A WRITER’S WORK IS NEVER DONE

Greetings and Salutations loyal readers of the blog,

Since we are all here, it’s safe to say that we made it through the Impenetrable Forest without too many incidents.  Just before we set off with all our gear in place, Mischievous Raven suggested we take some of our Free Range, Organic Zombies (Trade marked) with us.  I laughed at the idea of the zombies as protection, but once again Mischievous proved to be resourceful.  As it turned out the zombies provided us with a sort of extra camouflage.  The rancid odor of rotting flesh hid us from the creatures in the forest who rely on smell to hunt.  The biggest threat came when a flock of Piranha Hummingbirds swarmed in.  They were content to pick clean the bones of our zombie escort until they could barely fly.  We are down three dozen zombies and I don’t know how we’re going to get back yet.  I’m sure Mischievous has something under his onyx wing.

In other news around The Swamp, C. Rock Adile came out of hiding just long enough to learn that Swamp Thing has not forgotten his prediction of the end of the world based on the Myan calendar.  The last time I saw him he was swimming for all he’s worth, closely followed by Swamp Thing who was leaving quite a wake of her own.  It’s been pretty quiet other than that.  The rest of the Evil Seven all have their noses firmly against the grindstone.  That also helps to keep the muses out of trouble as their services are being pressed into action as well.

I’ll fill you in on my interviews with the ghosts next week.  Let’s get down to work shall we?

I attended The second annual Indie Author Publishing Conference and Pitchapalooza last week.  The event was put together by the folks at Changing Hands Book Store and The Phoenix Public Library.  I was overwhelmed with the amount of great content that was presented.  How to pitch your book presided over by David Henry Sterry and his beautiful wife Arielle Eckstut, was my favorite.  They are very optimistic about the future of publishing, and they said, this is the best time ever to be an author.  (Or something to that effect.)

Building your web presence, orchestrated by Evo Terra and his not quite as beautiful business partner Jeff Moriarty, is a close second.  Their energetic presentation was engaging and fun.  (Plus Jeff called me a genius because I use Srcivener to write and edit my work)

Here is the biggest thing I learned at the conference.  Drum roll please.  If you’ve completed your novel, your work has only just begun.  As it turns out literary agents and publishers are not going to come hammering on my front door and start a bidding war to publish my novel.  Okay even I’m not that foolish.  What I actually thought was, getting published is a mixture of  perseverance and luck.  The truth is, as in everything else I’ve ever applied myself to, luck is a direct result of hard work.

When I was much younger, I said to guy who had just sold his company for a lot of money,  ”You’re lucky.”  He replied, “Yeah, the harder I work the luckier I get.”  I’ve never forgotten that.  And so now I’m lacing up my work boots.  It’s going to get ugly because the things I have to do are things I’m not comfortable doing.  The issue here is, my characters have the right to be heard and it’s up to me to give them that opportunity.

Thanks one and all for stopping by, as is our custom here on Fridays I’ll leave you with a quotation.  This one comes from, Ursala K. Guin.

“The unread story is not a story; it is little black marks on wood pulp.  The reader, reading it, makes it live: a live thing, a story.”

Write On,

Eerie Dwarf

Cliche’s are Tabu

Greetings and Salutations loyal readers of the blog,

Mischievous and I are preparing to visit the old unconsecrated catholic graveyard.  I need to do some research on ghosts and who better to ask than ghosts.  We’ll be hiking through the Impenetrable Forrest to get there.   The shortcut puts us at risk while we’re in the forest, but it cuts days off the trip.  It’s worth the risk unless, of course, we get attacked by Killer Koalas, Piranha Hummingbirds, or Vampire Tarantulas.  You may ask again, why?  My friend, Mischievous Raven is picking up some survival gear from his friends over at A to Z AMMO.  He assures me we can make the trip safely.

“Hey Eerie.  A little help.”

Glancing up I see what appears at first sight to be the regurgitation of debris from an Army surplus store that has somehow been animated into a moving heap of junk.  Then an ebony wing waves frantically from under the moving pile.  Mischievous, is that you?

“Yeah, who else?  Now, can you get this stuff off me?”

Sure.  I pick off bandoliers of ammunition, automatic weapons, a selection of swords and camouflage everything.  Finally a familiar face pears out.  Is all this stuff really necessary?

“When I told my buddy at A to Z where we were going he through in a bunch of stuff he wants us to test.”

