There are a few experiences in your life that change you in a fundamental way. There’s no way to predict how much, and even when you are well-prepared, these changes often take you by surprise. For example, when you are expecting a child, it seems like everyone you meet will tell you having a child will change your life. Of course, you nod your head and agree, because you know a child will change your life. But you have no idea, until you have a child, just how much your life will change.
On the other end of the spectrum, the death of a parent will also change your life. And again, no matter how prepared you seem to be, how much you resign yourself to that immutable fact, the truth is you have no idea how this momentous experience will change you. Perhaps it doesn’t change some people, but I can only speak for myself.
Yesterday was the two year anniversary of my momma’s death. I wish I could say it was easier this year than last, but I can’t. In some ways, it was worse. For the last week or so I have been definitely out of sorts, crabby, and prone to uncontrollable bouts of tears. Simple tasks just seem so damned difficult. I see her face everywhere I look. I went to breakfast with my BFF and I was fine until a woman about my age came in with her mother – and I was torn between feeling angry that she still had her mother and feeling a loss so great it literally took my breath away. I felt like I had been gut-shot.
The loss I expected. The anger, I did not.
So, I’m angry with this poor woman who was simply taking her mom to breakfast. I wanted to stand up and say to her, Do you know how fucking lucky you are right now? Do you? You sit there and you’re having a conversation with your mother, and I don’t have mine, I HATE YOU.
That can’t be normal.
And at lunch the other day, the waiter was so damned….ENTHUSIASTIC. I mean, he was like a guy from a Secret Waiter Cult, so over-friendly and insincere I wanted to stab him with a spork. Like, shut up, bring me my sandwich, and shut the fuck up! “Anything you need, just let me know,” he says, and I’m thinking, Can you bring my mother back? No? Then leave me the FUCK alone, but of course I don’t say that. I just imagine him with a spork sticking out of his eye.
That can’t be normal, either.
#
Grief is a really sneaky, slimy buggering bastard. It will come up from behind and breathe down the back of your neck, making every hair on your body stand on end and every nerve tingle as if it’s on fire. Most days leading up to the 22nd I had no emotional control at all. My eyes would start leaking if someone simply said, “How are you today?” So embarrassing when you pump gas, go in to pay, and then start crying when the attendant says something so innocuous. I took to wearing sunglasses at every opportunity, even indoors, even when it was cloudy or getting dark.
So, of course, in this state, I just don’t want to be around people. Not just the poor innocent in restaurants or gas stations who have no idea when they greet me I’m thinking of sharp implements, but the people that know me or see me on a regular basis. I feel a bit guilty feeling so crappy and sad, and I don’t want to make other people feel sad when they look at me, leaking at the eyes from a simple “Hello,” so I try to stay to myself, ignore the phone (not difficult even on the best of days) and just shut down for a while.
#
My momma and I were very close until her drinking affected my children. At that point, I made one of the most difficult decisions of my life, and told her I couldn’t have a relationship with her as long as she was a drunk. I can’t tell you how that broke my heart and how I wish I had those eight years back. Still, later she thanked me for doing it, and told me it was the right decision. Was it?
Sometimes, I don’t feel….worthy? I guess? …to be her daughter. She was one incredible woman, let me tell you. Here is just one example: after over forty years of debilitating and destructive alcoholism, she quit drinking and got sober all by herself. Yes, you heard that correctly. She went through detox on her own – and once she decided to get sober, she did it. She went to meetings, but she did it all on her own. If you have any experience or knowledge about alcoholism, you have some idea of how difficult, if not downright impossible, that is to do, and she stayed sober for the rest of her life. We were able to reconnect and get past the pain of the drinking years, recapturing the closeness I remembered as a girl. I know how incredibly lucky I was to get my mother back and I appreciated it Every. Single. Moment.
She was far from perfect, but she was an admirable force of nature, she surely was.
Big shoes. My momma had big shoes.
#
I’m a changed person since Momma died. I didn’t expect that. I have gone through a lot of difficult experiences over the years . Up until Momma passed, I felt as if I had finally recovered and was on my way to becoming the type of person I wanted to be – maybe the kind of person I was meant to be. When Momma died, it just knocked all the pins out from under me. I’m not sure who I am anymore, even two years later.
Then I feel self-indulgent and selfish.
#
Onward. I know Momma would be pissed off if she saw me wallowing like this (and I’m quite sure she can, actually) and so, on with the Big Girl Panties. I will remind myself of the following:
1. I am nowhere near as strong as my mother, but there’s no shame in that. I highly suspect there are very few people as strong as my mother.
2. It’s okay to cry. It’s not weak or stupid.
3. I am going to miss her for the rest of my life, so I might as well get used to it.
4. Stabbing innocent people with sporks is probably illegal and it’s really not socially acceptable.
5. Grief is spectacularly selfish. She’s fine where she is, and probably already running the place.
Am I okay?
Yeah. Not great, but okay. Okay is good enough for rock and roll.
Onward.
I was a little crabby last night, I’ll admit it. Lots of work, very little sleep, and not enough caffeine can do that to a girl. After a good night’s sleep and an injection of high-test coffee, I’m feeling much better today. But, for your enjoyment, here’s a peek inside the strange planet of my brain.
If you HAD to get a piercing right now, what would it be?
It would be a piercing. Duh.
How long have you been with your boyfriend/girlfriend?
You mean I can have both? Interesting. Wish I had known that a long time ago.
Could you go out in public, looking like you do now?
Why not? I haven’t been arrested in a while.
What are you listening to at the moment?
Duran Duran is hungry like the wolf. I’d like him to bite me. Heh.
Who was the last person you promised something to?
I promised a friend I’d never tell she tried to kill someone with an energy drink. Whoopsies!
Think back two months ago, what was your relationship status?
Like I can remember that far back. I can barely remember what I had for lunch.
Has anybody ever told you that you have pretty eyes?
Um, the guy in the coffee shop. He was looking at my boobies when he said it, though, so he might not be the best witness.
Have you ever got changed in front of anyone?
Okay, look. If you don’t clean up this sentence structure I’m likely to have a rupture. Gack. Horrible.
Do you know anyone called Matt, Josh or Jake?
Um, I know a Josh. Why? What did he do?
Do you have anyone of the opposite sex you can tell anything to?
Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
Are you wearing any makeup?
Not a lick. Take me as I am or get the eff out of Dodge. Like I care.
Is there anyone that always calls you bubba?
Not always. Sometimes they call me bitch, but I prefer “Your Divine Goddessness”.
Have you ever given up on anyone?
No, but I’ve thrown up. Does that count?
Is there someone you always go back to?
Only if chocolate is involved. And maybe fried chicken.
Would you date the same sex?
