Life is...Good

Rather odd for me to be admitting this, but yeah, life is sweet at this particular point in time.

1. Bruce Campbell is the official spokesperson for Old Spice, ergo, I now have a reason to watch commercials. Huh? You haven't seen it yet? Just go to You Tube and you can take a look as to why he's still Groovy (bonus: the chainsaw shows up in front of the fireplace).
2. It's official, Bruce Campbell will be in Spiderman 3, his official capacity (or so I've read some net rumors) is that it has something to do with Mysterio (the supervillain with a jar on his head) in a manner that "you're not used to seeing Mysterio" whatever that means. I'm guessing it has to do with "sans jar" or some such.
3. I just saw Hannibal Rising and so what if it didn't follow the book and so what if the book was way better and so what if this kid is a poor substitute for Anthony Hopkins (in all fairness to the actor anyone would have difficulty following in the esteemed footsteps of Sir Hopkins. This guy (sorry I can't remember/too lazy to look up his name right now) did as good as could be expected though) and so on and so forth. Who the hell really cares about all that when the combination of what should get the award for "Most creative use for mayonnaisse" is combined with the ultra-ultimate-best face munch ever on the big screen? Overall, I may not label this the "best" of the series (that honor goes to "Red Dragon" IMO), but it's one hell of a way to say goodbye. B+

Perhaps

Inspired after watching "Bridge to Teribithia" and listening to my husband explain how "Everyone has to die when it's their time" or some other such nonsense:

Perhaps the only reason I exist is to teach you that you aren't perfect. Perhaps the only reason I still live is because you want me to die. And maybe, just maybe, the lesson you need to learn has to do with dealing with difficult people. And I'll give you that, I'm a pain in the ass. I take no quarter because I'll settle for nothing less than tolerance.

Tolerance of others.

What a concept.

So, maybe, just maybe, I'll die when you stop wanting me to.

Another Reason Why I Hate Norms

I'm about midway through reading Hannibal Rising, and I saw a commercial for the movie. Well, hell, I've always liked the Doc and the book makes me like him even more. But frankly Lady Murasaki (referred to as "the woman in his life" in the trailers) ticks me off.

A little background if I may indulge myself (feel free to skip if you wish to either read the book in full or see the movie before stumbling across any spoilers. And trust me, this post is gonna be loaded with 'em). In short, at the age of ten Hannibal (or Hanny as I call him in our correspondences) had his parents killed in front of him during WWII in Russia. Over that winter Hanny ate, against both his will (and more than likely his ability to comprehend to even the most brilliant 10yo, which he certainly was) he and his captors consumed not just his parents, but almost the entire household staff, an Albanian boy who was hiding out in the barn (talk about your ultimate loser in a game of hide and seek), and Hanny's 3yo sister, Mischa. The future Doc survived only out of sheer luck. Ie, the war in Russia was over.

In other words, it's completely understandable why Hanny doesn't say a damn thing for the next three years. Before I tell you what he said and to whom, that three year gap needs to be filled in.

After the war, the original Lecter homestead was turned into an orphanage. And well, since Hanny is an orphan he stays there for a while. Luckily for a particularly abusive teacher who thinks it would be a good idea to beat the crap out of a mute just to see if he could scream Hanny's Uncle (Count Lecter) shows up to whisk the future Doc off to Paris to live with him and his Japanese wife Lady Murasaki.

Count Lecter and Lady Murasaki are "the good guys" who truly provide a safe haven for the young Hanny. He is both taught and accepted. In this environment, were it to last and the outside world, were it not to interfere with its bitterness and vial hatred for "that which is different" Hannibal would have remained happily mute, screaming out only in his nightmares, while he spent his days painting pictures of beetles on flowers.

But, the world, recently recovered from WWII ain't so nice, especially to its former enemies, classified in one lump as "Japannoisse" (from what I can tell it's a French vulgar for "Nip"). One butcher in particular whose name escapes me at the moment even had the audacity to ask Lady Murasaki if a certain body part was slanted sideways.

Hannibal spoke the first word he said in the three years since he was rescued: "Beast" and went upon the butcher so viciously it took two full grown men to pull him off. A slap on the wrist by Inspector Popil (in the commercials, he's the one giving Hannibal his first, of what would be many, "lie detector" tests) and Hanny was free to go.

But I knew, as I'm sure you do, that even then, the butcher was doomed to be the first of many victims.

Did he deserve it? Ah hell, I dunno, nor do I care. It's fiction after all. But that's not the point of this post either. The important part is this, not only did Lady Murasaki know what happened but she was damned pleased about the whole thing. Ie: "You did this for me?" were her exact words. The impression I got from reading the book was her tone was along the lines of a guy buying a dozen roses for his gal. Or heck, even a house for his bride to be.