I’m afraid to ask.

“Check it out Vampire Tarantula repellent.  Apply this to any exposed skin and breathe easy.”

Peuu.  Breath easy, I can’t breathe at all.

“Don’t use it.  I promise to drag your dehydrated husk out of the forest after they’ve sucked you dry.”

Okay okay.  What else you got.

“Killer Koala pheromones.  We’re supposed to leave a trail of this as we go.  It makes the Koalas horny and they forget all about eating.”

Hmmm.

“Next we have this camouflage gear.  This will keep away the Piranha Hummingbirds.  And finally, a digital camera that will upload any pictures we take directly to A to Z’s server.”

How is that supposed to help?

“Since no one has ever seen a Black Tiger and lived, they asked if you would take a picture for them.”

This would be my last act on the planet, to send your buddies a picture of a Black Tiger.

“Yeah you know for science and all.”

Fine let’s get started.

At the bi-weekly gathering of Dwarves, the topic of clichés came up, again.  So I decided to repost this blog.

 From November 12, 2010.  You know all those clichés about ‘time’? Like: time is fleeting, time heels all wounds, only time will tell, time is of the essence, time waits for no man, in the nick of time, time after time, a stitch in time saves nine, time is money, in due time, at a time like this, there is no time like the present, the times they are a changing.  

We have; good time, bad time, due time, on time, in time, only time, no time, spare time, same time, next time, big time, first time, full-time, part-time, easy time, closing time, save time, waste time, hard time, hot time, kill time, borrowed time, long time, short time, lost time, mark time. 

I could go on and on because, I’ve got time on my hands, but time is running out, so let’s make time. Making time; what the hell does that even mean?

For writers, clichés are the quicksand of language. (I’m going somewhere with this I promise) Time and again, (there’s another one) writers are cautioned not to use clichés and yet you can’t put time in a sentence without risking the use of a cliché and yet that is the job of any writer worthy of the title. Do we falter? Continuously. But try we must, not to fall into the quicksand. Among the Evil Dwarves I admit I am the guiltiest of this infraction. So for this I throw myself on the mercy of the court and ask for lenience. My point here is (I told you this was going somewhere) that writers are not perfect, but we do our best to spin a worthy tail and follow the thousands of mind numbing rules that the industry imposes. So forgive us our indiscretions, allow for the misplaced comma or the occasional cliché and instead enjoy the story. Because in the end the story is what it’s all about.

I think I’ve wasted enough time. It’s about time I get on with this. If you can think of any notable ‘times’ I’ve missed, please chastise me in the comment box.   

As you know by this time, I always leave you with a quotation.

“Everything changed the day he figured out there was just enough time for the important things in life.”  D. Andreas 

Write On,

Eerie 

Meet Anna Conda

Greetings and Salutations, welcome back to the Swamp loyal readers,

I promised last week we would have a special guest today.  One of our more resplendent residents and one who is very protective of her privacy, please welcome G. Anna Conda.

The crowd pushes back from the dais one woman screams and faints on the spot. 

Sorry about that Ms. Conda.

“Please Eerie, you must call me Anna.  After all, we’ve been friends for how many years now?”  Her tongue flicks, probably tasting the fear from the crowd.

More than I wish to count Anna.  Again I do apologize for the less than enthusiastic response.

“It’s fine.  Even though I shed regularly, I’ve developed  a thick skin when it comes to the gasps and screams when the general public sees me for the first time.”

What is it, do you think, that causes that kind of reaction?

“Well I am a predator and I’m very good at what I do, but mostly I think it’s the no legs or arms thing that gets to them.  I’m not warm and furry, although I do like to cuddle.  My hugs are world renown, sadly no one who has experienced one of my hugs and has survived to talk about it.”

So what are you up to theses days?

“It’s not polite to ask a lady her weight but I weigh in a little over 500 pounds and I’m 27 feet tall.”

You mean long.

“If you like.  How long are you then?”

I see your point.  Your size is certainly intimidating.

“No one screams and faints when an elephant walks into the room.”

True.  So tell me, what are doing with yourself, between meals that is.

“I’ve starred in several movies and of course the folks over National Geographic and BBC Nature keep me busy as well.   Although the documentaries don’t pay as well as Hollywood.”

Is there any chance we’ll be seeing more of you around here?  I mean I for one like to see your face around the place?

