and went in search of the Toxic Baby.

When I got to New Orleans I didn’t google Toxic Baby. I didn’t ask my husband where I could find it. I just spent the week haunting the French Quarter.

I hung out at the  Saint Louis Cemetery on Basin Street, where among a lot of other history I learned you might not want to wear flip flops because what was once inside of those crypts in some cases ended up outside of the crypts and bone looks like sand when it gets smooshed and you might not want that stuff stuck between your toes.

And I also learned that when a cab, a horse-drawn cab and bicycle cab meet in an intersection and none of them can decide who has the right of way you can learn about a hundred new ways to use over used swear words.

Just in case you’re curious- the end the horse-drawn cab will win because they have whips.

If you want your Tarot cards read you can get it done right to the left or right of the cathedral doors almost on the steps themselves.

But not in front of the Cathedral itself.

You can also go to confession and end up in a bar in less then twenty steps.

I thought that was hilarious.

So I got distracted. I was there to look for the Toxic Baby and I had made no effort to even ask about it.

On my last day in New Orleans I decided to visit the Cathedral one more time ( it seemed like the right thing to do after all the time I spent in the cemetery)  and as I walked out I turned the corner of St Louis Cathedral and I found myself a few doors down from the  Pirates Alley Cafe.

Really? Pirates went to Cafe’s? Oh why not. I thought. Pirates have to eat to right?

I decided to go on in.

 None of the customers  were dressed up like Pirates that day but something about those dark walls, that long worn wooden bar and brick walls made you feel like you were a pirate.

So I head up to the bar-and there it was.

Waiting for me.

The Toxic Baby.

I took a picture of the bottle. I walked from side to side and took it in- the simple label and the promise that the drink tasted worse than it looked.

I found it, I thought.

I found the thing that brought me from Washington state all alone during Halloween.

It called to me and I went. Just because I like the way something sounded.

I remember standing there looking up at the ceiling and wondering how many other people ended up so far away from home because they liked the way something sounded.

Toxic Baby.

It’s a wicked tasting drink I’ve been told. I wouldn’t know. I don’t drink.

It was two years ago that I ended up in search of and finding The Toxic Baby.

I hung out in a graveyard. I explored VooDoo shops and toured a VooDoo museum that was housed in an actual house. I wandered around the French Quarter and ate pizza by the slice and wrote stories and took pictures and did I mention I hung out in the cemetery a lot?

I’m a suburban housewife  from a small suburban town and that  year some of my friends  to Disney World, some went on cruises others ended up in Hawaii.

I ended up in New Orleans staring at a bottle of The Toxic Baby.

And if I could get on a plane now and go back tonight-

I would.

It Sneaks Up On You

Halloween is my favorite time of the year.

Not the holiday itself exactly.

I love Autumn, I love the Winter. I love the crunchy leaves. The cold dark mornings and the biting cold evenings.

I love considering the possiblity of those things that can happen when Spring comes.

But in the mean time.

Winter.

I read the classics during the winter. Dickens mostly. This year I’m going to read start off with David Copperfield. Last year it was Great Expectations, but then I moved on to Through The Looking Glass, A Journal of The Plague Year and Turn Of The Screw.

On Monday I’m going to my favorite bookstore in Pioneer Square ( it’s a small independant store and the owner actually talks about books and writers with you) and pick up my Winter reading.

And then later this week I’m going Halloween Shopping.

I like to get that done before October.

Because once October hits, I want to celebrate and enjoy each and everday leading up to the night itself.

I want to read and write and listen to hours of Mozart and The Midnight Syndicate

I want to enjoy scary movies and take in some not so scary ones.

That’s the thing about the holidays and life in general. It will sneak up on you and be down the road before you know it.

So make it count. Every moment.

 

Floaters

 

 

 

Down the street from where I work is the waterfront.

It’s interesting for a variety of  reasons.

Like there’s a couple of mummies in one place, a great fish and chips place in another and did I mention the mummies already?

Hands down one of my favorite things to do is to stand there, looking out at the water and when there’s a small group of people eating snacks and taking selfies I’ll turn to a friend ( this only works if someone I know is there ) and say

” So you know what they have to do here every morning?”

No my friend will say on cue.

” The City has to get out here early and look for floaters.”

” What’s that?”

” You mean who. They’re dead bodies. See the tide comes in and they get pushed up here and wouldn’t you know it?” There’s always a tourist looking down and there’ll it will be. A big juicy floater. Hitting the dock. I heard when they hit the piling it makes a weird knocking sound. Anyway. It’s bad for business. So the City gets out here early and fishes then out with a big giant hook

” Oh my God. That cannot be true. ” my friend will say.

