Back For The Attack

It’s been a long and expensive 8 days in Myrtle beach, S.C.  I was blessed with an ocean front view from the back of my room, and a bird’s eye of the “strip” in the front.  What a life to be able to live there full time.  Unfortunately, who could afford such debauchery?  

I met many wonderful and highly interesting people while there.  I wrote over fifteen full character profiles using a list of questions on anyone that I found to be of interest.  You’d be amazed at the people who will tell their story to a stranger…especially if the stranger is a female horror writer.

I started working on a new piece while I was there, and I’m trying to incorporate as many of the people met as I possibly can.  It’s an exciting time for me as a writer.  I’m between classes so I have time to fully flesh out this inner adventure into some form of outward prose.

Of Myrtle, I will say that the food was amazing.  I probably packed on a solid 10 to fifteen pounds in my eight day muchfest.  I sat with a pen in one hand, a fork in the other, and a frosty, fruity cocktail beside.  It was fabulous!

Went to the local horror show and spent the better part of three hours roaming and taking pictures with the staff in full regalia.  I may post some of those here after cleaning them up in Photoshop.

Weather was gorgeous.  Ocean was lively.  Crowd was intense.  I rode a Sling Shot that drove me 300 feet into the air.  I met so many friends that I have their phone numbers and Facebook addies in a confused jumble in the bottom of a beach bag that smells like candy, incense, and tanning oil.  Lovely combination, I might add.

For now, I am exhausted.  More on my East Coast Adventure as I feel more rested.  Image


I Need To Go On A Pilgrimage

264468_370171233089041_86417217_nEvery once in a while I feel the need to do something epic…go somewhere epic and reflect.  I’ve been fortunate enough in my years to have not only seen but lived in the true embodiment of locational epic.  America.  Got to love her.  Hawaii, New York, Southern California three times.  Can I get an amen for Laguna Beach, Big Bear, Santa Ana.  Florida three times.  Prescott, Arizona.  So many beaches that I only know there was fourteen, and sometimes I cannot name them.  I live in North Carolina now, and she offers fewer but still tasty choices.  Hanging Rock comes to mind, and many small, well hidden lakes, river holes, levees, cliffs, rope swings and people on 4 Wheelers.

It’s been a long winter and a strange spring.  I wanna go somewhere epic.  My only choices are Myrtle Beach, South Carolina and Holden Beach, North Carolina.  Family decided that Myrtle was far more fun.  So I get to go on a pilgrimage from the 8th to the 15th!  Now, to plan an itinerary…

The Beast Within

When it first started happening I was blissfully unaware of cause and effect.  How could I have been?  I was only a kid.  Hell, I’m still a kid.  As I stand here with the knife still dripping, my usually clever mind is blank as fuck.  I didn’t expect all the screaming.  How in the hell am I supposed to clean this?  My carpet!  

The cats are staring at me, wondering if this is my idea of dinner.  The biscuits are burning again.  That’s what started the whole shit storm.  
It’s daylight again.  I assumed it was midnight.  My landlord is a cop.  Not any cop…the head cop.  I used to smoke weed with him back in the day.  The day before he became daddy law.  He cares for me.  Always has, but he isn’t going to help me now.  
I’ve broken on through to the other side.  Now I’m just another bear opening trash cans in the city.  Must kill bear.  Say we relocated it.  
I decide to shower.  Just bought that expensive shit at the black girl salon.  Wish I was back there.  They were fun.  He’s still twitching.  Maybe I’ll get off on a lesser charge.  Yeah, right.  The world has a habit lately of putting cute white chicks behind bars.  Forever.
Back in -my- day men were the bad guys.  Believe me, bad to the bone.  I just killed one.  
I’ve never had to pee less in my life but it seems logical to go to the bathroom.  Hurling commences.  Hate that shit.  More bathing.
There’s no way to wash the sin off.  The expensive stuff smells fantastic but the sin ate it like peanut butter.  At least I’ll be clean when they haul me off to the same man who killed my dad.
Okay, think this through.  I have a car.  I know where an old well is.  He’s a heavy dead weight but I’ve been working out for three years in preparation for this.  
Driving aimlessly.  Still drunk.  I never drink and drive.  Don’t beat yourself up, big girl.  Just do the Dew and keep on grinning.
Heavy ass bastard.  I should’ve never made him breakfast the first time.  Did I turn off the oven?  Shit.  Biscuits.
Stopped by the liquor store.  Dude was so nice.  I should’ve married that guy.  He has a nice nine to five and knows how to conversate.  He didn’t even yell when he saw the killer in me.  He just grinned.
Feed the cats.  Yeah, about that ugly bruise.  I suppose I had that coming.  Haha who’s laughing now, you pitiful bastard?
Bad dreams.  Did I do that?  Was it real?  I’m a writer.  I could’ve made that shit up.  Nope.  Stains are still there.  Onward then, wild horses!  Fuck Nikki Minage….where’s the Zeppelin?  I wonder if it’s too late to turn off the oven.  Just open the door.  Let the cats out.  They don’t need to suffer.
There comes the law.  Wait, it’s the fire truck.  Don’t save ME, you fucking imbecile.  Save the cats!  
Where’s dude?   Oh, I don’t know.  See, I was drunk and I think he set the house on fire.  Try Florida.  He has friends there.