“I don’t know about that.  Aside from The Swamp Thing not many of your neighbors like having me lurking about.”

Do you think you could hold my muse down while we finish the next chapter in Transformation?

“I’m happy to help out where I can, but to be honest one muse is bad enough.  When you get two or more in one place you’re just begging for trouble.  Quite frankly Eerie, the dwarves’ muses scare me.  So I don’t think I can help you out.  Besides as it turns out I have quite a flare for color and I’m doing a little painting in my free time.”

Anything we can see?

“Not yet but I’ll let you know.  C. Rock Adile said he knows someone who owns a gallery.  And he knows someone at the royal court who could hang my work at the Palace.  Maybe even get me  a private showing.”

I hope he doesn’t disappoint you.  You should know that he tends to be…  To be blunt he’s a blowhard.

“I’m not a vindictive serpent, but he hopes he doesn’t disappoint me too.  I have a way of squeezing the truth out of folks.”

I’m quite aware.  Our time is about up Anna but if I may ask one more question.

“EERIE, EERIE, come quick.”

What is it Mischievous?

“The zombies have knocked down the fence and they’re heading toward the Impenetrable Forrest.”

“You seem to have an emergency, so I’ll just take my leave.  Thanks for inviting me, Eerie.”

But Anna I wanted to know what the G stands for.  I say into the now empty space where only seconds ago the largest snake in the world sat staring at me.

“Come on Eerie the zombies are escaping and you know gathering them up is like herding cats.”

I’m coming.  Say hello our readers Mischievous.

“Hey everyone, nice to see you.  What happened to the that one?”  He points to the lady who fell on her face at the site of Anna.

She fainted that’s all.  It’s time to go.  I hope I see you all back here next week.  In the mean time I’ll leave you with this quotation.

Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds you plant - Robert Louis Stevenson.

Write On,

Eerie

 

IT’S UP TO ME AGAIN

Welcome back everyone,

I thought you were keeping an eye on Eerie for me.  You didn’t let him go back into the house did you?

 

Oh, crap.  That’s not good.  Brother Grey tested the flower for me.  First of all it’s a Poppy, which he said is usually harmless.  But, something caused these to mutate into something he described as a cross between opium, and marijuana.  The monks are very interested in the effects and went over to gather a basket of flowers from Swamp Things garden.  In the mean time they warned me of possible side effects.  I told him it was making everyone really pleasant, to the point I want to gag.  Brother Grey said, it’s likely to be addicting.  If it makes everyone nicer to be around I’m willing to take a chance on them getting addicted.  Of course I’m staying well away from that crap.

My theory is it’s in the water.  Just look around the swamp, nothing there is normal.  The lily pads are too big the tadpoles are orange,with four eyes and I don’t even have to mention Swamp Thing.  I mean one look at her and you know that’s just not right.  Even Eerie, hasn’t grown in a hundred years.  That’s why I stick to the trees and the skies.

I guess we’re going to have to go gather Eerie and the muses and get them out of there, before I wind up with a bunch of junkies for friends.  As for the rest of them, well, I’ll leave that up to someone else.  Maybe we could plant some of those flowers in the Impenetrable Forest. It would make getting through there a lot safer if the Killer Koalas, and the Piranha Hummingbirds were a little friendlier.  This could be the solution to the worlds troubles.

Hold on, what am I thinking?  Isn’t that what Timothy Leary said about LSD back in the day.  Hmmm.  Maybe I should leave well enough alone.  Come to think of it, this all started when Dreamer Dwarf moved in.  Before that we didn’t have these problems.  I mean we had plenty of problems, but flowers weren’t among them.  I will leave you this week with a quote from Professor Leary himself.  You can judge for yourself how is ideas worked out.

“Drop Out–detach yourself from the external social drama which is as dehydrated and ersatz as TV. Turn On–find a sacrament which returns you to the temple of God, your own body. Go out of your mind. Get high. Tune In–be reborn. Drop back in to express it. Start a new sequence of behavior that reflects your vision.”

TIMOTHY LEARY

I’ll see you all next week.  We’ll probably be detoxing Eerie the rest of the week anyway.