Same sex as what? Please to clarify.
Do you think you will kiss someone tomorrow?
What’s wrong with right now? Come on, pucker up, ya tease.
Who called you last?
I wasn’t last, I was first.
Which is harder, telling someone you love them or that you don’t?
That’s what is known as a rock and a hard place.
If someone said, “I don’t talk shit about people,” would you believe them?
Usually people who say that do nothing BUT talk shit about people. What, do I look like I fell down with yesterday’s rain?
Last person you called?
I’m sorry, that’s classified information. Please enter your password to continue.
When someone says “we need to talk,” what runs through your mind?
I pretend I’m skiing down a mountain slope with the cold breeze blowing through my hair, and freezing me nutz off.
What do you need to say?
I need to say you are a real nosy fuckah and if I need to say something to you, you’ll know it. I’m hardly the wallflower, yanno.
Is there someone who you instantly smile when you talk to them?
It’s difficult to talk and smile at the same time. However, I have a long list of people who make me smile, whether we’re talking or not.
Where is your cell phone?
It’s that pile of smashed plastic parts in the corner over there.
If you had a plane ticket to anywhere, where would you go?
Obviously, if I had a plane ticket to “Anywhere”, that’s where I’d be going. Dumbass.
Do you like where you live?
It is an adventure of major proportions. 
Are you a forgiving person?
For the most part. Some things I can forgive, but I never forget. Hey, if I was perfect I’d be lunching with Baby Jesus.
Where’s your favorite place to get ice cream?
Out of the freezer.
What did you do today?
I ran with scissors.
Kids one day?
One day is about all I can take anymore. Heh.
Is anything bothering you?
No, anything doesn’t usually bother me. It’s the other stuff.
Was 2009 a good year for you?
Not so much.
Do you think people think bad things about you?
You have evidently mistaken me for someone who gives a shit what people think.
Who are you texting?
None of your effing business. Geez, who the hell are you?
How late did you stay up last night and why?
I stayed up until I fell asleep because I was tired. How ’bout that?
Who was the first person you talked to today?
The goblin under my bed. He wanted more dirty socks for breakfast.
Have you ever ridden a horse?
Yep.
Are you anything like you were at this point last year?
No. I’m totally different. I was replaced by a pod person and now I’m someone else. Dumbass.
Are you wearing jeans right now?
I can’t think of anything more uncomfortable, unless it’s underwear that’s too small.
What’s something you do when you’re mad?
Stick pins in the appropriate voodoo dolls. Then I sacrifice a chicken.
Are you a patient person?
Sometimes, unless I want it RIGHT NOW.
Would you rather be mad or sad?
Well, that’s a helluva choice, isn’t it? I’d rather have what’s behind Door Number Three.
Do you think you can last in a relationship for 3 months?
No, the question is, do you think YOU can last? Let’s hang, motherheifer.
Do you ever use words like stoked, souped or sick?
Dude, that’s like so gnarly.
Closest green object to you?
Shirt. I’m wearing it. You can’t get much closer than that.
What is your current mood?
Three guesses and the first two don’t count.
If you could go back in time and change something, would you?
What’s the point? You can’t outrun fate and it’s foolish to try.
Favorite color?
Oh PUH-LEEZE.
What’s your favorite smell?
You mean my favorite AROMA? Because you SMELL with your NOSE.
What are you thinking about right now
I’m thinking about how I get sucked into these memes and how I wish I knew who wrote them so I can stab them with a spork.
What should you be doing?
I am too damned old for people to tell me what I SHOULD be doing. So step the EFF off, motherheifer.
Do you like working in the yard?
Yeah, about as much as I like sticking a coat hangar in my eye.
What color are your eyes?
Laser blue. Sometimes they shoot flames.
Is there someone you just can’t imagine your life without?
My kids.
Were you happy when you woke up today?
I can’t remember that far back.
Do you believe in true love?
Sure. It’s right up there with Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny.
Has anyone laid on your bed besides you?
If they did, I hope they had a hooting good time and changed the sheets.
And it was a booger. I understood that August was going to suck, for me. I just didn’t realize how much it was going to suck. It will be two years at the end of this month that my mom passed away. No, I’m still not over it. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
****
There have been a lot of things rolling around in my head. It’s like a pool table out of control in there. I have had a Very Busy Week, and it looks like it will turn into a Much Busier Week. It has been a time of frustration and trials with a few really nice things happening. One of them is the publication of my short story, “The Blood is Not Enough”, in the August 2010 Vampire Edition of Skive Magazine. It’s the first story listed. *blush*
Skive Magazine is one of the largest literary magazines in Australia, edited by Matt Ward. Isn’t that cool?
I am really happy about this for a few reasons. I wrote the first draft of this story when I was in a workshop with two of my oldest internet friends, only they weren’t friends yet. We have stayed in touch over the last eleven years, I believe it is. Amazing. Anyway, at this workshop, writing prompts were posted all the time. They became more and more elaborate as time went by and we all got to know each other a little better.
I had never written a horror story before, and remember, this was before the whole Twilight craze. I don’t remember what the prompts were, but you had to choose between three different scenarios, or characters, maybe a list of items. I saw the prompt and thought, “How cool, maybe I can do that,” and so I did. Trouble is, I got to the last 200 words or so, and realized I’d gotten caught up in the story and I hadn’t included any of the prompts. I quickly wrote them in, and the ending actually came out quite funny, even though it was a dark story. (Heh. I’m twisted, don’t look surprised.)
I received good feedback, and was pretty proud of that story. Until Brenna and Peter started speaking to me in the middle of the night and poking me with sporks. It was quite annoying. I knew the only way to shut them up was to write them and wear them out. So, I changed the end of the story. And a few other little things.
Still not satisfied. Yammer, yammer. I think I took apart “The Blood” letter by letter, word by word, paragraph by paragraph. Even wrote Brenna’s mother’s backstory. I harassed requested a few crazy cooperative colleagues to read it over and give me feedback about what was wrong with it. The best advice I received was from a close friend of mine, Taer, who told me to chuck the entire beginning and start over. That was an eye-opening experience for me. I normally wouldn’t have considered that, because I liked the beginning — but it wasn’t the right beginning for the story, can you dig it.
So after all this time, the final draft found a home. It had been rejected a few times, and I stopped sending it out because I wanted it to appear in a magazine worthy, and I can’t lie. The story means a lot to me and the rejections stung for a moment, although I didn’t let it depress me. I know better.
To this day, Peter and Brenna still mean a lot to me and I’m glad that people are getting to meet them. I feel really good about that. Now, if I could only get fan mail or a naked minion out of it, I’d be ecstatic. Heh.
