If you can speak what you will never hear, if you can write what you will never read, you have done rare things.
~Henry David Thoreau

Monday, June 27, 2011

Read A Book, People

It amazes me how many people tell me that they don't read- or even own a book. I can't relate to these people. Hell, I can't even date them. If I had a dating profile, the first line would read 'Must love books'.

My mom had a book plopped into my hands before I even had the dexterity to turn the pages by myself. By the time I was four, I could manage the simple ones- 'See Spot run', Sesame Street, etc. She instilled a love affair with the written word that has only deepened as I've grown older.

My mom has never been a novel reader, but she loves cookbooks, books on crafting and digital art. Whereas I prefer novels, short stories, unusual trivia, even an occasional graphic novel. My point being that none of these are better than another- as long as you are reading you are learning and broadening your horizons.

I have no idea how many books I own (hundreds, I'm sure) or how many books I have read  (my library trips always involve a stuffed backpack). I have never read something because it was expected- the exception being the classics shoved upon us in high school. Some were good, some bad, and some were edited by our school before we were allowed to take the book home- which, in my mind, negates the purpose of reading the text.

I am by no means a literary scholar. I don't engage in debates about Byron or the content of e.e. cummings prose, but I can give you a lively arguement about 'Dracula' and 'Nosferatu' versus 'Interview With a Vampire' and 'Twilight'. Bram Stroker and Henrik Galeen would be turning over in their graves if they saw the prissy vampires of today...

But that's a topic for another day.

I suppose my love of reading is what lead me to write. The ability to create worlds and shape them any way I choose has always appealed to me. Being able to create a character that a reader can empathize with is a wonderful gift. My favorite books are the ones that have made me laugh, cry, or even turned me on.

Find a book like that and you will be hooked for life.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Zombie Squirrels Don't Eat Nuts

Yes, my Photoshop skills(?) are sad, but you can't complain about seeing a zombie squirrel. Enjoy :)

Oh well, I least I can paint a little.


Now if I can just make a zombie cat eating the koi...

Friday, June 17, 2011

Really? Tell me more...

I research everything, especially about sex.. One could say that its a hobby of mine. I collect tidbits of unusual information and save them up in case I can ever use them in one of my erotica stories. I now know more about kinks, quirks, and fetishes then I ever thought that I would need in a lifetime.

I have to admit my fascination with people's sexual proliclivities. I wonder how people realize their interests- are they always there in the back of their mind or are they introduced? Did nude magazines introduce men to the idea of having a menage a troi with two 'lesbians' or is that just a lovely fantasy from boyhood? How does one realize they are into golden showers?

I'm not making judgements here- as long as everything is consensual and involves two adults (or more), have at it. I find it strange that so many people are uptight talking about sex- I suppose it is because they fear judgement and don't want to be labeled a freak, weirdo, pervert, etc.

Years ago, I watched an episode of CSI where the murder victim had a secret baby fetish (paraphilic infantilism). He had a nursery built into a hidden room off his bedroom and wore all the trapping of an actual baby. I believe he even had a wet nurse who cared for him.

While I have no interest in wearing diapers, the breastfeeding aspect of that particular fetish is interesting. Although I would rather be the provider instead of the drinker. That led me to a search of adult breastfeeding in relation to intimacy, rather than baby play. It appear to be relatively common for women who are already breastfeeding (or those who induce lactation purposely) to use the feeding as a way to bring a deeper bond with their partner.