Keep your head up,

Mischievous Raven

MIST-ERIOUS GOINGS ON AT THE SWAMP

Greetings and Salutations loyal readers of the blog at the bog,

As you can see were late and I do apologize for any inconvenience.  The Zombie Horde has kept me busy all week.  It seems that they are hungrier than usual.  It’s just one more strange thing that’s been going on around here.  I went over to The Swamp Shack to track down my muse.  Upon arrival I was informed that none of the muses have been around which really has the bartender upset because the inventory of Swamp Head is backing up.  After purchasing a couple of refreshments for the lonely bartender, he informed us that he’s done some checking around. The muses are not at any of the local drinking establishments.  Another stance turn of events.  Mischievous and I went over to my muses home, a sprawling man cave complete with sports memorabilia flat screens TVs and a layer of smoke that will give any nonsmoker a coughing fit for weeks.  Today the smoke smells sweet with a bitter under tone that sticks to the back of my throat.  Since Mischievous is a raven and reacts badly to second-hand smoke he waited outside.  As usual that knife wielding red-head was there as well as The Snark,  They were sitting around laughing hysterically at one of those funny video shows.  I’m not a fan of watching people make fools of themselves on TV (mostly because I get top watch myself first hand without the slo-mo replay).

“Eerie check this out.”  The Snark grabs the remote and backs it up to a video they had just watched.

The three of them are rolling on the floor laughing by now and to be honest (although I’m not a fan) I’ve seen funnier bloopers or whatever they are.  At the end The Snark backs it up again.

“How many times have you watched this same clip?” I ask,  I’m thinking twice was too many.

My muse fires up the big hooka in the middle of the room and passes the bit around.  ”I don’t know what day is it?”

“It’s Friday.”  They all start laughing again.  I mean rolling on the floor, knee slapping, belly laughs.  I’m trying not to get indignant here, but they’re just acting silly.

The Snark shrugs her shoulders and the Red Head (sans any sharp instruments by the way) gets real serious.  ”That would be three…”she can’t finish because she’s laughing again.

“You watched that stupid clip three times since I’ve been here.”

“Three days!”  The Snark blurts out and off they go again.

“I’m worried about what is going on around here and you three have been doing what?  Watching the same stupid video for three days.”

“Nah,” my muse finally speaks up.  ”We had to run over to the swamp things place to pick some of her flowers a couple of times.”

“You picked her flowers and she didn’t mind.”

“Nah she was real cool huh guys?”

“Yeah,” Red says backing up the video yet again.  ”She was real cool.  That guy with nice skin was there  too.”

“Nice skin?”  I’m getting more concerned by the minute.  ”Who has nice skin?”

“The guy with all the teeth.  What’s his name?”

“You mean C. Rock Adile?”

“Yeah that’s the one.  C. Rock really rocks.”  and now she’s off to a giggling fit.

“Have you noticed the Zombies are eating everything in site ?”

“Let ‘em alone.  Live and let unlive I always say.”  My muse Mr. Intolerant says.  ”You want a hit?”

“Nah, I’ll pass.  What is that your smoking anyway?”

“Swamp Things flowers, duh.”  Red giggles again.

I’ve never seen her giggle and I’ve never seen her without at least two sharp knives.  This is going on my list of strange occurrences.

“Mind if I take one with me?”  no one hears me because they are watching the same stupid clip again.  I take a flower and my leave.

“What did you find out Eerie?”  Mischievous asked as I exit with a cloud of bitter-sweet smoke.

“I’ll explain on the way.  We’ve got to get this flower to the Werewolf Monks for analysis.”

“Not another trip through the Impenetrable forest!”

“Nah,” I start giggling.  ”Let’s borrow the armored Hummer”

“Are you serious?  No.  You wouldn’t do that.  He’d kill us, besides you can’t drive.”

Now I’m laughing uncontrollably.  ”They had the funniest video on in there.  You should have seen it.  This guy landed right on his nads.”

“What are you doing?”  Mischievous asked.

“Help me out here.  I’ll work the pedals you steer.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea Eerie.”

“Don’t be such a chicken.  Now that’s funny.  A raven who’s a chicken.  You get it, huh?”

“Yeah, I got it.  Like I’ve never heard a bird joke before.”

“Okay,okay.  When is a raven not a raven?  When he’s chicken.”