In short, Lady Murasaki was neither pissed, nor outraged, nor stunned, nor any of those things even I could picture myself being. In fact, the more she finds out about the particular details of the crime, the more pleased she becomes. And yeah, Hannibal started his elaborate, torture ritual murders at the age of thirteen. Gotta admire those early bloomers.

And here's the point where I just wanna bitch slap Lady Murasaki. Granted, I haven't finished reading the book, but her reaction to Hannibal when what he's doing later as he recalls names and faces of everyone that forced him to eat his family and takes out his vengence on them.

She freaks and tells him to stop.

What the?

Ok, so, let me get this straight. It was not only ok, but admirable if he killed for you for what could be considered an eye-for-an-eye (since the butcher is presumed to have caused, if not directly, then indirectly, the death of Count Lecter (he died of a heart attack somewhere along the way of intending to order the butcher to apologize to Lady Murasaki. Whether the Count died on the way there, during a tussle, or on the way back is unclear) and for what could best be called "the ultimate in bad manners." She's fine with that.

But for Hannibal to go after someone for his own honor, she freaks out and spazzes?

Ugh! Talk about nerve.

Sporks vs. Straws

Taco Bell, as of this writing, has little sayings on their "hot" sauces (aka ketchup for for their imitation Mexican food). These sayings are few, but what really irks me is that they have these two quotes backwards: "I collect straws" and "At night, the sporks scare me." AHEM! What kind of freakish norm thing is that from one of the last legitimate sources of sporks?

Straws are scary, what with their assisted ability to suck liquid out of any damn thing (case in point, McDonald's and Sonic straws are really scary, because of that shake sucking ability which is major distortion time).

Sporks, on the other hand are versatile weap...I mean...utensils that only have a bad rap because of the flimsy ones that were once used (and may still be) for school cafeteria lunches. Don't blame the messenger people! It's not like it's the spork's fault that the only thing that was worse than the way the food looked was the way it tasted.

Advice for Loan Sharks

Loan sharking can be quite profitable and it can work wonderfully either as a primary source of income or as a sideline to other "lucrative" endeavors. However, not just anyone can be in this business as it takes a certain level of knowhow to truly succeed. Follow these tips and you'll be sure to find yourself in the money in no time flat.

• When determining interest rates for your loans, find a balance between what the banks are currently charging and what only those who don't need the money in the first place will pay. If you go for the first, you'll be seen as a sucker by your fellow loan sharks and if you go with the latter you'll find yourself out of business before you start.
• Let your customers know up front the fees you will be charging, at least initially is a wise choice. Having them find out the penalty for paying late, however, is something that is best they find out on their own.
• It is not your job to feel sorry for someone if they have lost their job, their mother died, etc. It is your job to get the money by any means possible. Loan sharking is not a business for those who are capable of feeling empathy.
• On breaking knee caps: break only one. Pain is real, recently experienced pain is very real, death is abstract. Give them something to dread (ie, the other kneecap being broken) before they think twice about paying late again. If they still haven't paid within the specified time, just kill 'em. Why waste your time with a deadbeat?
• Don't expect your muscle to be brilliant, or, for that matter, much smarter than their own shoelaces. Brains and brawn are an odd combination indeed. If, however, you do find someone able to make intelligent executive decisions, reward them handsomely. I suggest a health plan with full dental.
• On that note, don't tell anyone "I didn't hire you to think." Even idiots can be inspired by an idea that can make or break a business and it's better that you hear about it than someone else.
• Don't hire anyone that talks too much. Chances are they'll tell the wrong people what you're up to. Note, this is good advice for any business of this sort come to think of it.
• Find out who can be bribed and then just blackmail the rest.

Techno Heaven

I feel I fall somewhere between a techno-phile and a techno-freak. What can I say? If it's new and it has lots of shiny buttons, I want it. Heck, I don't even care if it's new, as long as it's newer than what I had before.

Which is why I'm going absolutely batty over my new monitor. Flat screen, LCD, high definition--2000:1--hell, I don't even know what that means. All I know is that I can play with the entire range of sizes, that there are things on Blogger that I didn't even know existed before. Take for example that blue bar that's the background on my title? There are bubbles. I had no idea.

Well, maybe that's not my monitor, but the new graphics card. Who the heck cares? Everything looks cooler.