****
I take a lot of my inspiration from music. One of the greatest musical influences on me as a young lass was Queen. Love, love, love their music, always have, always will. I saw them in concert February 8, 1977 when I was but 19, and although I may have forgotten the majority of what happened in the 70′s (don’t ask, don’t tell, heh) that particular concert will never be one of them. It. Was. Amazing.
This is one of my favorite songs:
****
I know! No one like them, ever. That Freddie, what a voice. *Sigh*.
I always get this picture in my head when I hear it, of a young man back in the early 1900′s, who just arrived in America from some foreign country, maybe Italy or Greece. He’s wearing knickers and (I think they called them) a newsboy cap. He’s in a big city. He’s running the streets to survive, and he thinks of what his life might be like in a year or a hundred years. “For my life, still ahead, pity me!”
Imagine my shock when I poked around and found out this was actually Brian May’s idea of a science fiction short story. You can read the true meaning of the song here. Still, I have my own interpretation in my head. Music and short stories, flash fiction all have that in common. You may mean one thing when you write a story, and someone else could take a completely different meaning from it. Weird.
Never would have taken it in a sci-fi direction. I wonder what that says about me as writer. Hm.
****
Oh, one more thing. I write in my head a lot. I mean, a lot. Inside my head, I am articulate and every word is perfect. When I try to squeeze those words out of my mouth or through my fingertips, the words get mangled like they went through Grandmother’s wringer washer, with the rollers that liked to nip small fingers. I cough on them like giant hairballs, and I just can’t seem to express what I want to say very well. I hate when that happens. Do you ever do that? You know, write letters or blogs in your head, or stories, novel outlines, then when you grab a pen and pad you’re as constipated as if you had eaten five pounds of Wisconsin cheddar cheese?
Yeah. It’s like that.
I have been tutoring a Chinese student in conversational English every single night for two hours a session, since July 4th. It worked out to be a lot more challenging than I expected. What I didn’t consider were the cultural references which are inherent in any language. For the record, I don’t have any formal English credits other than English 101 at the college level. No degree, I’m just a working writer. But I think things went so well because of my writing background. I have written so many articles on so many different subjects, I was able to explain and field certain questions he threw my way. Try explaining the KKK and race relations, or the Native Americans, or even our modern legislation system and the housing market (in China, the government owns the land. And you can build a house, but you can only own it for seventy years, and it cannot be passed down to an heir. Also, the government can come and kick you out anytime they want. My student was fascinated by the fact we can own our own homes). Believe me, explaining things of this nature are guaranteed to make your brains leak out your ears.
Tonight was the last night of my tutoring gig with Quin Sun (not his real name). I can honestly say it was an amazing experience, and I can only hope he learned half as much from me as I did him.
****
Tonight we read out of his favorite of the “Chicken Soup” books — the one about pets. He loves animals, and was very careful to only pick out the positive stories. He didn’t want to read about anything having to do with hurt, sick, or dying animals, and if there was a part of the story in which an animal was suffering, he’d click his tongue and look at me with mournful eyes.
We also spoke of some ancient Chinese traditions that are no longer practiced today, but still very interesting. For instance, in ancient times, children did not have names until they entered school. Until then, they were called by a number — usually a combination of their birthdate and their father’s and their father’s surname. Therefore, Quin’s name, had he been born then, may have been 1-2 Sun. (OMG, how we giggled about that!) A girl never had her own name — she would be known by her father’s name, and if married, by her father’s and her husband’s name for her entire life.
When entering school, a teacher would consult with the parents and offer advice, and a name would be chosen. People who had not the means or money to attend school would be known as a number for the rest of their days. Crazy.
****
In current Chinese culture, it is common for a woman’s association of older women to act as matchmakers for the surrounding community. These aren’t arranged marriages — they are actually matchmakers. Interesting.
Additionally, it is also common for an “association” of young, pretty women to be available to rich men for dating. The gentleman and girl will arrange to meet in a public place, like a restaurant or a bar. The gentleman will then order a meal, often to the tune of several hundred dollars. The restaurant or bar is affiliated with the association, and that’s how they make money. Please bear in mind that any errors in this information are strictly mine and lost in translation, but that’s the gist. Wild.
****
He told me that sons, in China, are treated like “little emperors” and that makes for some spoiled children. I asked him if he was a “little emperor” and he laughed and nodded toward his father’s office. No, he said. No, I’m not, and I had to laugh knowing his father. He grinned back.
****
We also share a horror of the movies “The Grudge” and “The Ring” (two movies that really ick me out. Omg). While we were discussing them (*SHUDDER*) we both broke out in goosebumps. After that discussion, he loved bringing up scenes of the movie and laughing when I’d freak out.
His favorite movies were the ones with animals in them. He didn’t know “101 Dalmatians”, but was delighted when I described the premise.
****
He said he didn’t know of any battered women’s shelters in China after reading a story about a rabbit who visited shelters. He was astonished that wife beating occurs here. He didn’t really understand it. He said a Chinese wife had three options when she was fighting with her husband — she could cry, then scream and yell, then finally threaten her husband with her suicide. If that didn’t resolve things, she would move back to her parent’s house. Honestly, it was a very funny conversation when he got to the suicide part, mostly because I started giggling and said I would threaten to kill the husband before myself. He thought that was HILARIOUS. He said, you are not an inside woman. I said, no. No, I’m not. *insert hysterical giggling here*
****
It truly has been a Most Amazing Experience. He promised to stay in touch, and his father made me promise to come back next year. Quin is a very special young man, and he has been a bright spot in this summer I will not soon forget. We took pictures, and he insisted his father take one of us together. I gave him all my contact information, and he promised to write. He hugged me tight, and thanked me for all my help. I hugged him back and thanked him for allowing me to be his tutor, and told him I would cry in the car. He nodded and smiled and said, “Me too.”
Safe travels, my friend, and I look forward to repeating this experience next year.
I am neck deep in non-fic work, plus a tutoring gig teaching conversational English. It has been a long and very busy week. This is Good For Me, because it seems the busier I am the more productive. I have edited up to Chapter 10 of “Athena’s Promise” (working title) and I’m happy about that. However, the hard part of plot tweaking is about to come up. Wish me luck.
Anyway, I was poking around in my 3 Words file, and found this story. To refresh your memory, this story is a result of a group of writers who thought it would be fun to write 100 words a day around three prompt words. We all took turns posting the words, and this is one of the results. Here it is raw and unedited, written one day at a time, and I’m actually pleased with how it turned out — I think by this time, I was getting the hang of it. I don’t have a listing of the prompt words, so you’ll have to guess. Enjoy
The Last One Standing
Her pearls are in my jewelry box.
They lay in their velvet prison, reminding me of other days, better days. Lost days.