“Folks, I must apologize for Eerie.  I don’t know what’s going on but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.  I know he doesn’t drink, but he’s acting like he got faced in there.  so I’m going to take this flower to the monks because that’s what he wanted to do before he lost his mind.  You’ll have to keep an eye on him while I fly over to the Monastery.  I’ll be back as soon as I can.  I’ll leave you with this quote

 

“Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar. You’re gonna go far, fly high, You’re never gonna die, You’re gonna make it if you try; They’re gonna love you…And did we tell you the name of the game, boy, We call it Riding the Gravy Train.”

Pink Floyd

 

THE WIND THROUGH THE KEYHOLE

Greetings and salutations again loyal blog readers,

As you can see I’m packing up.  I’ve had no time to write during my stay at the Werewolf Monastery, and quite frankly the monks are getting on my nerves.  I may have over stayed my welcome.  I think I’ve fixed about everything they could find and I installed new accent lighting in the gardens.  It looks very nice, but that’s not what I meant to do with my time.  The other reason for my sudden departure is I haven’t heard from Mischievous Raven and that worries me.  As you know he was abducted a while back and held for ransom by The Three Misfiteers.  Although I fulfilled my part of the bargain to obtain his release, which required me to submit their novel out to literary agents.  I admit that I’ve slacked off for the past two months.  And those three are not above taking my good friend and confidant again.  So I’m heading back to The Swamp today to check on my friend.  My muse has the armored Humvee here and he’s agreed to drop me off.  That saves me a trip through the Impenetrable Forrest.

Today we’re going to talk about Stephen King’s most recent work, The Wind Through The Keyhole.  I openly admit to being a huge fan of Mr. King.  Also known as The Master around The Swamp.  The critics were pretty cool on this book.  One said, it was disappointing because it did not further the Gunslinger story at all.  While it is true that it does nothing to further the series, it is a great tale in its own right.  The Wind Through the Keyhole is a story within a story within another story.  And while it takes its place right in the middle of the Gunslinger series, it gives some insights into the characters that we already know and have come to love.  Roland and his ka-tet– Jake, Susanna, Eddie and Oy, the billy-bumbler have to hunker down to ride out a storm.  To pass the time Roland tells them a story about himself as a young gunslinger, in which he tells a young boy a story to keep his mind off the difficult task Roland has put upon him.

The tale itself (without the set up) is a wonderful read and demonstrates why SK is one of the best (if not thee best) writer of his generation.  We are transported back to mid-world when Roland was a brand new gunslinger.  SK’s feel for this alternate world and his ability to share it with the reader is wondrous.  I found myself there, next to Roland as he takes on one of his first challenges as a gunslinger.

Isn’t that why we read fiction in the first place.  Keyhole is a character driven ticket to another world.  Characters we love, and some we hate, and still others we love to hate.  By arranging black letters on a white background, SK creates emotional responses in us, as we lay safely in bed turning pages until the wee hours of the morning.  Who could ask for more.  Thanks Stephen.

“Time is a keyhole, he thought as he looked up at the stars.  Yes, I think so.  We sometimes bend and peer through it.  And the wind we feel on our cheeks when we do–the wind that blows through the keyhole–is the breath of all the living universe”

That short excerpt speaks for itself.

I love reading, which is probably why I write.  Or maybe it’s the other way around.  Either way, if you’re a huge fan of The Master then reviews are meaningless and you’ve already read or are planning to read this book.  If on the other hand, you are a sometimes reader of SK, don’t let the critics steer you away from this powerful story.  By a ticket and enjoy your journey into mid-world.

Todays quote comes from G.K. Chesterton:

“Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity.”

Thanks for stopping by,

Write on,

Errie

new books abound

Greetings and Salutations Glorious Readers of the blog,

I’m glad to see you made it through the Impenetrable Forrest with Mischievous and myself.  On our way we passed Dreamers quaint little cottage, we attracted the zombie horde and brought them along with us.  It was the good thing too, because when the Piranha Hummingbirds attacked the zombies were slow and they were devoured down to the bare bones affording us an easy escape.  So that’s a few less zombies to pester Dreamer.  Of course there are always new ones showing up so the Prankster Duo won’t have to worry about running out of playmates anytime soon.  In our mad dash to escape I think we ran right past a Killer Koala.  He was probably disoriented by Mischievous’  screaming.  What’s that?  I was the one screaming.  Are you sure?  Well, who knew my short legs could move so fast, even as screamed like a little girl.

