I’m just getting started, here, folks.

PHEAR ME!

:-p

Karen found herself, however, thinking about him in that school girl way she knew was a one way ticket to Head Over Heals, Population Crazy Woman.

Troy fought dirty. Her daughter adored him, absolutely and completely. This played right into her insecurities of not having a man around the house. When she booted her worthless husband out, she didn’t expect him to abandon his own child, but he did. Troy however, though her daughter was more fun then all of his hobbies combined. Troy did not watch TV, instead, he played Barbie sparkle pony.

Troy’s negatives was his intensity. He was either all in or all out. His idea of relaxation consisted of biking down trails better left to mountain goats and climbing rocks with some “safety” line that didn’t look safe for an anorexic ballerina, much less his man-frame. Troy was an alpha but he had long hair, which for some reason bugged her to no end. Troy thought her friends’ politics were stupid and said so right to their faces. Troy could not cook. Troy’s tolerance for pretentious crap was zero.

In bed, Troy thought nothing of releasing his inner caveman. Grabbing a fist full of her hair was natural to him as kissing. He wasn’t content to be inside of her, her always pulled her as close to him as possible, as if he wanted to fuse their bodies by pressure and strokes.

Her brain usually shut off and she had trouble turning it back on afterwards. She loved every minute of it.

What really got her going, Karen realized one day, was that he never called her a pet name. Never once did he call her Baby, Honey, Sweetheart, or any other endearment. She asked him about it.

“I love to hear my name roll off your lips in a moment of passion,” he said, “so I assumed you like the same.”

Troy loved to kiss her neck. He was simultaneously teasing and demanding when he did so.

One day, after a five-hour marathon of sex and napping, she told him to stop screwing around and move in.

He told her to get dressed. When they did so, and went outside, his truck was already there, packed with his stuff.

About the only thing of value I find anymore is a check-in for my blog harem (tee hee). My current work in progress is this. What’s next is that.

Why is that? I’ve wondered why those posts are popular, when others are not.

My theory: it’s because of action. I’m talking about things I did, or things I am just about to do.

So what am I doing?

I’m writing. I’ve gotten this contract under control (finally!) and have spent the entire weekend writing in a novel called Death By Lingerie. It’s a Lexus Toulouse murder mystery, and it’s shaping up to be a dozy. Poor Lexus gets in trouble. She gets in a lot of trouble. And to find herself again she has to go to places she isn’t supposed to go to. Do things that she never should do.

Never has crazy been so much fun to write! It’s science fiction just the way I want it.

Damn, I love being a novelist.

Memory is a strange thing.

Sometimes it’s the smell. Tangy, visceral and very uninvited. That’s not the worst, though.

Other times, it’s the table. It’s round and has metal legs with a dark green top. I am sure it was stylish back then, but the rest of the memories find this one rather silly. That is, until I see round kitchen table with metal legs. One time, I found myself staring at one. Hypnotized by a table. Oh how foolish I felt when my girlfriend touched my arm and asked me if I was okay.

I wonder what happened to that girl? Did she think I was a bit odd? Does she have her own kitchen table with metal legs that she stares at?

I hope not.

Other times it’s the sock. That stupid white sock.

The first thing, and I mean the very first thing, I did when I moved into my own apartment, alone and by myself, was to buy little white sports socks. I mixed water with cornstarch and heated the concoction until it has some thickness to it. Then I added red food dye. With a spoon I dribbled some on the sock on my right foot. I splashed some around the kitchen.

Then I stood there and stared at the sock, and surprisingly felt nothing much at all. What was I thinking? I don’t know. I really don’t. I rather think it was my lame attempt at controlling the memory, but truth be told, I had already mastered that long before then. I thought at the time that my detachment was a betrayal to my inner most self. That’s what I thought when I threw the socks away and cleaned up the kitchen.

Now I am not so sure.