I’ll light a candle, I’ll open the box, taking the cool pearls and running them through my hands. They’ll warm from my own body heat. They feel like tears.
Comfort? There’s none. She’s moved on and left me behind, waiting and wondering.
#
Her name is Sunny. I loved her from the moment I saw her.
#
It’s like something from an old movie. I was in a video store, looking for something to watch on a lonely Friday night. It’s a small video store, a faded dream in the age of corporate owned places, but very customer service oriented. I like that they call me by name, recognize me.
I said hi to Ray, walking over to the rack featuring movies from the forties and fifties. Not looking at what I was doing, I bumped into this girl.
“Whoops!” she exclaimed, as she dropped a load of video cases on the floor.
A flash of deja-vu swept over me as I stammered my apology. I bent to help her gather up the videos.
I never knew what hit me.
“Oh, it’s okay,” she said, “My fault, really.” I rose and so did she, and we got our first good look at each other.
I can’t tell you what she saw, but I can tell what I did. Short, with long brown hair in a braid. Hazel eyes, cat’s eyes, my mother would’ve said. It wasn’t that she’s beautiful in a conventional sense; it’s something about the configuration of her features that make her seem beautiful.
She literally took my breath away.
The red sweater she wore against the snow of this morning hugged her in all the right places, and although she would tell me later of her battle with her weight, she seemed perfect to me.
“My name’s Sunny,” she smiled, and the world pulsed with her song.
“I’m Jake,” and I offered my hand. I felt my spirits and heartbeat rise when I felt her small hand nestle inside of mine as if it belonged there, as if it had always belonged there. From the widening of her eyes, I was certain she felt it too.
Was I mistaken? Even today, I don’t know the definitive answer to that question.
Her pearls are in my jewelry box.
I had no idea what to say next, so I helped her gather up the videos, too upset with myself to even think straight. I’d spend the next two days arguing with myself, but that was for later. For now, I was tongue-tied and feeling nothing but stupid.
“This is really sweet of you, Jake.”
“Uh, s’ok. My fault.”
“Don’t be silly. It was an accident. Anyway, it was nice to meet you.” She flashed me a funny grin saying, “I’ll see you around, right?”
“I’m in here all the time – I’m sure we’ll bump into each other.”
She giggled.
Even I had to grin at that one. After a final good-bye, she went to check out and I resumed perusing the videos, my mind in a maelstrom. What just happened to me? I felt as breathless as if I had climbed a stairway all the way to heaven. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, not wanting to seem needy or desperate. I stood behind the comedy section (normally I wouldn’t be caught dead in the comedy section, but it gave great cover) and watched her economical movements, her gentle banter with Ray, her graceful exit.
I’m a fool. I can admit to that much.
Once she had gone, I waited a while, moving on to the mystery section. I was trying to be cool, but I wasn’t even fooling myself. I certainly wasn’t fooling Ray. Anyone who thinks they’re going to catch Ray sleeping on the job has a big surprise coming.
I picked a movie at random and headed to the check-out counter where Ray was waiting.
“Dude, you can get picked up for stalking, then you’d be stuck with Bubba as a cellmate.”
I didn’t even pretend to not know what he meant.
“You’re a funny guy, Ray. You should take that act on the road.” I wondered how cooperative he would be if I got the nerve to ask….
As if he could read my mind, he shook his head, long hair flying. “No, buddy, you know I can’t do it.” Ray might look like a dumb, hairy monkey but he’s a sharp guy. He guarded his member’s privacy as if it were his own.
I sighed. “Yeah, I know.”
“Hakunamatata, dude.”
I hated that expression. He considered this phrase the wellspring of wisdom — all it did was piss me off.
Ray grinned. “Don’t look so glum, man. I can tell you she’s applied for a job here.”
My heart jumped like a kite on the breeze. Although I tried to keep my expression neutral, I knew Ray saw right through the façade. It’s like he can feel the same tingle I feel. I think the word is “empathetic.” He’s like that. Can’t hide a damned thing from the guy.
He’s peculiar, but in a good way. At least, most of the time. I don’t think I’d ever want to get on his bad side – but, I’m getting ahead of myself.
“You going to hire her?” Nonchalance was thrown to the wind. What the fuck, I thought.
Ray scooped up a pile of DVD cases from the counter and stacked them on a cart. “Well,” he said, “I do need somebody dependable, and the winter season is fairly busy.” He pulled “Lost Horizon” and “The Green Mile” from the stack. “You ever see either of these movies?”
I watched his reflection in the bank of windows behind him. That’s Ray. He bounces from one subject to another and sometimes it’s hard to keep track of where he’s going. I still try.
“I’ve seen ‘The Green Mile,’” I replied.
He handed me “Lost Horizon.”
“Give me that drivel you have in your hand.” I didn’t even know what movie I had picked up. I was surprised to see “Bring It On,” with a picture of vapid cheerleaders gracing the cover in my hand. Yuck.
“You need to relax, dude. Take it slow. Watch this movie, think about it. Then, if you’re still inclined, when you run into her again, ask her out for a cup of coffee. Take it from there.” Ray bagged up the movie for me, no charge. “Let me know what you think, grasshopper.” He snickered.
I just nodded, took the bag and wandered home. Sure, I’d been hurt before and there was no sense trying to hide it, at least not from Ray. He sees everything, and he’d call me out on it if he thought it was getting out of hand. He’s a strange guy, I think I mentioned that. Hanging with him for any length of time is like standing in the shade for a bit, then stepping out into the sun. It’s a lot to take all at once; somehow, you feel blinded and disoriented until the world settles back to normal.
That’s how I felt, walking back to my place with my free movie and head filled with the sound of Sunny’s voice, her cool scent, the image of the red sweater baked into my memory. What the hell just happened to me?
The cold November breeze picked up and I shivered. It was a good day to stay inside, pop in the movie and chill out. Of course, I didn’t know at the time it would be the last day of peace I would have for quite a while.
Life is funny that way. One day you’re good – the next….
Again, ahead of myself.
I let myself into my dank, basement apartment. It was a mess, but I had a better idea of how to spend my day off than cleaning it. I work six days a week at a major home improvement store, and I have no interest in improving anything on my day off.
Since it was past lunch time and I was starving, I cut a slice of stale cherry pie for my noon meal, and sat down to watch Ray’s pick.
First of all, it was mis-labeled. The movie was actually titled, “Shangri-La,” not “Lost Horizon.”
The reason this struck me is because Ray is quite anal about labeling his movies. He never makes a mistake, at least not in my experience, so this had to be deliberate. He knows how much I hate seeing dead people in a movie, I thought, so I wonder what this is all about. There’s a message here, I knew it. I also knew if I tried to pin Ray down the next time I saw him, I’d have better luck holding a cup of water in my bare hands. I’d have to figure it out all on my own.