Don't ask me what I need all this stuff for. I don't, not really. Well, that game I've been wanting to play perhaps, but that's going to be distracting as an all get out as soon as we can get the thing to work. (Total number of times this game has tried to install into this computer: 5. Number of times my husband has thrown the game across the room: 2. Number of times that I've said, "Yeah, that'll make the game do what you want it to.": 2)

My computer is not the only thing that has been blessed with a technological upgrade, I just got a new CD player. CD player? You may ask, Ipods are the thing! Well, like I said, it's new for me! And, at the end of the day, that's all that really matters. That and the fact the CD player came with digital headphones.

Lawdy, there's words in music I had never heard before. Specifically, spoken words. And the clarity...I could go on and on, but I don't think I will. Especially since I want to take more time to look at the Blogger bubbles.

Stupid Characters and What to Do About Them

Well-developed characters like to wander all over the place. They'll tell you about your Aunt Edna, that experience with the pudding and a ladder, they'll even tell you about that time when they lost their tooth in the first grade and the Tooth Fairy forgot to show up and how it traumatized them for life.

Experience writers know how to give the characters just enough rope so they can tell an interesting story, but not so much that they end up hanging themselves. Or, at least that's the theory. Because sometimes a character will come across a situation he or she simply can't handle. It's one thing if you've got someone who shouldn't be able to adapt to the situation and it's early enough in the book where this character would need some help. It's another thing altogether if the character is supposed to have some sort of training and sits there like a bump on a log doing nothing.

When this happens, I'll have an interview with the character right then and there. Chances are he or she isn't as competent as I thought or fear has knocked all sense out of his or her head. Either way, I find out what the hell is going on and try to figure out a solution to the problem. If it's early enough in the story, I'll drop in someone who can help. If it's later on? That idiot is going to die and there's nothing I can do to stop it from happening.

Not that I really want it to.

Why Multi-Tasking is Not a Good Idea

Plotting out your next novel while waiting for the doctor, despite what some folks might think, is not multi-tasking. That's just a way to avoid having to read crappy magazines.

On the other hand, running your own counterfeit ring while being an otherwise elusive and hard to catch serial killer, is. It's also a bad idea as James Mitchell (“Mike”) DeBardeleben II found out.

So, boys and girls, the lesson for the day is "If you're going to be a serial killer, for heaven's sake, do not make funny money."

What the Hell Has Happened to Me?

In my early days of posting in public message boards (way before avatars were commonplace) I used to be bold. I'd ask anything that was on my mind. I'd tell someone to stick it in places and ways that I'd only dream about doing in real life. Funny thing is, I'd make both cyber friends and enemies quicker than would be possible in real life.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'd never go so far as to break or even bend posted rules of the boards (not that the concept really existed way back when...or, more specifically on the boards that I was at). I'd respect those in charge but not to the point of kowtowing.

Today though, there was a series of questions I wanted to ask someone, privately, but I didn't, nor do I plan to. What in the world is going on? Ok, the questions are controversial and about a controversial POV. I pretty much know how this person feels about this specific topic, I just wanted, well, details.

So why not just ask them, point blank?

Funny thing is, I don't know this person. Sure, I've seen a few posts and she's liked a few of mine as well (this is on a board with "rep points" and comments re: said points). She seems to be witty, open-minded and intelligent but other than that I'm not sure about her.

Perhaps I've matured in my attitude towards others in cyberspace. I approach others and speak with them as I would in real life. I'll ask what questions are important to me and my world when someone is out there that may be able to answer these questions, but, if for some reason it's not immediately important that I get the question answered, I can be patient. I give time for a friendship to develop before I'll ask these same nosy questions I would have asked before.

Is that cowardice or maturity? I haven't decided yet, but until then, I'll keep the questions to myself. Well, unless it becomes information I need for a character, then I'll ask anyway.

Corpse Disposal: Part 2

In my last post I covered the most basic supplies that you will need in case of an impulse murder. This post presumes, however, that you now have the time to eliminate or otherwise dispose of a corpse.