Trying To Write Tangled Webs In The Noxious Heat

I love to write by an open window.  At night, I hear the sounds of crickets, watch fireflies, stare at the moon.  It inspires me.  But also, I am a smoker so maybe it’s just an attempt to breathe.  

During the day I love to stare out at the cars as they pass.  There are untapped stories in every car, every semi, every motorcycle. I even have the added delight of train tracks with old fashioned trains that blare out several times a day.

I adore staring out at my flowers as I try to spin my tales.  They talk to me, maybe wanting a little water or some days just bouncing happily in the breeze.

I also like the way my neighbor parks his red Corvette on the grass right beside of his white gazebo.  The contrasts of red, white, and green are fabulous on most days.

What I do -NOT- enjoy is getting wrapped up in some story and forgetting to place an oscillating fan within reach for a bit of help as the times change from “comfortable” to “sweltering”.

I was rolling along quite nicely today.  In the groove.  You know the one…where the words flow, and you’re basically on another plane of consciousness.  I was pulled back to our world with sweat rolling, and panting with distress.  It was too late for the fan.  It was too late to find that writer’s sweet spot in which we all desire to reside.

I broke away with an almost heartbroken unhappiness laced with ire.  Shutting my windows against the brain melting barrage, all that I could logically do was turn on the air (there went my power bill) and seek shelter in a cold bath.  I am cooler now, but pouting and irritated.  I wonder if my muse will show back up today or if I’ll have to lure her back tomorrow with coffee, promises of pastries, and open windows.


Bad Hair Days

Hangovers Are The Pits.  What a fun weekend.  So nice to hang out with people who honestly care for me, want the best for me, and pamper me a bit.  It was fun watching movies, and videos…listening to music.  Smiling 😀  But although it was quite wonderful, I probably should have steered clear of the bottle.  My hair is a wreck, and so is my head.  I’ve got one hundred things to do today, and a hangover is messing up 99 of them.


Exercising In The Dark

Well, who knew?  Not me, that’s for sure.

My family bought me a used elliptical machine for mom’s day.  I’ve spent the last year or so visiting my local YMCA to use their elliptical and weight machines, pool and racquetball courts.  It’s been great for me in a lot of ways but I have lost very little weight.  Granted, I don’t work at out as hard as I should.  Even though I rarely socialize there, preferring to strap on my hot pink SkullCandys and crank up the iPod to actually making friends, I still try hard not to grunt or pant or any of those things that draw the eye.  Well, except the tank tops.  I confess to wearing tanks that show off the “girls”.

I was ecstatic with my new elliptical machine.  It’s too bulky for the house so we positioned it on the front porch, as far from prying eyes as possible.  I’ve been experimenting with it…what times of day are optimal for me and the like.  Tonight I had a breakthrough.  After a busy day, I barely made it out at dusk with my iPod and water bottle.  But there I was 40 minutes later, jamming out and grunting, pushing myself harder than I ever had.  I was singing and making faces, enjoying the dripping sweat and feeling pretty damn good about myself.

I think dusk to dark must be my optimal exercise time.  Of course it is; I’m a damned horror writer.  The dark is part of me.  I really should’ve known…