It Sneaks Up On You

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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.

 

It Ended Here

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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.

lts

It’s A Girl Thing

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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

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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.

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 Zombie Girl On Swing

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Future Zombie Girl In Batman Car