• Dumpster: For this method you'll just need a dumpster. For best results choose one far and away from the original murder scene. On a scale of 1-10 of recommended methods of disposal however, this one ranks a -1,000. There are just so many ways the body can be found even long after it has been brought to the dump.
• Wood Chipper: Great if you live out in the country, not so good if you live in an apartment in the city as neighbors' will complain about the noise, plus it's a pain to haul up the stairs.
• Acid: Be sure to use a heavy duty acid such as hydrochloric so that the body will dissolve quickly. If you don't want to destroy the flooring of your home, you may also wish to have a vat. However, if you are an apartment dweller and find the downstairs neighbors annoying, skip the vat and leave town for a long long while as the acid will destroy both your floor and your alibi.
• Hope Chest: Unless your victim is petite, prepare to use an axe or chainsaw to chop him or her up. Since this is a rather messy procedure, you may also wish to cover up. I recommend a used butcher's apron since it already has bloodstains on it and any more will go unnoticed. Laying down plastic is also a good idea, especially since you can use that to wrap up the entire mess and just dump into the chest. One final note on hope chests, since you will more than likely have to get rid of that as well (vis a vis burial or submerging) make sure that the grandma that gave it to you is already dead (bonus irony points if the gift-giver is the one hidden in the chest).
• Shallow Grave: Don't do this. Ever. Animals like to dig stuff up, especially stuff that smells like food and the cops will find the corpse before you can brag about it at the local bar. If you must dig up a hole in order to dispose of your corpse, take your danged time and tell any curious passers by that you found a treasure map and you just know the dubloons are down there somewhere.
• Consumption: Don't knock it 'til you've tried it I always say. And with the price of meat just going through the roof, placing long pig stew on the menu just may do wonders for your budget. Unfortunately, this means you still have to get rid of the bones and since Rover likes to bury them in the backyard and will more than likely dig up a tell-tale skull at the most inconvenient time, grinding the bones to a fine powder and then just dumping them in the garbage may be the best solution. I recommend doing this with an old fashioned mortar and pestle since bones are hell on a food processor.
• Incineration: Do your research before you try this method. Your household oven is not a good place to try and get rid of a body, nor is an industrial convection oven recommended. Slip it in with other corpses to be cremated during an extra busy period (winter holidays are the best for this) and no one will know that your vic's ashes just got mixed in with the dearly departed Aunt Edna.
• Drowning: It can not be said enough: make sure the body will remain permanently submerged. Weigh it down with chains, cement boots, whatever it takes to assure a gaseous, water filled body will not float to the surface. Shallow lakes and rivers are also bad choices. Choose the deepest part of the ocean you can possibly get to and dump it over the side. Cruises are especially great times for this kind of disposal.
• Toilets: This is only here because this has been tried and tried again without success. Don't do it unless you're a professional plumber who can tear apart those pipes and fix that clog on your own, Draino just doesn't cut it.

Corpse Disposal: Part 1

While it is best to plan how you will be disposing of a corpse well ahead of time sometimes you just lose your cool and the next thing you know you've got a body that you need to take care of. There are several things you need to take into account before deciding how to eliminate the potential evidence:

• Your weight compared to the corpse's weight. If you're a big and burly fellow and the vic is petite, tossing him or her over your shoulder shouldn't be a problem. A bit messy, sure, but at least you'll only have to make one trip and dragging him or her across the lawn (or down to the basement) will be unnecessary since you can just lift and toss. If the reverse is the case, then perhaps chopping or otherwise segmenting the corpse will be needed before you can even move it.
• Time. If you've planned ahead, you can take all the time you have in order to get in a good corpse disposal. If, however, you've lost your cool and the party guests are in the next room just toss the unfortunate vic into a nearby trunk or armoire, do a quick mop up and hope for the best until you can do the job properly. Alternatively, hide the vic in plain sight. Assuming that alcohol has been consumed by said vic, then propping them up in a drunken pose will serve its purpose until later. Granted, this risks that you could get discovered, but being that most people at a party are highly unobservant, the chances of them even noticing ol' Jim is missing is very slim and won't happen until you've found the time.
• Method of homicide. For most methods of disposal, this isn't even an issue but if you have poisoned your victim, consuming the flesh is not recommended. Unless, of course, you wish to find yourself posthumously awarded with a Darwin.
• State of the victim before death. Again, usually not an issue, but consuming the flesh or exposing yourself unnecessarily to the blood products of someone that is HIV positive is not only unrecommended, but just plain dumb.
• Cleaning supplies. Yes, corpses are messy and it's your job to clean up (trust me, you don't want anyone else to). At minimum you should have: bleach, polyurethene gloves (or latex if you're not allergic), large garbage bags as well as either a mop or sponge. Since most households have these items (or, in a pinch, you can use gallon size freezer bags as gloves, but it's not a good idea if you don't have to) even an impulse killing can result in a quick clean-up.

My next entry will cover actual methods of disposal.

Keep Your Opinions to Yourself

There are two folks in this world that don't give a snot about what you think: pregnant women and writers.

Pregnant women are constantly given unasked for advice from strangers. This is unwanted, unwelcome and basically in the category of "Just because I'm carrying a child doesn't mean that child is any of your damn business." Most of this "advice" is useless and some is even harmful.

For example, when I was pregnant one woman told me that breastfeeding would starve a baby so I would be better off giving it formula. Well, crap, someone better tell my 7yo that he died of starvation as an infant. I'd bet he'd be surprised to hear that. Though, with the way he likes to play "zombie" and/or "vampire" at any given time, I'd be hard pressed to say that he'd be disappointed with the news.