#
It was a typical old Hollywood type of movie, meaning I loved the atmosphere. No special effects, you know, all that hype stuff that’s in movies these days. They take all the imagination out of it. Still, the title thing kept bugging me, until I heard the wails and screams from my neighbors. The slamming door finally drove me over the edge.
I pounded on the thin wall – “Hey! What the fuck over there!”
I heard nothing but muffled sobs. So ended my hard-earned peace. Did I have to go over there? Yes and no. My mama raised me right.
I sighed and walked out my door and knocked on the next one. This was not a new drama, but I wouldn’t feel right if I ignored what was going on over there. I knew someday I would see that asshole Brian’s mug shot on the wall at the post office.
The door opened and Danielle stuck her head out, mascara running from red-rimmed eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She sniffled, and opened the door a little wider. “Yes. Wanna come in?”
“Sure.” Not sure this was a good idea, I took her cold hand in my warm one.
Danielle looked old and tired to me, and she was only six months older. Exotic dancing can do that to a girl, I’ve seen. She’s told me she feels like she’s dancing for vampires; all they want is to suck the blood out of her. It showed in her face today.
As she ushered me inside, darting nervous looks out to the hallway, I noticed she’d dropped weight, and she never had it to lose. Her blond hair seemed brittle, her face gaunt. She had the most marvelous ass, but it was lost in the baggy sweats she was wearing.
She seemed lost all over.
She plucked some Kleenex from the box on the coffee table, blowing her nose. The cupboards in her kitchen were standing ajar; the end table from beside the recliner in the living room — knocked over. Danielle stood wiping her wet eyes as I surveyed the wreckage.
“You don’t have to say it. I won’t make excuses. We weren’t playing tag, and it wasn’t an artist’s tantrum. He’s an asshole. I know it.”
I sighed. What’s the point? It’s a rough life, we’re both aware. I don’t judge. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t pissed as hell.
What I wanted to do was grab Brian by the head, punch him until he screamed like a little girl, then crumple him up, tossing him out with the trash. What I did do was straighten the end table, close the cabinets and kept my mouth shut. I’ve seen Danielle go through guys like this before. There used to be a core of strength inside her, but I see it diminish a little bit with each Brian.
“You gonna be okay?”
“Sure,” she sniffled. “He’ll be back, and he’ll behave. If he doesn’t, there’s plenty more where he came from.”
I grinned at that. It’s such quintessential Danielle at her best.
She brushed her hair back from her face, and asked, “How about a cup of tea?” Not waiting for my response, she went into her tiny kitchen, putting the kettle on. “Thanks for … well, you know.”
I sat on the worn sofa. All her furniture looked blurred around the edges. “Yeah, that’s what neighbors are for.”
“You need a good girl, Jake. You deserve a good girl. Not someone like me, someone with class.” She reached for the kettle and gave a little yelp at the hot handle. “What a day,” she sighed. “When it rains, it pours.”
I just nodded. My head was still in the video store. Sunny’s voice was still in my ears, and it was keeping the regular darkness at bay.
Danielle brought two tea cups and a bowl of sugar cubes over to the coffee table. She picked up her cup, and blowing gently across the hot liquid she studied my face. She smiled as I put two lumps in my cup, stirred, and raised the impossibly fragile and feminine piece of china to my lips. She knew right away something was up.
“Something’s happened to you, Jake,” she said. “You look like you just won first prize in a contest.”
I said nothing. I just sipped my tea.
“All right, I won’t push.” Danielle settled back into her chair. “I guess it’s putting the cart in front of the horse, anyway. You wanna know what I’m gonna to do about this Brian thing.”
I shrugged, my mind a million miles away. What was Sunny doing right now? Could she be thinking about me? Would she say yes, if I were to ask her out? Did I have the balls to do it?
I missed what Danielle said next, until she attracted my attention by punching me in the arm, a typical Danielle move when she felt neglected.
“Ouch! Are you insane? That HURT.”
“Pay attention, then. If you won’t tell me what you’re all in knots about, the least you can do is pretend you’re interested in what I’m saying.”
I blew her a kiss for an apology. “I’m not telling anything. There’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re gunning for a black eye, my friend,” she sniffed. “Fuck’re you doin’ here, anyway, if you’re not gonna listen to me?”
I had to laugh. The woman’s a nut case, this is true, but we’d been neighbors for over a year, and we looked out for each other.
“Okay. Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I said I’m sick of working, paying all the bills just so Brian can go out and play, having a good time.”
“And?”
“And what?” she retorted. She shifted in her chair and crossed her magnificent legs. Although she was my friend, I could still appreciate a good set of gams.
“What are you going to do about it?” I picked up the teacup and took another sip of tepid tea. Gah, I hated the stuff. The things you do for friendship.
“You know, Jake, when we first started seeing each other, sparks flew. He didn’t mind me dancing for a living, and I didn’t mind he seemed to be the comforter for other girls. But now, well, it’s different.” She nibbled on her forefinger, a nervous habit she’d had ever since I’d known her. “It’s like real life slaps you right upside the head, and you never know what hit you.”
Is that how it would be with Sunny? I thought. Fine at first, then a slow decline? What’s worse? Living through the death of something fine, or being alone with your dreams?
“Look,” I said, “I can’t make a decision for you. Here it is, straight up — either you’re going to put up with this fruit loop or you’re not. I think you’re better than this, but if you don’t, I’m just wasting my breath.”
Some balm for the soul I am, but I confess I was getting irritated.
Danielle blinked her great blue eyes, becoming all teary again. “You do? Think I’m better?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you think?” I sighed and stood. “Dani, I love you, but you need to get your head out of your ass and face your gorgons. Small things turn into big things, and next thing you know your heart’s turned to stone.” I knew she had no idea what I was talking about, but I could feel a sense of purpose forming. I reached out, stroked her creamy skin, and she smiled. She’d be all right.
“There’s a girl, isn’t there?”
“Not yet, but I think…I think it’s a possibility.”
“I’m glad. She’s a lucky girl.” Danielle stood and took my hand, walking me to the door.
#
I walked back to my apartment, thinking about Danielle and Sunny. Thinking about how life sometimes kicks you in the balls. About how sometimes when you meet someone special, you can almost hear an audible “pop’ and your heart feels as warm as a southern breeze. Thinking how sometimes it seems only the stars in the sky understand how you feel.
When I walked in the door, the phone was ringing. Its shrill peal sent goosebumps up my spine. The last thing I wanted to do was pick it up. It refused to stop, so I picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Jake?”