Mischievous and I are holed up here in the old Catholic unconsecrated cemetery to wait out the full moon. There is no cell phone service here so we are out of touch with the world for now.  I hope the Snark is recuperating all right.  It’s a serious thing if the Whipmistress’ Snark isn’t feeling well.  The reason we’re stuck here in the cemetery  is The Werewolf Monks, wonderful hosts that they are, don’t accept visitors during the course of the full moon.  Of course my muse is safe because he’s already there.  Don’t worry about us we’re safe because the unconsecrated cemetery is neutral territory.  Nothing messes with the Enforcer Spirits that execute the law around here, not even the zombies are that stupid.  And let’s face folks the zombies aren’t just playing with a less than a full deck. Their deck only contains Jokers and Lazy Jacks.   So while we’re cooling our jets here I thought I’d talk about what I’ve been reading.

Besides my daily spiritual readings, in the last week three of my  favorite authors have released books.  The first and foremost is of course is the Master’s.  Just when you thought it was safe to visit mid-world again Mr. King has released another book in the Gunslinger series. This new book titled The Wind Through the Keyhole, falls in the middle of the Dark Tower cycle, between Wizard and Glass and Wolves of Calla.  I’ve only just begun to read it so I can’t tell you much more than that.  It should comfort me nicely here against the headstone of poor old Liam Flannery who passed away two days before the Mrs., affording him a very short respite from her sharp tongue.  The critics have been sharp tongued with regards to SK’s revisiting of mid-world, and although it’s too early for me to have an opinion on the work itself I must say it is courageous of Stephen to reopen the doorway to visit with Roland and his ka-tet.

The second book added to my granite nightstand is the latest from that jokester Mr. Christopher Moore titled Sacre Bleu.  He claims it is a book about the color blue.  What ever he says about it, is irrelevant because he never fails to make me laugh out loud.  It’s a Dirty Job was about a beta male.  And You Suck is a love story.  I’m looking forward to laughing in public places as I read all about the color blue.

And last but not least Bloodstorm by Amber Kallyn is out in paperback from Amazon.  A love story with intrigue, passion, and blood sucking vamps.  Five Salamanders out of five.  Check it out at Amazon.

In any case I’ll savor my time with these authors because they always entertain.  Fortunately the moon is rising early and it’s plenty bright enough for me to read by.  So I think I’ll wrap it here and get some reading in this week I’ll leave you with a little taste of Christopher Moore.

“That’s the difference between irony and sarcasm. Irony can be spontaneous, while sarcasm requires volition. You have to create sarcasm.” 

― Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal

“Charlie Asher: I accidentally shagged a monk last night.
Minty Fresh: Sometimes, in times of crisis, that shit cannot be avoided.”
― Christopher Moore, A Dirty Job

“She gave him the wide, green-eyed expression that she would have described as I will slap you so far into next week that it will take a team of surgeons just to get Wednesday out of your ass.” 

― Christopher Moore, You Suck

Write On,

Eerie

SNARK HAS BEEN RETURNED NOW BACK TO WORK

Greetings and salutations loyal followers,

As you probably know by now we found the missing Snark at the Monastery of the Werewolf Monks.  She’s still recovering from drinking all the left over Exsanguinate The Holidays from the Monk’s special reserve.  It’s taken quite a toll on her. The last time I saw her she was in the throes of the DTs.  The good news is she’s in good hands, the Swamp Thing is nursing her back to her former glory and has agreed to counsel her on substance abuse.  The bad news is we lost my muse during the search.  Wicked thought he went for the whites but Mischievous said he was heading into the cellar for amontillado.  So Mischievous and I are going to take the shortcut back to Monastery through THE IMPENETRABLE FORREST and get my muse back.  

Wish us luck because you know there are many hazards to be encountered there.  Last time we ventured there we lost several members of our group to the Killer Koalas, and the time before that we were attacked by Pirahana Humming Birds.  I’ve never seen a Black Tiger, but they say they are most ferocious.   Vampire Tarantulas  drop from the trees and suck you dry.  However it is the only way to get to the Werewolf Monastery in half a day if you don’t drive.  Dwarves aren’t especially good drivers because our feet don’t touch the pedals and we can’t see over the steering wheel.  

Before we leave I need to share with you what I’ve been up to.  I backed off work just a bit and one night I carried a legal pad and pen to bed to make some notes on an idea.  Before you could say Rumplestiltskin I  had eleven hand written pages of a story.  This is what happens when your muse comes to work and your ready for him.  I’ve since started typing it into my Mac.  The message is clear.  If a writer you want to be, then ready you are, and do not flee.  