Another time, a doctor (not my OB-GYN) told me that all herbal remedies did more harm then good. Oh really? So that cup of chamomile tea I had every night that helped me sleep was actually harmful to my kid? Crap, I need to bring in my 9yo for chamomile poisoning! Call the medics!

The thing is, about pregnancy, it ends after nine months and then everyone tries to tell you how to raise your kids. This advice I either absorb or toss, but it doesn't aggravate me as much because most of the time it comes with reminisces and regrets so it's not as bad.

Still, unasked for parenting advice generally ends after eighteen years, so that, at least, ends at some point.

Advice for writers, however, never ends as long as, in some form or another, you declare yourself a writer. What amazes me though, is how they come across this advice.

"Self-publishing is the way to go!" Declared one advice-giver of forgiveable age (he was in his early 20s, and I, too was clueless at that age). When asked how come he thought that he regaled a story about how his grandmother had self-published a cookbook for the local community and raised a good amount of money for the PTA. Apparently, his idea of "self publishing" had something to do with a photocopier.

"You should write (insert whatever genre the particular speaker enjoys). You'd be so good at it." Yeah, but I damn sure don't want to spend a year on something just because I'm good at it. I would much rather write something I enjoy writing.

Which brings us to the next piece of "advice."

"You should write (insert whatever genre is "hot" at any given moment)." Uh, yeah, like by the time I could write that (assuming it's interesting in the first place), it would still be a trendy topic, and then there's the time it would take me to find an agent and the agent to find a publisher and then the lead time for publication, etc. etc. etc. In other words, I don't write what's "hot" because it more than likely won't be "hot" five years from now.

"I know...you could write my life story. It would sell millions!" Ok, and what's so fascinating about you that a million people would want to read about it? Hey, wait, I've got an idea...why don't you write it since you think it would sell a million copies and then you can turn around and say "I told you so." Meanwhile, I'll just write stuff that scares the snot out of people and go from there.

"You really shouldn't write such gruesome scenes in your stories." Ok, technically, this was "asked for" advice in that it was a critique given to me during a writing group, but still. Hellooooooooo...it's a horror story, we're known for stuff like that. To make matters worse, when I asked "Did you feel it (the particular scene she was referring to) moved the story forward?" she (the critiquer) said, "I don't know, once I got to that scene I couldn't read any further. Ugh.

Musing

Me: Who the hell are you?

Some 3" tall dude in polyester: Your new muse, call me Frank.

Me: What the hell kind of name is Frank for a muse?

Frank: Look, I didn't choose it. Now, do you want a muse or not?

Me: I already have one.

Frank: Been so long since the two of you worked together eh?

Me: Yeah. It happens though...get caught up in research, squashes creativity, that sort of thing.

Frank: Research squashed your creativity? That's one hell of a lazy muse who lets that happen. Guess it's a good thing she died then eh?

Me: She died? She couldn't have she's immortal.

Frank: Been going to the beach a lot?

Me: The lake, but what does that have to do with it?

Frank: Vampires, sunshine, nasty pile of ashes, that sort of thing.

Me: Ok, so now what...Frank?

Frank: Let's start with the basics. How often do you want to write?

Me: Everyday would be good. I'm hoping for 2,000 words or so, but I'd be happy with about 500 at this point. I really can't write that often because of the kids. I think better when it's quiet, so either late at night or early in the morning would be good.

Frank: Ok, good, good, don't interrupt you too much when you're dealing with the children but get in about 2,000 words. I'd like to try for a goal of 5,000 eventually, but this is a good start considering your time constraints.

Let's see, what about your genre? (checks his notes) Ah yes, I see, horror and I notice you prefer to write ones with a psychological bent to them but you're not adverse to blood and gore or bodies piling up. Is there anything in horror you absolutely won't write?

Me: Sex scenes, whether they're titillating or violent. Not because I'm averse to them, just that I suck at writing them.

Frank: Well, let's see if we can work on that. No taboos is good though, gives me a lot more leeway. How much research would you like to do for each story.

Me: None if I can help it (laughs), but if a story requires it I'd rather spend more time writing it than researching it. I have a tendency to get lost in the research and use it as an avoidance tactic.

Frank: Ok, would you prefer to write short stories or novels?

Me: Well, novels are where the money is at, so I'd like to have at least one of them going at any given time. Short stories however, are better for contest entries and writer's groups of one sort or another. Getting my name out there as it were.

Frank: One novel, at least, and a short story. Do you have any limits as to the maximum projects you'd like to be working on at any given time?

Me: I really haven't found a limit, but I'd really like to be able to feel like I'm accomplishing something, so basically not too much, not too little.