I take a quick look around and at this point my little audience-and there always is one because people are nosey and eavesdroppers by nature. Anyway the little crowd is clearly on my friend’s side and I can tell the image of a bloated water-logged corpse being fished out of the water is something they can’t unsee- unless of course they can convince themselves that this is absolutely not true.

” Well they can’t walk out. They’re dead you know.”

” You made that up. It’s not true.” My friend will say for the little group.

” Fine it’s not true.”

” Really? It’s not true. You were just kidding. Admit it.”

” Sure. ” I’ll say clearly not meaning it. ” I’m just kidding. Really.” I’ll say as unconvincingly as possible. ” Just kidding.”

 

Halloween Comic Day YAY!

You know what other fruit or vegetable gets mad at the drop of a hat?

Pears.

Just FYI.

 

The Party You Are Trying To Reach

A week after his wife, Leah Frost ran over a dog- wich was actually a euphemism between husband and wife for ‘the woman you hit with your car and dragged for almost a mile down a gravel road’  Sal Frost was nearly driven to running over and dragging his wife down a gravel road when Leah  started to hear the ringing phone.

Sometimes the phone- which she said had one of those oldfashioned ringtones- and not one of the new ones that you could download on your cellphone that sounded like chickens or maniacal clown laughter or something by Mozart- rang while she was in the bathroom washing her hair, or when she was reaching for a carton of cranberry juice out of the cooler at the grocery store and sometimes it seemed to come from right beneath her feet when she was in the kitchen pouring herself another glass of wine ( which she did a lot of since she ran over ‘the dog’)

On these occasions, if he was around she would grab his arm and whisper frantically ” can you hear it Sal? Can you hear that phone ringing?

After the millionth, it could have been the billionth time for all he knew at this point, Sal looked at her with a look that shouted, “if I hear about that phone one more time…just one more time Leah I’m going to put you in the same ditch with that “dog”…do we understand each other? Are we clear on that?

They did understand each other. Perfectly. So instead of saying anything about a ringing phone Leah’s eye would twitch like crazy and on some occasions the entire left side of her face would twitch and Sal would glare at her and she would not say a word.

He didn’t care if that drugged out dingbat he was married to went into a grand mal seizure as long as she shut the hell up about that ringing phone.

“Really Sal? “He would ask himself as he would watch his wife  standing by the mail box or smoking one of her several packs of cigarettes a day.

Did you really sign up for this?

And when he considered his wife’s talent for scoring a smosgasbord  of pharmaceuticals on a monthly basis from one of her several Doctors  that had in all probability led her to running over ‘the dog’ and he wondered…

What the hell was life going to be like when she hit 70 in a few years? Would hitting the big seven-oh slow her down? He thought not. In Leah’s universe there was still plenty of time left to run over ‘dogs’ or overdose on whatever the hell she was taking that week and would she do it in the privacy of their home?

Oh no.

She’d probably do it at the Opera like last time, or at the art museum like the time before or the three or four times it happened at poetry readings. For God Sakes.  Who the Hell OD’s at poetry readings?

His wife. That’s who.

Sal looked up and wished he had the nerve to walk into her bathroom and start opening bottles in her medicine cabinet and start throwing the contents back into his throat until what was left of his life was burned out of his bones once and for all.

After one such thought- and there were several like that around the Frost household now days Sal was outside when he heard…faintly from the back yard a phone ringing.

Not one of those new ringtone that sounded like robots or singing birds or cats meowing.

It was an old-fashioned ringtone it was deep and rich and trilled as it ended, briefly before starting back up again.

He walked slowly to the back of his house and he could hear it- it was louder but not by much. He walked all the way to the fence line and there…it was louder here.

It was coming from the house next door.

The old abandoned house next door with among the other messages and spray can artwork on the walls was something written on the ceiling. It said,

” We’re so cold here.”

But he could hear it ringing now, it was non-stop and it was so loud.

So he walked into the house through a side door that led into a kitchen with a sink and a wooden chair in the center of the room and one the window ledge there was of course…

a phone.

And it was ringing.

The wires were neatly coiled next tot the phone and  the receiver was off the cradle and yet…it was ringing Sal noted with wonder.

Sal walked over to the phone lifted the receiver to his ear and a calm, cool women’s voice asked hin if he would accept the charges.

” Wh-what?”

” Person to person call from Riversleigh Manor to Mrs Leah Frost, will you accept the charges?”

” Who is this? “

” Sir. I have a person to person call from Riversleigh Manor to Leah Frost. Will you accept the charges?”