The sounds, of course, are the worse. Worse than the little white sock with the red spot by far. The sounds are distinctive as they are evil. They have a terrible truth to it all, a blend of metallic malevolence that I wish defied description.

But I could, if I wanted to, paint a vivid picture. The words would be easy but like anything terrible that holds truth, getting them out gives them life.

I wonder, sometimes, if I was on to something buying those socks. I wonder what would have happened if I put a round table with metal legs in the kitchen and then put the red dot on the sock and then closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I bet the smell would come back, followed by the sounds. All of them at once, instead of the random serialization I have floating up there aimlessly.

I’ve been meaning to change the blog style again. Every time I come to the blog it’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I surf themes and troll styles, but the dark tone draws me in and I forget about it.

Leave a comment on which paragraph is your favorite!

* * *

Ezekiel did not lead a normal existence for a sixteen-year-old. He understood this only when Sister Lucinda made an unusual and quite uncommon announcement at dinner.

“I’m pregnant.”

–The Baby Dancers, 1/2 of an outline. But it’s a great 1/2!

Reading a book in his right hand while holding his sword in the ready position in his left, the Gaterunner prepared himself for a rude interruption. At any moment, a Reader could burst through the door and interrupt his reading. Hence the sharp metal pokey thing, poised, ready to take umbrage at a disruption.

–Untitled, uncompleted, outlined

The alien felt sex with humans was addictive as it was necessary, bringing to mind the quaint human expression “having your cake and eating it too.” Humans used sex for fun and reproduction. She thought it funny she occasionally added “food” into the mix. Sometimes, she wondered if some other species in the galaxy took it a step further by adding some other basic function to sex like “breathing.”

–Bunny Trouble, 2 drafts completed, book needs work

I should have known it was time to leave the nest at the age of three-and-a half when the human females, my father included, started driving me crazy.

–Untitled, uncompleted, outlined

The man wearing two swords coming through the door was dripping with water, and when the door closed behind him, he stood there, letting the water drip off his travel cloak on the flagstones provided just for that purpose.

–Untitled, ten pages of farting around.

“Andy, you’re in my tree again. People will talk,” Tabitha said.

–Untitled novella, uncompleted, outlined

Wisteria Heights High School students Jerry, Courtney, Davis, and Will, led by Cheerleader Captain Miranda, were putting the final touches on their plan to kill Alexander, the varsity wide receiver, and his girlfriend, Taylor.

–Starflame Pilot, uncompleted, outlined

Cadence Prosper was counting down the days to her sixteenth birthday where she could finally free herself from her body and integrate herself into society.

–The Rat Princess, uncompleted, outlined

When she was three, Anathae came to understand Momma was not like the other village wives when Momma tried to kill Papa with a broom.

–Dragonsong, uncompleted, outlined (although that opening paragraph is rough, it makes me giggle)

Commodore Philip Connery eyed the sish in front of him, looking for a hint of weakness as Captain Natalie Belton tossed her cards down in disgust. Natalie was the reigning poker champion, but Heisa, the vampiric sish, was kicking their asses.

–The First Casualty of War, completed

Queen Oneesha found the Huntress she meant to kill in a hammock on one of the countless tropical islands on her own planet. Sish throughout known space liked to visit for a romp—their endless white sandy beaches on the bluer-than-blue tropical sea were, in onto themselves, a signature attraction. The Islands of Jephinae also had one other feature sish loved, and that was a preponderance of dangerous predators.

–Children of the Goddess, uncompleted, outlined at one point, but recently tossed. Also: ick.

When Jeanne Flanders came downstairs to leave for school in her ceremonial Pledge dress, her mother dropped her cell phone, placed her head in her hands, and sobbed.

–Startforged Maiden, uncompleted, outlined

“Lexus, your husband is an unmitigated pain in the ass,” says Mitchell, the other husband, as soon as I take the call.

–Armageddon’s Princes, completed. Book 1 of the Lexus Toulouse Mysteries

My PTSD therapist told me, before he died and broke my heart, that, despite my aggressive desire for justice and a physiological and pathological need for constant sex, I was a caring, nurturing woman.