I'm also fascinated how people can be turned on by something a simple as a smell, sound, or taste. I had a roommate years ago who would get an erection everytime he smelled peaches- even he didn't know why. Classic conditioning, I suppose. I personally have a thing for women with sexy, smoky voices. If you have ever heard Kate Mulgrew (Captain Janeway on ST:Voyager) speak, you'll know what I am talking about. She's almost twice my age but still yummy. :)

I always wanted to be a sexologist, but I would rather to be a researcher, not a therapist. I can just picture myself leaning forward while someone is telling me about their sexual quirks and saying, "Really? Tell me more." while thoughts of my next story ran through my head.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

It Rolls Around, Then Sits and Stares

Any of you who are writers will have had this experience. A line suddenly pops into your head and you scramble to write it down. A scene forms, choppy at first, but it's a rough draft so who cares? No one will be reading it yet. The writing is going along pretty well and then...it just dies. So you toss it off to the side and hope that it will be useful at a later date.

Fortunately for me, I manage to use most of my little tidbits. But I have one that keeps popping up- and I still haven't used it. Although I might have a home for it soon.

While it sits, patient and lonely, I thought that I would let it's unpolished glory marinate here for a while. Once I am done playing with my zombies, I will come back for her.
........
"The Arm"


The cold press of mechanized steel forcing me against the rough texture of the wall shocks me-almost as much as it thrills me. The subtly threatening gesture of silver-capped fingertips reaching for my throat makes liquid heat pool in my groin.
My companion's human arm slides to encircle my waist as her mouth tastes the skin over my thundering pulse. My hips thrust imperceptibly and a whimper tumbles from my lips. She laughs and I know how easy I am making this for her, how submissive I become with a simple kiss.
The crimson laces of my walking suit nearly tear under impatient hands, revealing the tattoo emblazoned across my chest. The raven-haired seductress leans forward and whispers hotly into my ear, a thought so obscenely and erotically decadent that all I can do is groan and fight to keep from falling. My hands fumble to find purchase in the bullet-riddled wall when the dark head dips to brush an aching peak.
A sudden wheezing cough separates us from our inappropriate display. An old man stands nearby, his equally ancient food cart tilted slightly under a rusted axle. The tinted goggles over his eyes suggest nothing of his mood, but the crooked grin assures us of his interest. Slowly he begins to move again, the whining grind of poorly-oiled gears reminding me that a grimy alley is not the best place for sex.
“Darling, not here.” I bit back a moan as those skilled hands cupped my breasts familiarly.
“But the doctor said that I could begin using my new arm today.” She emphasized her point, leaning back to watch my face while her fingers lifted my dress. The whisper of clicks and the touch of cool metal told me that she was about to use her mechanical arm on my most vulnerable region.
My eyes closed and a full-body shiver announced my pleasure at her not-so-subtle means of persuasion. I jerked and quaked as she stroked me. Damn that witch. She knows what she does to me. However, I had my own tricks and no compulsion not to use them.
Easily, I cupped the back of her neck and pulled her close. Close enough to rasp my tongue over the delicate shell of her ear. My voice dropped to its lowest register. “Darling, if you take me to bed we will put your arm to uses that the good doctor never intended.”
to be continued......

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Dammit, Jim, I'm a fiction writer, not a poet!

I will be the first to admit that I am not a poet. I dabble on occasion but my rhyming scheme leaves alot to be desired. That's one of many reasons why I write short stories- no iambic pentameter, haiku, etc. Plus it's hard to make your characters slaughter the undead in under 50 lines :)

There was a Webook challenge awhile back for writers to choose at least one of the provided 50 topics and write a poem based on that. I chose the theme 'Red' and managed not to muck it up too badly.
.........
Mottled tones of broken grey
filled my line of sight
I watched the world with deadened eyes
pass in the moonlit night

Earthly shadows whispered
though I heard nothing that was said
My inner voices chanted
How can you feel so dead?

And in my darkest hour
where ghosts and sadness grew
A woman came upon me
from amongst the passing few

Silently she came to me
and reached a slender hand
I started from my waking slumber
and obeyed her sweet command

Talk to me, she spoke
her tone a heaven’s dream
Tell me all your secrets
her eyes a glowing beam

Suddenly the world lit up
the colors not so bleak
My voice, long gone, released itself
what is it that you seek?