Sal looked around the kitchen, could see the writing on the ceiling in the next room and the phone, the dead phone sitting on the window ledge in front of him. ” My, my wife isn’t here. This isn’t our house. I…I…”

” Sir. I have…”

” Fine I heard you. But how can a house be calling my wife person to person?” It occurred to Sal nobody should be able to call into a dead line and nobody should be able to answer it. But at this point Sal wasn’t tracking those little details.

” Sir I have a person to person call from Riversleigh Manor to Leah Frost. Will you accept the charges.”

Sal nodded. ” I mean yes sure. I’ll accept the charges.”

” Thank you sir. Riversleigh you may proceed with you call.”

Sal never saw the face of the person who rammed their fist through his back and into his ribcage. Never felt the hand yank his heart out and let it fall to the dusty floor.

And Sal was way beyond seeing anything anymore when  a small foot, a woman’s booted foot stepped on it.

” I’m sorry Riversleigh.” The Operator said over the dead receiver. The party you are trying to reach is no longer on the line. Shall I try again?”

And then a voice, neither male or female, cool and dry whispered over the line.” No. No that’s fine. I’ll try again later. Only next time I do believe I’ll call direct. “

Senza Fine

Photo By: Ostephy

ONCE upon a time

a little old lady who smoked too much and drank too much and swore too much  met  the Devil on the path that led into the deep dark woods behind her house.

It was just before sunset when she saw the Devil, who did indeed have horns and eyes like a wolf’s and a head of long black hair that smelled faintly of tomatoes leaning against a Maple tree covered with flaming red and orange fall leaves.

Her name was Enid Oddworte and the Devil didn’t tell her its name but the Devil fancied Enid. She felt it in her dry aged bones. So it didn’t matter to Enid what its name was.

All she cared about was that in all of the world  the Devil wanted her kiss.

But everyday the Little Old Lady said no.

“Why would you want a kiss from me?” she asked in her wine  soaked voice as she took a long hard drag off of her cigarette. Then she  blew a thin line of smoke over her shoulder and tossed her thin dark hair out of her watery dark eyes and smiled.

It was not an honest smile.

The Devil shrugged and it’s tail twitched from side to side, just like a cat’s. ” I don’t know Enid. I just know what I want. And what I want is a kiss from you. I would give up Hell, I would give up trying to get back into Heaven I’d do anything for a kiss from you.

Enid, who was usually a little drunk on her nightly strolls would walk away leaving the Devil with nothing more the  the scent of unfiltered cigarette smoke and expensive perfume.

And it’s heart-because the Devil did have one. Sort of. Would ache just a little at the sight of her carefully picking her way back to her house in her platform shoes.

Then one day Enid said yes.

Yes she wanted a kiss from the Devil.

So she kissed the Devil’s slightly warm lips and the heavy scent of her cigarette smoke filled the woods behind her house and the smell of tomatoes and dark wet earth chased it.

Then the Devil put it’s hands on Enid’s shoulders and it pushed her back.

It’s Wolfish orange eyes blazed and she could see herself in them, burning.

Enid looked up at the Devil and whispered, ” I’d give it all up for you, if you asked.”

The Devil asked. ” What would you give up for me Enid?”

” My soul, my heart my life. I want this moment with you to last forever…”

” Mio ” the Devil said. ” My name is Mio Andira. And you Enid are my true love. I can deny you nothing. Nothing. If you want this moment to last forever. It shall. For you my love.”

And because The Devil- whose name is Mio Andira, was good to its word -Enid’s moment with her one true love on the trail that led into the deep dark wood has lasted forever.

You can see it for yourself- every day just after sunset- you can see Enid unable to leave the trail- unable to go back to her house or forward into the deep dark woods.

She is rooted to that spot, the very same spot where Mio Andira declared its love to Enid.

But she is not alone.

 She has two things with her…because indeed Mio loved her-  she has his kiss that still burns just a little on her lips and the endless scream- the one that started when her true love promised her forever

and gave it to her.

It’s A Scream

Halloween Comic YAY YAY YAY!

Thought I’d Ask

Or don’t.
Doesn’t matter.
You know you’ve got them…and so do I.

It Ended Here

 

When I was little my  family told story about a girl who used to live in my Great Grandmother’s House.

She disappeared one day, the story goes, and the neighbors were sure her Mother had something to do with that and that her Father was the one who buried her in their basement.

That’s why my Great Grandmother got the house so cheap, that story apparently drove the price down.

In addition to the neighbors who insisted that there the story was true  didn’t mind sharing it with anyone who was thinking about buying the house did as much as put a toe on the property.