You’ve heard this before if you write; we don’t write because we can, but because we must.

One last thing I’d like to share, I heard a speaker this weekend who said that Fear and Love are mutually incompatible.  If you fear you cannot love.   And when you love you need not fear.  So fear not.  Go forth and love your fellows.     

This week’s quote comes from SELF-PORTRAIT by David White

“I want to know if you are willing to live, day by day with the consequence of love and the bitter unwanted passion of your sure defeat.  I’ve heard, in that fierce embrace, even the gods speak of God. 

Holiday Merriment with the 7 Evil Dwarves

Once again the 7 Evil Dwarves gathered around the Swamp Gas Fire and exchanged annual gifts of merriment.  Not only is it the one time of the year we cut Smokey a break and bring in our own nourishment, but we also drag along significant others.  Since the Prankster Duo was busy gutting bits of wire and plastic with other miniature humans, my knight in slightly muddy armor and I loaded up with essentials and headed out to trek on over to Smokey’s place.

Me-”Did you get the pies?”

Him-”Yeah. You didn’t have to make them did you?”

Me *snort*- “Please, if the other six wanted to experience a near death experience they’d go taunt Eerie’s Zombies.  I picked those up from Knaves’ End.”

Him *looking very relieved*–”Great.”

We added a couple of new cold steel blades to our outfits, grab the gaily wrapped gifts, leave the hellhound half a boar and some water, set the perimeter defenses and headed down the road. We passed Sunny’s place where a veil of mist swirled in a thick mass.  Poor Sunny, we’ve been trying to get supplies through, but the black hole of chaos is holding her under siege.  We’re going to have to send in a search and rescue team soon and drag her back out.

The cackling of Mischievous’ laughter rings out from above while the moans and shrieks of the Swamp Thing trail behind him.  I can’t quite make out what he has clutched in his talons, but it’s shiny.  One day, the Swamp Thing is going to use him as her Thanksgiving centerpiece.

We pass by the Filet Your Own Deli where my Muse is enjoying her time off and playing a game with the white haired guy sporting a tool belt.  I can see the flash of blades in-between the smack of cards being slapped upside foreheads.  There’s a hungry, evil smile gracing her pale face that sends shivers down my spine, but the old guy just bares his teeth, takes a swig from the old flask at his side and flicks another battered card on the scarred table.  I shake my head as we continue on.

The snap of leather snaking through the air sends me into an instinctive crouch.  Belatedly, I realize that Snarky is just testing out her new bullwhip.  Grumbling softly, I straighten and get a good look at her newest accessory.  Purple…niiiicceee.  I might have to find out where she got that one.

Snarky *checking out the pies in knight in slightly muddy armor arms*–”That better be chocolate.”

Me-”As if there’s any other kind.”

Snarky *narrowing eyes*- “You have two?”

Me – “Nah, offering second option for those of us who OD on sugar today. Sugar Free Apple.”

Snarky *waving a dismissive hand*–”I’ll stick with chocolate.”  A sharp squeal comes from inside her house, and the smile that appears is the same one I’ve seen right before she hands me back my drafts dripping in red. “I need to go check on the ham. See you soon!”

A little further down the road, we pull up short as we watch Eerie fighting over a bottle of Werewolf Hunter’s Moon red with a fairly persistent pair of Zombie twins.

Eerie–”Let go you brainless lump of flesh! Even if your brain was working you couldn’t appreciate this vintage.”

It’s entertaining watching the on-going struggle between my short friend and the Brainless Wonder Duo.  The scuff of boots against gravel announce the arrival of Quirky, Jedi and her other half.

Quirky–”Who’s winning?”

Me-”Not sure yet.”

Jedi-”I’ll put ten on the twins.”

Quirky-”You’re on.”

Me *thinking about the last time Eerie got cornered by the horde*–”I think I’ll just watch.”

Eerie–”A little help here!”

Knight in slightly muddy armor–”I don’t know, this is kind of fun to watch.”

Before anyone else can move, a black feather dive bomber manages to distract Twin 1 by introducing talons to eyeballs.  I grimace.  Those stains are never going to come out.

Me-”Have you considered enrolling your horde in Zombie training courses, Eerie?”

Eerie-”What are they going to teach them? They already know drop dead, gnaw and claw.”