Frank: Not very specific are you?

Me: Sorry, but how many projects I like to work on really depends on my mood. That's the best answer I can give you.

Frank: Do you use any special tools?

Me: If you call a computer and some spiral bound notebooks special, then yeah. Otherwise, no.

Frank: Can you write while driving?

Me: I don't drive, but when my husband does I can write in short spurts, nothing too intense though, mostly WIP* notes and the like.

Frank: One last question before I just hang out in the background and whisper in your ear. How do you feel about mixing horror and humor?

Me: I think it's an absolute requirement, even for straight horror. I also like tales that mix the two so much that it's difficult telling where one ends and the other begins. Granted, it's crappy for novels, but it's fine for shorts.

Postscript: After this conversation, Frank woke me up at 3:00 in the morning with an amazing story. I wrote close to 15K on it before I came up for air. What a freakin' rush, but apparently he didn't listen to the "it's crappy for novels" part since it's most definitely a humor-horror piece. Oy! Muses! Can't live with 'em, can't write without 'em!

*For those of you who don't know, a WIP is a "Work in Progress"

Issues

My 9yo is scared spitless of coyotes. This is a rather recent development and he has even convinced himself that there is one that sleeps on his bed when he's not there.

Considering that this is a child raised in what could comparitively be called the city and we now live out in the country, his fear of coyotes is not completely without foundation. Y'see, each night, after the moon rises and when it gets really dark the coyotes start to howl. Thing is where we live you can hear anything for miles and we most certainly hear the coyotes.

In fact, I enjoy going out on the porch just to listen to their baying. I find it peaceful, better than eerie silence and most certainly an improvement on incessant chatter. When I listen closely, I can even tell which coyote is answering which one. Or maybe not, but I like to think I can.

Either way, I've come across a bunch of parenting articles that would say that my 9yo has "issues" with coyotes. To me, this just sounds like an excuse to say "It's okay to be fearful." I disagree. Which is not to say that feeling fear is bad, only that catering to it is wrong. In fact, if I did that with my 9yo, it would be all I'd be doing, so I tried a different approach.

For a few nights I took him outside with me to let him listen to the coyotes howl. The first night I could tell it took everything in his power to keep from running inside. He clung to me and shook like a leaf whenever he heard one of the howls and I even told him we could go inside whenever he wanted to but he shook his head and just clung tighter.

Each night, he clung less and listened more. Until, finally, this night he was guessing the question and answer pattern right along with me. He even made up little conversations as to what they may have been saying:

"It's hot toniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight!"
"I knooooooooooooooow!"
"I wish the wind would bloooooooooooooooow!"
"Me tooooooooooo!"

Back and forth like that until I knew he was ready for bed.

This is not to say that he wouldn't be afraid of a coyote if he saw one face to face, but he should be. Being able to enjoy the howling of a group of coyotes that are nowhere to be found? Well, that's just enjoying nature at its finest.

Bore Me With Talent

For anonymity's sake, I'll call him "Dave." Not because he was a bad guy, he wasn't (despite what my mother may think) but because what I'm about to say about him will be, shall we say, rather one-dimensional. It's a hyper-focused profile of a guy that I truly did not get to know very well and, I doubt, anyone ever did.

Dave and I dated for, I'd say less than a month. Our dating (if you could call it that) started as a series of what I believed to be at the time "kismet", but when I look back on it, was only a set of coincidences that meant nothing when taken either together or apart. Y'see, even though he and I were three years apart in age, we both shared three classes. We also had in common an insatiable love of the English language, never missed a Twilight Zone marathon and our favorite food in the world was Chipwiches.

Coincidences all, and certainly nothing to sustain a relationship over. Especially when it was doomed to end before it even began.

Problem is, Dave was talented. Or rather, Dave was talented and he knew it and lawdy did he like to tell the world, or at least me, just how talented he was. Sure I was impressed that he had completed an entire novel by the time he was fourteen, but did he have to brag about it? Constantly? And the fact that he was the youngest member to perform at a prestigious piano recital? Or what about the time he won this award or that?

Hs wall, his shelves, his entire room was plastered with plaques, trophies, ribbons what have you from everything and anything he had ever won. Good on him I say and I commend him for working so hard for each and every one of them. Problem was, that's all he'd ever done. He spent so much time winning awards and finishing a novel that he hadn't gone out and lived life.

Which is why I found him completely and utterly dull. Pity really, when you consider all that he had accomplished by the time he was fourteen.

The Cavalry is Coming...or Not

Deus ex Machina is a literary device best to be avoided. The term comes from the days of Ancient Rome and Greece when God was literally a machine that appeared to come from the sky to save the day. Back in the days of film serials this was represented by the calvary rescuing the hero at the last moment. For the modern writer this device is best avoided as it cheapens the experience.