Here’s the thing about my Great Grandmother- should put her toes wherever the heck she wanted and so my Great Grandmother bought the house- for next to nothing despite the story –  and as the years went on my family would talk about how they should really dig around down there to find out once and for all if that story was true.

My six year old self used questions about the girl.

 What was her name? What grade was she in and did she like cats? Did she like McDonald’s french fries and of course…

” Is she a ghost?” I used to ask hopefully.

” No. ” I was told

” But she could be buried down there, right?”

” Could be.” I was informed.

Just before she unexpectedly died I was over at my Great Grandmother’s house. I was in her sitting room playing these little glass animals you used to get for free in boxes of Red Rose Tea when I had a great idea.

Why don’t I just put the little animals back on their shelf and go dig that girl up? I’d never seen a real human skeleton before and I figured this was my last chance to see one- it was an odd feeling but I remember just knowing I wouldnt’ be back again.

So I put one of the little animals ( it was a dog ) in my pocket for company and headed to the pantry where the door to the basement was.

I went into the kitchen and opened the basement door and was halfway down the dark  stairway to the basement when I remembered to turn the light on.

So I ran back up the stairs and straight into my Great Grandmother.

” What are you doing down there? ” she asked.

” Nothing. ” I said with disappointment.

” You were going down there after that body, weren’t you.”

” Well…”

” Your going to break your neck running up and down those stairs in the dark. I don’t want you going down there again. Am I making myself clear? Those stairs are dangerous.  You could get yourself killed running on them like that.”

I stared back at her and didn’t answer.

My Great Grandmother’s eyes, which were green and I swear to God they glowed like a cats, took in the look on my face.

She walked to her kitchen table, pulled out a chair and carried it to the kitchen window that overlooked her backyard.

” Come here. “

I walked over to the chair and she lifted me up and stood me on it. Then she pointed to a small group of her favorite rose bushes that she had planted years ago just after she moved into her house.

I looked up into her face.

” Now stay out of the basement. Mind me. Those  stairs are dangerous.”

I hopped off of the chair and before I could ask she said, ” Yes. It took a long time.”

My Great Grandmother died a little while later. I still have that little glass dog. And her house was actually moved years later. I guess it was some kind of architectural wonder. I can’t remember if it was because of who built it but it had something to do with it being built to look like a ship inside- which was true.

The basement I assume was filled in when they redeveloped the property and put two new single story homes where her beautiful Victorian styled home used to be.

But the Rose garden is still there.

Need You Ask?

I would do a Happy Dance.
Doi.

Now That’s Just Weird

Be It Resolved 2014

Some people make New Year’s Resolutions.

I make Halloween Resolutions like:

1. Watch at least one Halloween movie a day. Two a day on the weekends

2. Write something Halloween related daily in October

3. Take a dance class…just because

4. Vist at least 4 Haunted Houses in the month of October- and it’s not all fun and screams, I have to write stories about them.

So that’s what I hope to accomplish for Halloween.

Let’s see how it goes.

amm

Truth Is Art

Masks off!

It’s A Girl Thing

If you want to write about Monsters you have to understand people.

So if you’re into death and darkness and strolling through cemeteries deep in thought ALL BY YOURSELF then in my opinion, the scariest thing you’ll pull out of  head is a booger from your nose.

If you’re lucky.

I get the entire I’m a writer and I need to be alone with my thoughts, all I know is that it doesn’t work for me.

When I write I know I’m going into solitary confinement- so I spend as much of my time when I’m not writing out there in the world- checking out art, the symphony, consuming huge quantities of Gelato ( bless you inventor of Gelato, bless your dear sweet soul ) and just hanging around with my friends and family.

I love the process of writing, I love putting words on a page and telling a story or sharing my thoughts and what I really enjoy is that this is the one thing in my life I do and have done because I love to- I never asked permission ( am I a writer, do you think I’m any good? etc etc etc ).

So if you want to write I’d say try to do what I do- jump on in, don’t worry about what other people think and enjoy your life.

Then set aside some time to write and send as many characters as you want to the Morgue or Hell or into a creepy abandoned house.

Oh.

And the Gelato thing.

Do that too.

amm

 

Call Me Martha Stewart

I spent some time yesterday at a Halloween store checking out some amazing electronic props.

I see no reason to box them up after Halloween and put them in storage.

Who wouldn’t want demonic looking little girl sitting on a swing and singing a little song in the darkest corner of your livingroom… Especially if the little creature sort of looks like you as a child?

I knew you would understand.

 Zombie Girl On Swing

Future Zombie Girl In Batman Car

And Best Horror Film Of 2014 Is…

Giant Mutant Spider Dog!

YAY!

Other films by

SA  Wardega