–The Wælcyries Murders, completed. Book 2 of the Lexus Toulouse Mysteries

Ender, my lover I had a fling with seven months ago, just told me she was pregnant with my child, a pretty neat trick considering I’m a woman.

–Death by Lingerie, work in progress. Book 3 of the Lexus Toulouse Mysteries

While driving to pick up her freshman photographer boyfriend so he could take pictures of her prancing around the Colorado farmlands, Sarah was certain she won the kissing lotto.

–The Lightning Giver, completed

This day eleven years ago

There I was, dragged, dragged I say to the movie theater to see what would possibly be the chick flicks to end all check flicks. Titanic. The Wife Unit insisted on seeing the movie (when we still went out for movies), and so there we were.

At the time I was sitting there thinking “this has got to be the most retarded movie idea ever”. So, as the lights dim, I lean over to my wife and say, none to quietly,

“Hey, guess what?”

“What?” she asks.

“The ship sinks.”

Oh man I had the wit back then let me tell you.

Three things happen:

The two tweeners in front of us turn to me and I swear shoot TWEENER NINJA EYE DAGGERS (TNED) at me. You would think these maybe-pubescent girls would not know the infamous Female Glare of Doom yet, but I swear I squirmed in my seat and vaguely wondered for my safety. As they turned back, I crossed myself.

Then from behind me a guy (and a complete stranger no less), totally loses it. He starts laughing so hard I can’t help but turn and grin. He has tears streaming down his face. He wife/girlfriend/significant other/spousal equivalent turns in her seat and actually smacks him. TWACK. This shuts him up, and then she turns to me and gives me a look like “you’re next”. I wipe the grin off my face and turn back in my seat.

It’s the Wife Unit’s turn to glare, and LO I FEEL THE ICY ARMAGEDDON APPROACHETH (get it, icy, Titanic, iceberg… never mind). But then she says, raising her voice because some inane preview is on the screen,

“Be QUIET or I will COVER your eyes when they show Kate Winslet’s breasts.”

Well that got my attention.

“Uh, this movie has boobies?”

“Yes!”

“Kate Winslet’s breasts?”

(note even then one did not refer to Kate Winslet’s breasts as mere ‘boobs’)

“Yes! Now BE QUIET!”

Then from behind me I hear,

“Did that woman just say we get to see Kate Winslet’s breasts?”

Followed by a,

THWACK

Followed by the TWEENERS OF DOOM turning in their seats and going,

“Ssssshhhh!”

I am now watching this film with the utmost attention. And yes, the ship sinks.

The lights come on and I stand up because I believe my ears are going to bleed from the Celine Dion song. I turn to my partner in crime, the man behind me. I cannot contain my enthusiasm for this wonderful film. I cannot!

“I can’t belive we got to see Leonardo DiCaprio freeze to death!” I say.

“I can’t believe we got to see Kate Winslet TOTALLY NUDE, Dude!” he says.

We high-five each other, but simultaneously our body temperatures drop due to the combined ICY GLARES OF DOOM from four annoyed females who really really have to pee.

To this day, Best. Movie. Ever. Thus, when I think of that space between Christmas and New Years, I think of movie… magic.

Like happiness, it fills a void. Feeling empty is the opposite of sorrow and happiness. Passion takes on many forms, and a passionate woman full of sorrow is everything but an empty space.

Thus, depression sometimes is a form of self-defense, but, insidious that it is, it is more an abusive lover who is the only one to pay attention. It’s like alcoholism: feeling drunk is better than not feeling anything at all.

There are many ways into addiction, and half as many ways getting out. Sadness may be better than the bottomless pit, but the mountain of life is there for a reason.

Climb it or sit around at the bottom looking at the clouds. Happiness is not a choice or an obligation.

Happiness is an addiction, and the end result of looking up at the top, rather looking into the abyss.

It’s that simple.