“Yes.” I knew it was Ray immediately, even though he had never called me before. The skin on my skull suddenly felt too tight.
“I thought you’d want to hear it from me, dude. Sunny came in just after you left. She wanted your phone number, but you know me.”
Yeah, I know Ray.
“Still, I gave it to her. I don’t know why I did, I normally don’t do that, you know.” His voice was shaking, and I knew I didn’t want to hear what was coming next. My legs felt heavy and there was a metallic taste in my mouth.
“She was acting a little funny, like she knew something was going to happen.”
“What happened, Ray? Stop fucking around and tell me.” I had to sit down, my legs wouldn’t support me any more.
“I’m trying to, man,” and I realized with some horror Ray was crying. He was crying.
“She took your number and left a box for you. She called them her ‘precious memories’ and said you would understand. Then she…she…left to catch the bus. You know the stop is right across the street.” Ray was practically blubbering by now, and I could see her as if she were standing right across from me, curls escaping the tight braid and that smile. My heart clenched and I was sure it was going to stop beating.
“Go on, Ray. Just spill it,” I said, my voice unwavering.
“It…it was a truck, Jake. A young kid, just got his CDL. I’m so sorry, man.”
I hung up the phone. What else was there to say, after that?
#
After I picked up the package Sunny had left for me, I didn’t go to Ray’s much. Actually, I’ve not been back. It’s not Ray’s fault, but it is hard for me to take.
Inside Sunny’s package were her pearls. I hold them in my hands, feel them warm against my skin and sometimes I can feel her close. Time ticks by and I’m left behind, wondering what could have been, what should have been, and what will never be.
It’s hard to be the last one standing.
…there was a group of writerly friends — you know the type. Friends who had aspirations to literary greatness. One of these friends had the brilliant idea of posting three words as a prompt every day, and those participating would write 100 words of an ongoing story incorporating those three words. The friends thought that was a marvelous idea, and all took turns posting three words. At the end of a month, each friend ended up with an unusual and entertaining 3k word story.
Although sometimes time was tight and inspiration lacking, most of the participants did indeed finish their stories. Some couldn’t tie everything up in one month (not mentioning any names, ahem) and continued their story for several months. Others were much better about it and finished a story every month. A good time was had by all. The brilliant originator still carries on now and then to this day, and even put together some PDFs of all the original work. Some funny, funny shiz-niz and hilarity has ensued.
Special thanks to Dave Burton, for shepherding us and keeping us motivated and on track.
For your entertainment, I present you with the first story I wrote for 3Words, complete and unedited. I could have bolded the three words given every day, but I think you can tell anyway. Heh. Instead, I’ve included the listing after the story.
Here it is naked. It was a blast to write, and I hope it’s as much fun to read.
Transmigration
By Nayskya
Marissa put the fish in his sock and sunk it down the well like the witch had told her. The full moon shone brightly in her liquid eyes, pulling out tears like strings of pearls.
She swayed to an unearthly lullaby, stretching her slim arms over her head towards the unbelievable moonlight. Her small feet moved in an intricate dance over the fragrant petals of gardenias, tissue-soft against her soles.
Marissa danced in mystery against the infection in her head. She danced in supplication, for mercy, until her feet throbbed with weariness. She bent, scooped up a handful of colourless sand and clenched it tightly.
She released the sand into the cool night air, watching it shimmer and fall to earth. “Thee art my ticket,” she whispered, while her heart railed against the black bitch-witch working the intricate, delicate spell.
Moving to the beach, Marissa retrieved a cushion of sea teeth she had fashioned from a worn pair of her beloved’s work pants. She held it close and inhaled, his masculine scent filling her nostrils.
From her hiding place beneath the banana-shaped rock, she pulled out her velvet spell bag. She knew it was a race to finish in time. He was depending on her; she couldn’t let him down.
Rummaging in her velvet bag, her trembling fingers closed upon the potion bottle wedged sideways between his picture, framed in tiny bones, and the spell book. Waves pounded a musical rhythm against the sandy beach.
She drank down the secret potion and chanted the words of power, the cumbersome syllables falling like stones from her dry lips. She drew the ancient symbols of protection and invocation with her pointed dagger.
The spell completed, seawater swelled until it exploded, drenching Marissa in salty tears cried over millennia.
To her credit she continued her chanting, never stopping even as she ducked the worst of the deluge.
Out of the heaving waves appeared the face of a man, framed by sea-foam, with dark hair and large, expressive eyes. His mouth was a rictus of agony as he fell back into the water.
“From the grip of she that holds you, I command thee!” shouted Marissa over the scream of the waves. “From the ash of a seared heart, as cheese from the wheel, I do claim thee!”
The man’s face reappeared, scarred with pain, his arms flailing. “Your friend needs thee – the grave plot closed to thee – return to those that love thee most!” Marissa’s voice was hoarse with salt and heartache.
Pulling out her jewelled dagger, she drew it down the inside of her left arm, a long line of heart’s blood dripping to the damp sand that shifted beneath her feet. The demon wind howled.
As soon as her blood hit the sand, the wind hushed to a murmur. Marissa’s body went stiff, locked to the earth. The angry sea disgorged its prisoner; a single tear snuck down Marissa’s cheek.
Unable to move, Marissa watched as a luminous ball of blue light danced over the still water and over the prone figure of the man. She saw him breathing as the light winked over him.
The clear blue light brushed over his hair and down the length of his body, illuminating the bleached pieces of driftwood strewn about. A mild breeze caressed Marissa’s skin; dried the tears upon her cheeks.
Marissa tried to move but the solid earth held her fast and all she could do was watch and wait. Months of preparation and sacrifice had sucked tears of blood from her. Her world trembled.
The light emitted a bright ray that struck Marissa resulting in her silhouette appearing as a shadow on the sand, bookmarking her place in one reality when another beckoned, seduced and demanded payment in full.
She heard the man pull in a tearing breath, saw him raise his head and blink furiously against the light. Her heart pumping double time, she became aware of an unexpected and heart-stopping call.
A crystal horn sounded as the man gained his feet. The blue light caressed him still, as if loathe to give up according to plan. He leaned his head back and voiced a thrilling answer.
A loud moan escaped him as the blue light fondled him. A red floor of tiny sea creatures formed under the man and flowed over his legs, up on to his torso. The light pulsed.
The sea creatures covered the man completely. Marissa was torn between loss and hope, watching this transformation. The selfish side of her dreaded this drastic resolution, knowing deep down inside there was no other way.
As the man changed, creatures swarmed, creating a new schnizzle. He sneezed several times, shaking the creatures but not dislodging them. “Gesundheit,” Marissa whispered, wishing she had become a wino before getting to this point.