I take the pies from my knight–”We’re going to be late.  Go help.”

He takes out his shiny new sword and cuts the legs out from under Twin 2. Literally.

Eerie stumbles back and cradles his bottle carefully. Smoothing down one of many flyway strands of hair, he’s all dignity.  “Thank you.”

We make it to Smokey’s door without further incidents and his lovely Italian counterpart welcomes us into their home.  The next few hours pass in a blissful haze of food, friends and laughter.  Gifts are exchanged, stories are shared and barbs are traded.

Remember during this busy season–this is what makes the holidays–laughter, love and friendship.

Treasure yours as I do mine!

Merry Holidays everyone!

Wicked

The Greatest Holiday Ever….

Halloween is around the corner and this month zipped by in spectacularly fast fashion.  With little time to spare, I wrangled the Prankster Duo, via a Venus Fly Trap snare, made them leave the head of one of Eerie’s zombies at home, and off we went to shop for costumes.   As we emerged from the Swamp, the youngest pointed out the new signs wallpapering the Impenetrable Forest.  Seems they’re in the midst of working on another deadly…I mean lovely, maze for this year’s celebration.

So we’re at the Aberzombie & Witch when my oldest informs me in funeral tones that this will be his last year of trick-or-treating.

Shocked, all I could manage was a garbled, “Uh?”

Ignoring my eloquence, he continued, “My friends and I discussed this, and this is it for us.”

“You make it sound like your impending demise looms upon the horizon, child. It’s Halloween!”

I never thought I’d get such a look from the fruit of my loins. (Loins, Eerie, not Looms!)  From the Whipmistress?  Hell yeah.  Him? Not so much.  “I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

Really? Okay, Mr. Daddy Long Legs…let’s think about this for a second.  You’re a boy, a sweet one occasionally, but a pre-teen boy.  Embarrassment is soon to be a way of life for you.  My poor baby.

He added, “Besides, we’ll be in Junior High.”

Ahhh! I get it.  As we leave the familiar halls of elementary school behind and begin to prepare for the hallowed journey to middle school, suddenly “coolness” factors into every decision.  Then it’s on to those oh-so-torturous years of high school.

“Okay then.  But you do realize that mom had no problem donning a wig, goth make-up and heeled boots for her writer’s conference a couple years back.  Remember that?”

He does a damn good eye roll, “Yeah, mom, but you’re…a writer, you’re suppose to be crazy.”

See! My son is brilliant! As I glide through the pride of my son’s keen intellect, my youngest cuts in.  “Mom, they don’t have any Minecraft pig costumes.”

Looking over the selection, I notice he’s absolutely correct.  Nary a piece of bacon in sight.  Unless you count the strangely compelling anatomically correct adult version hanging in the corner.  I gently steer his young, impressionable mind elsewhere.  “Okay, then, what’s your back-up plan?”

“Hmmm….” he studies the offerings with the seriousness of a heart surgeon.  A few minutes later and a decision is made.  I head to the counter, lay out the cash and we’re homeward bound.

Later that night as my knight-in-slightly-muddy armor starts to work on his daily shine-fest, the Duo drag out their costumes.

“Look, Dad? Like the whip?”  For a kid who doesn’t want to trick-or-treat, my oldest hides his excitement fairly well.

“Nice, son,” my  knight checks the workmanship.  “So, Indiana Jones, uh?”

“Yeah, no mask required.”

They’re interrupted as my youngest taps my knight on his shoulder.  “Check it out, Dad!”  The voice is a little muffled behind the mask, but it gets a smile from my knight.

“Niccceeee…I see we stuck with our old stand-by, Star Wars!”

“Yeah, no Minecraft pigs.” Disappointment has our ARF Stormtrooper’s shoulder sagging. But only for a moment.  “But it’s okay, this one has wickedly cool camo!”

As the Duo dart off to harangue the hell-hound, my knight turns to me.  “Does he realize the camo is for snow covered landscapes?”

“Yep, but it’s camo and you know as well as I do, any camo is good camo, as far as he’s concerned.”  From outside our well barricaded cabin, we hear another zombie cage-fight match start up.  I sure wish the Swamp Thing would leave them alone. I double check the locks on the door and make sure the flamethrowers are set.  “Besides, does it matter? It’s Halloween, and isn’t one of the best parts being able to dress up however we want?”

–Wicked