I want to see the winds of change
and turn fate’s twisting loom
I want to chase away your tears
and pull you from your deepest tomb

I saw the girl in the fading sky
and fought a sweet caress
My eyes were open, but looked anew
at the color of her dress

Seeing red so beautifully
I had lost its vibrant hue
I began to see more colors now
even brown and green and blue

I fell to my knees, shaking
my heart is desperate straits
Are you an angel, m’lady
come to take to pearly gates?

Her laughter came out musically
as she pulled me from the streets
I am no angel, lady
but a devil between the sheets

Astounded at her humor
my emotions flooded out
I clasped my hands in silent prayer
my thanks in gods devout

Into light she pulled me
her hands so strong and true
Quietly she whispered
my heart was meant for you

And in her eyes I saw the truth
of words we never spoke
A love so deep and endless
even strangers cannot cloak

I took the red and filled my hands
her dress clasped in my grip
My mouth drank hers and she held me
her hand upon my hip

I felt the scarlet hue of passion
the vermillion heat a treasure
I taste the ruby of her lips
the flame of crimson pleasure

I love red now
it calls to me, a savior from my ache
An angelic woman choosing me
am I still awake?

If a dream this is, let me go
stay in dark abyss
If she is real, I stay up
basking in her kiss

Destiny is upon us
our souls in thankful hands
We hold each other softly
and do as love demands.
........

Come on, poetry publishers, you know that you want to flock to me after reading that masterpiece :)
(Btw, I know that it's not an awful piece- it just needs polishing.)

Props to the poets who can make their work flow so beautifully!

Monday, June 6, 2011

Two Bits for the Blow-off

I am fascinated by the old traveling carnivals. Filled with all the usual games, rides, and food but with the special bonus of the sideshow. I'm not sure whether seeing my first pickled punk or watching the 1932 movie 'Freaks' sealed the deal but as I dug deeper into the oddities that graced the stage, my interest grew.

Unfortunately the tradition of the sideshow mostly died out. If you happen to find such a show (at least in the US), the 'freaks' usually consist of contortionists, fire-breathers, blockheads, and the occassional geek. I admit that these people are talented and definitely are a rare breed, but they lack the punch-to-the-gut awe that human oddities created upon first sight to the small-town folks who paid to see them.

I have a small, but growing, collection of books and pitch cards consisting of the wild and weird people that displayed themselves for money. Some of these people were basically bought by carnival owners for their unusual looks, but many joined because they couldn't find work anywhere else.  Many of these folks were making hundreds of dollars per week at a time when most people earned an average of $0.22 an hour (in 1910).

I have huge respect for people who can put themselves on display and especially those who turned their disabilites into advantages. There was one such man who always stuck with me- Prince Randian.
Known as The Human Caterpillar or The Human Torso, he was born without arms or legs. Yet he could shave, write, paint, and roll a cigarette. He could even take a match from a matchbox and light the cigarette. He also spoke four languages. Eventually, he married and had five children- a difficult feat for any person but imagine doing it with no arms or legs. Huge props to him :)

If you want to see Prince Randian in action there are several Youtube clips from his role in 'Freaks' (1932).

Geeks have also been of particular interest to me. I wouldn't mind having a chat with a person who could bite off the head of a live animal, or eat lightbulbs and maggots as if they were candy. I have to wonder how the person came to realize that they have a knack for such a thing.

My favorite site to read about these amazing, inspirational people is http://thehumanmarvels.com/.     J. Tithonus Pednaud has done a wonderful job of creating a site that embraces human differences.

If you just like the old banner art of the traditional sideshow, I would have to recommend 'Freakshow: Sideshow Banner Art'- by Carl Hammer. It not only has vibrant illustrations but also essays about each of the artists.

I could go on for pages about all things carnival, but I think that you would have a better time researching this fading world all on your own.

Like the hoochie-coochie girls say, "Don't forget your two bits for the blow-off."