The man continued to writhe, and Marissa knew she would remember how the red sea creatures fluttered against his flesh for the rest of her life. Oops – that probably wasn’t going to be for long.
She had not lost all – he’d survive. This was her purpose, why she’d paid the price demanded of her. The wind freshened and feeling returned to her numb body. She lunged toward where he lay.
Marissa screamed at the searing pain in her legs, as she bumped her toe against a half-buried rock in the wet sand. Her heart wanted to fly to his side, but her body betrayed her.
As bad as she wanted to reach his side, a giant ladybug trundled onto the beach and barred her way. Marissa fell to the sand as her reality started to fray at the seams.
She became blind to any and everything around her as colors merged and textures faded. The only thing that was left was love… she clung desperately to that in her journey to the next awaiting reality.
~ * ~
BIO: Nayskya is a four hundred year-old Russian mermaid who has given up her career of inseminating oysters to produce pearls in order to pursue a caree in fiction. She has no legs but has been known to knock out ten men at one blow of her powerful tail. She enjoys listening to the song of the whales and her hobbies include seduction, swimming with the dolphins and diving wrecks. She prefers swimming in cold waters, is studying English as her seventy-seventh language, and her greatest wish is for world peace.
~*~
Sock, fish, sunk
Unbelievable, tissue, lullaby
Mystery, head, infect
Bitch, ticket, shimmer
Cushion, teeth, pants
Banana, bag, race
Sideways, bottle, frame
Point, cumbersome, secret
Explode, duck, credit
Out, fall, boys
Cheese, grip, ash
Plot, friend, scar
Shift, damp, long
Lock, snuck, hush
Dancing, wink, balls
Brush, mild, bleach
Suck, wait, try
Result, bookmark, silhouette
Pump, blink, tear
Plan, horn, lean
Fondle, moan, floor
Torn, side, cover
Wino, gesundheit, schnizzle
Remember, oops, flutter
Lunge, wind, lost
Bump, fly, scream
Bar, bug, bad
Blind, love, any
Tags: 3 words, Fabulous Fiction Friday, friends, good times, writing
There’s always something happening in the writerly world of Nettaland, and I really should be spanked for not blogging regularly. I could promise to be better about that, but I hate breaking promises. The shards are sharp and really hurt when you step on them.
Anyway, here’s the hodge-podge of what’s currently on the table:
~ I am closing on on the completion of a Special Project, and I’m excited. My client is happy with me, and says so here. Truth is, she’s been a dream client, and I can’t wait until “Lovers and Beloveds” hits the shelves. Believe me, you will love it. I think the pre-orders are open until July 15, but you can find out more information here. Hop on, because I have a feeling this thing is gonna blow wide open. Remember, you got the scoop here
~ With the completion of this project, I will have two openings for editorial services in about two weeks. Contact me for details.
~ Some of you who have followed me on my private blog are most familiar with my whining about “The Blood”. This is a short story whose history is ten times longer than the final word count. I won’t tell the story behind the story here (but I will if it’s published, promise) but suffice to say it’s been a long, torturous road with this thing. It is one of those stories that JUST. WON’T. LET. GO. I wrote the initial inception SEVEN years ago. Yes, you heard that right. It has been reworked and rewritten until I was satisfied, has garnered more rejections than a pimply-faced thirteen-year old at a high school dance, and I finally got to the point where I figured it was just going to be one of those stories that meant more to me than it ever would to anyone else.
Until one of my favorite magazines put out a call for vampire fiction. I sent it in. No word yet, but all signs look promising. I’ll post the link and tell the story should it be picked up.
~ One of my favorite authors has a new story up at Strange Horizons and it is LOVELY. Love her work. Check it out.
~ For those who are looking for a website and book cover designer, I can’t recommend Matt highly enough. He’s not only talented, the man’s a machine, great to work with, and an all-around nice guy, even if he is an Aussie 
. If you have a need, he’s your guy.
~ I’ve been asked to guest blog on Cape Cod Holistic, so that’s something I’ll be working on. I’ll post the link when it goes live — but it’s a great website and I’m honored to be asked to be a part of it. I’m contemplating subject matter, and hope to have something up in the next few days.
~ Ah, yes. Pallas. She tasks me, so she does. I’m really wondering, at this point, since the ending seems to be giving me fits, if I should just leave the ending alone and start editing from the beginning since the first chapter continues to bug the hellfire out of me. It’s the weakest chapter of the lot, in my opinion, and the more this beast sits in the trunk the more I see what’s wrong with it and how to fix it. I realize there’s no rules and I can do what I want, but the truth is I’m in uncharted territory here. I really need to finish this thing, but stuff like Life and Paying Work has had to take precedence. Stress. I haz it.
Other than that, I continue to plod along, and wonder why I didn’t choose an easier career. Heh.
Tags: editing, hodge podge, links, pallas, writing
Credit to Charlie Riedel / AP
By Christopher Bertonica
Fuck this question, the question that should be asked is how did we as human beings let this situation (and others) happen in the first place? The level of awareness that humanity needed to overcome the obstacles of our own demise is long lost. This world of greed will die in greed b/c that’s what is making everyone happy. No argument. If it wasn’t, then wouldn’t it change? What is it? It is everything we have influence over. We are everyone on this planet. This oil spill and other bullshit are really the thoughts of the masses??? Then I have the answer:
Push the red button. Or our children will die a much worse fated ending. WE ARE SEALING THE DEAL.
Only when the last tree has died,
And the last river been poisoned,
And the last fish been caught,
Will we realize we cannot eat money.
- Cree Indian Proverb
Fuck the world. I don’t want see my nephew starve to death or die of poisoned air. But, for some reason, not enough people care to do something about it. The whole concept eludes me to my highest understanding. WE ARE COMMITTING MASS SUICIDE ON A GLOBAL SCALE WITH EXPONENTIALLY INFINITE RESULTS. Someone died of starvation while I wrote this. Another from a curable disease they couldn’t pay for except to keep our electricity on for 30 years…. and one more on her way because she won’t get her gall bladder stent out. I wonder how I would feel if someone close to me passed away on something so insignificant. You can’t change people? Wrong. Your actions can. I lost a friend in a drunken driving accident a few years ago. I should never drink and drive anyway, but I definitely watch myself when I know I need to be driving. His actions changed me.
Put the animals out of the misery we artificially created for them or I fear the “life” they are given back will ultimately be far worse. The skies will only get darker, the water more bitter and the food more rotten. Farmers throw milk away now because of regulations. Farms with cows can produce enough clean burning methane to power their mother cities. Less than 1% of the largest desert on this planet would need to be covered with solar panels to power the world. You can run gasoline engines on methane. It was on fuckin “Mythbusters”, man. FUCKIN MYTHBUSTERS?