Then there are times seen most often in horror films when the one person (or even a small group of folks) come to the rescue and are offed in and of themselves, immediately and without fanfare. Granted, this moves the story forward, ups the tension for the protag and does every little thing a good plot device is supposed to do but I still hate it, and this is why.

In House of 1000 Corpses, the cavalry comes in the form of a couple of bumbling police officers who, nonetheless, are able to follow a string of clues to find the specific house in the title. Good for them, but their death is immediate and considering the modus operandi of the rest of the murders it simply doesn't make any sense. The family of killers could care less whether they were officers or simple shmucks off the street, their reason for existance is to torture and inflict as much pain as possible. A quick death is not what they would do.

This could have been better handled with a quick clonk to the head and an unseen perpetrator dragging the officer off scene until that inevitable "stumble across the masses of corpse artwork" that the heroine of the tale did. I feel this would have worked because it makes the scene of disabling the officer just as quick as it needed to be and yet still kept true to the homicidal maniacs of the tale.

Then there's The Shining. It doesn't matter whether you read the book or have seen either variations of the movie, the cavalry in this case was the black dude (sorry, I can't remember his name off the top of my head) who also had that unusual and unique gift that he calls "The Shining." Sensing that the boy is in trouble, he goes to the inn on some "grand mission" or "impulse," I've never been able to figure out quite which one and bonk with a hammer and he's dead as soon as he enters the hotel.

The instant death isn't the problem as I see it. The trouble is that while it increases the tension for the reader it does nothing to increase the tension for the characters. What if the black dude in question wasn't immediately killed, but was, in fact, dying and the little boy, in turn, knew his friend was in trouble and just beyond this corner or that corner?

Good kids are noble creatures who will think nothing of personal harm if they know a friend is in trouble. And despite all the weird crap this kid has gone through, he's still that kind of kid. Imagine how much better the movie would have been if the kid wasn't just trying to escape from Daddy but help his friend as well?

Then we have the current television fare of The Dead Zone (not to be confused with the movie). In one episode, Johnny has grounded his kid for a round of garage cleaning when there is a knock on the door. Poor Johnny can't just answer the door, he knows the teenager behind it is in a lot of trouble. Fast forward a bit, the teenager, Johnny and Johnny's kid are holed up in a basement trying to protect themselves from the bad guy. Well, Johnny's kid's stepdad is a police officer (well established from prior episodes, so we're not really surprised) who gets a call from the US Marshall. It turns out that the troubled teen is a key witness to a mafia hit and the bad guys aren't your run of the mill type.

Anyway, following a trail of bloody footprints and the like, this cop finds these bad guys over at Johnny's house and finds himself at the mercy of the bad guys vis a vis duct tape.

This works well because not only is the viewer's tension cranked up, but the character's as well since there's a PA system which connects to the basement. Y'see, Johnny's kid has been raised by his stepdad because of that whole coma thing. So we're talking about a relationship between stepkid and stepdad that goes beyond the ordinary parameters of this type of relationship.

In other words, Johnny's kid is seriously considering giving this teenager up for his stepdad's safety. Johnny, however, realizes there's only one of two ways that this thing is going to end: either they're going to win and get the heck out of this house or everyone is going to die. This isn't magic vision, this is the reality of the situation.

In the end, it's Johnny who saves the day via an underground tunnel which Johnny found via "visions from the past." And that's the way it should be.

In conclusion, go ahead, let your cavalry come and try to save the day, but put them in a peril which increases the tension not just for the reader but for the characters as well.

Charles Lee Ray

For as small as he was, Chucky was evil as an all get out.

I like that in a guy.

Granted he was the imitation-vodoun-posessed by a serial killer variation of the standard "talking doll" mythology...but still. The problem with the films though is that the only "person" that Chucky could find that was as smart as him was another doll. I mean really, if he scared 'em that much why didn't the folks at least insist on a refund?

Bunch of nitwits if you ask me. I would have made a deal with Chucky, something along the lines of "Consider me your transportation. I'm just gonna take you to a place so you can kill a LOT of people. Here? There's only 4 folks and after us, what'll you have? Days, heck, even weeks before you can get anyplace else." Once he was appeased and his little doll eyes sparkled, I'd give him a list of personal enemies.

Hell, as long as I had a homicidal doll, I'd take advantage of the situation.

Once my enemies were dead? I'd zap his ass in the microwave. Can't have a talking doll that knows all my secrets hanging around now can I?

At Any Moment

At any given moment in time, a multitude of things are possible. These are the things that have been running through my head lately about what could happen in these moments. Sometimes without even realizing it:

You could be stalked by a serial killer.