Again, fuck you world. You can slowly poison me and take everything away, but you will never end my will. As a baby has no understanding of its existence when it is first born, then so to death and the next existence for me.
We have no time left but to wait for the consequences.
Tags: bullshit, Death, guest post, Gulf oil spill
The only excuse I have for not getting to this review sooner is – life. Things have been really hectic in Netta-land, but when The Desert Spear by Peter V. Brett hit the shelves in April of this year you can bet my ample behind was in my favorite Borders, getting me some of that.
You may ask why a dead-broke, struggling writer hack shelled out a nice chunk of change for a hardcover book. Even if you don’t ask, I’m going to tell you anyway. Because I’m worth it! After the fantastic debut of The Warded Man in March of 2009, which I also have in hardcover (signed, too, nyah nyah) there’s no way I was going to miss the release of TDS. (You can read my review of TWM here.) It is so seldom in fantasy literature I find anything that piques my interest, keeps my interest, or actually inspires anything but dead boredom. Does The Desert Spear deliver? (No pun intended.)
It does. Brett takes us deep into Krasia to get to know Jardir, a contender for the title of “Deliverer” and an ex-friend of Arlen’s, a bit better. The Krasian way of life is harsh reality in a warrior culture, and Jardir’s childhood in this culture explains a great deal. Peat’s details and characterizations bring Krasian ways into sharp focus, offering a look into a warrior-dominated culture and strict caste system, and how it shapes events and lives. I don’t want to post any spoilers here in case you haven’t read it yet (and what the hell are you waiting for??) but suffice to say although I may understand Jardir a little better, I still don’t like him and one of his decisions in the first book still irks me.
After a visit to Krasia, fascinating as it was, I was eager and very happy to meet up with Arlen, Leesha, and Rojer again, among others. It is interesting how their lives remain deeply connected, even when destiny takes them in different directions. Arlen continues to evolve, and he just gets more interesting with every sentence. Although, I will say his self-sacrificing ways can be annoying. Leesha is her capable self, but I find one particular action on her part had my jaw hitting the floor, especially with her background. No spoilers, but I felt as if one particular aspect of Krasian culture should have affected her more than it did. This is my own personal opinion, mind. I didn’t like one specific situation, but I don’t have to like it to love the story. And the story rocks.
We learn more about the corelings and we meet with old friends and acquaintances. Brett is a master at pacing, and I spent too many nights staying up way past my bedtime because I couldn’t wait to turn the page. Was The Desert Spear as good as The Warded Man?
I think that’s like comparing apples to oranges. Not only that, but I have to admit to a personal connection with The Warded Man which renders me unable to be objective about this topic. I will say The Desert Spear is different from TWM, and there’s nothing wrong with that. As a fan, it may have been a bit disconcerting in places, but I like being pushed from my comfort zone.
I tried to take my time reading it, but I’m not that disciplined. It came too soon, but the end of The Desert Spear is not really the end at all, but a beginning of Sharak Ka. I almost wish I’d waited longer to pick up TDS, because that would make waiting for The Daylight War , next in the series, seem a little shorter. The upside is I can read TDS over and over until The Daylight War appears. It can’t come soon enough.
Tags: Arlen, Jardir, Peat, peter v brett, The Desert Spear, the painted man, The Warded Man
I don’t watch a lot of television, preferring to pick things up on Hulu or other authorized sites. Since the cancellation of “Firefly” after one season, “Carnivale” after two, and “Defying Gravity” after half a season, I usually wait until a series has run its course before I jump on the bandwagon. (Such as “LOST” — I’ll be watching that now there’s an actual series finale.) I just hate loose ends. Not that I need them all tied up, understand, but if you start a story with a 5 year arc, I WANT TO SEE IT ALL.
I made an exception this past viewing year. I started watching “Flash Forward”. Fascinated by the premise, I was hopeful this would be the one, the show to entertain me, keep me guessing, and satisfy my craving for solid entertainment so rare anymore in the forest of reality-type shows…although I enjoy some of them as well.
Of course, Flash Forward was canceled. I’m starting to think I’m the Typhoid Mary of dramatic, sci-fi type television series. *sigh*
Being a girl of action, I wrote a letter to Stephen McPherson, High Muckity-Muck of ABC programming.
Dear Mr. McPherson,
I feel like a walking curse. I’m scared — actually terrified — to turn on my television and watch anything other than reality shows because every series I watch seems to get the axe quicker than my live-in brother-in-law cleans out the refrigerator on grocery day (don’t ask, just feel my pain). First, it was “Firefly”. Although I feel as if I’ve never recovered, at least I did get some closure from “Serenity” and that was exactly what my therapist said I needed. Next, was “Carnivale”, and that one almost put me in Intensive Care. The dangling storyline still haunts me in my dreams, and makes the hamsters in my head run on the wheel of my brain until their tiny little paws are nothing but bleeding stumps.
Do I have to mention “Defying Gravity”? Yes, I watched, and yes, I liked it, and of course, it was canceled. Now I will never know what was in that *$(%*&# pod, or what was going to happen when they finally arrived on Saturn. The pod thing really bothers me. Now, you’ve gone and canceled “Flash Forward”. My therapist says I need to learn to let go, but Mr. McPherson, how could you? You made me care about Mark, Livvie, Charlie, Dem (but not his girlfriend, I never liked her) and Janis. I even liked Simon, although I wanted to punch him deep in the throat a couple of times. You made me care about these people, about what was going to happen, and then POOF! Gone. I’m sobbing as I write this, Mr. McPherson. Actually sobbing. I need tissues. *sniffle*
I have no idea what happens when a network decides to cancel a show, and I don’t want to know, actually. What I do want to know is if my sacrifice of a live chicken, naked bonfire dancing, and out-and-out wailing, sobbing, and gnashing of teeth will do anything to change your mind about the cancellation of Flash Forward. I honestly tried to watch “V”, but for me, it is the far inferior show. I am forced to watch reality shows, because at least I know there will be a resolution of sorts, and they always come back. Kinda like cockroaches living seven days after you cut their heads off, if you know what I mean. But what my brain really craves to stave off those damned furry rodents running the wheel is stimulating, entertaining, and puzzling television. With the cancellation of Flash Forward, I’m not getting it, and the hamsters are not only getting restless, they’re starting to eat copious amounts of brain cells.
Please, please, PLEASE. Bring back Flash Forward. I know the chickens in my yard will appreciate it, and so will the neighbors who peek at me with binoculars when I do the naked bonfire dancing.
Sincerely,
Annetta Ribken
I have a feeling I’m gonna be stuck with “The Bachelorette”. On second thought, I’d rather eat nails.
*sigh*
What You’re Saying