Someone could be plotting revenge against you.

The food you're eating could be poisoned.

You could have a terminal illness and not realize it.

You could make a decision that will alter the course of your life irreperably.

A lawyer is coming up with an idiotic warning label.

Someone is ignoring both common sense and the idiotic warning label and getting seriously injured.

Someone is well on their way to winning a lawsuit for ignoring said idiotic warning label.

Someone could be planning on robbing you.

You could be framed for a crime you didn't commit.

Shattered Glass

I've seen people that have died, hours or even moments after it had happened, but until today I had never been face to face with someone who died right in front of me.

My family and I were on our way to Wal-Mart and we heard that sound that is so common to automobile accidents, that unmistakable squeal of wheels that continued into this horrendous crunch and ended with a woman flying through her windshield. The sound of glass shattering and a person flying through it was like nothing I had ever heard before, nor do I want to hear it again.

I don't remember any screaming, I don't think there was time. It's cliche, but true as "it all happened so fast."

My husband is a rare breed in that he pulled over. He's also of the dense breed in that he tried to command me to stay in the car. Emphasis on tried. Smart enough, however, to know when I'm not going to listen when there are more important things to tend to.

He headed towards the car while I went towards the woman. The chances of her surviving were slim. I knew this, even as phrases like "spatter pattern" and "point of impact" crossed my mind, and yet, there was still this internal drive to see and yet, somehow, it was more than that. A desire to know. Know what, I wasn't quite sure at the time, but I do now.

At least I think I do, looking back on it. Because, against all odds, she was alive. Barely, and even then I knew she wouldn't last until the paramedics arrived. I took off my vest and put it over the top of her head. At least, I think I did. I don't really remember. It's strange, how in times like this I just automatically did what I'd been trained to do during my years as a Red Cross Volunteer.

I do remember, however, holding her hand. This too, was automatic, but at the same time different. One person reaching out to another, instinctively. I didn't squeeze, I just held. She tried to say something, I think it was "thank you." but it could have been something else altogether.

I wish I could say she died peacefully, but I can't, because before she did, her body declared a revolt and seized up on her. Arms and legs flailing, head jerking and then a loud SNAP. Her neck broke, her eyes glazed and all was still. I knew she was gone.

I didn't hear the ambulance arrive, though I'm sure they came to the scene with sirens blaring.

I answered their questions, the paramedics' and the police officer's. Yet, I still feel guilty, helpless, as if there was something more I could have done. My head knows it wasn't my fault, but my heart still aches for the woman I never knew.

On Teachers: Part Four

Then there are the last two teachers whose classes I would never skip (well, maybe twice, but that was when I was ditching an entire day instead of a class or two).

Mr. Youngerman was, in many ways, the exact opposite of Mr. Collins. Where Mr. Collins was laid back, Mr. Y (as we kids called him) was energetic. Where Mr. Collins was just a danged good teacher, Mr. Y was brilliant.

Mr. Youngerman could turn a story-world inside out and upside down. He could take the bizarre and make it seem plausible. He taught me how to make a series of flashbacks just melt into the storyline and when to toss them out the door. He didn't just tell about stories, he showed them through actions in his class. Change of scene? Turn off the lights for apparently no reason to demonstrate how one simple thing can change the entire mood of a story. He threw chalkboard erasers up against the wall to demonstrate action and dragged a chair across the room to demonstrate sensory involvement. He'd get in your face and shout to explain POV and tone.

There was nothing to bizarre, to out there or too unreal for Mr. Youngerman. He reminded me of why I started writing in the first place, because it was fun. And, oh yeah, he was tough too. He, like Mr. Collins, wouldn't put up with my second best and just when I thought it was my best, he'd show me how to make it even better.

Mr. Smith taught math, specifically geometry. He had a way of explaining this, my last year of math, as if it were vital and real through, of all things, basketball. Which is odd, considering my love-hate thing with basketball.

Playing one on one games like horse or around the world was fine as long as it was just me and a friend or few, but as a PE class? Basketball was a nightmare filled with rules and (eek!) more of the type of physical activity than this body was made for.

Mr. Smith though, brought these two together with a seeming effortlessness that whenever I think of parallel lines I still see two Nerf basketballs flying across the room, and if I ever need to calculate an angle? I won't be able to do so without thinking of the hypoteneuse of the backboard.

For some odd reason, I can still remember the terms "postulate," "hypothesis" and "theorem" even though, almost 20 years later I really can't remember having used them.

So here's to every teacher who went above and beyond. I thank you, for each and every one of you made at least those classes, enjoyable for the times that I had with you.