Hackwood Lane

 

Some October moonlit night

there comes through mist a time lost chaise,

one horse’d, returning in gentle ghostlight

from that far-off dance, crinoline flirt, fan-hidden face,

and the young gray officer, Ivanhoe heart.

 

A field to the left is somehow crimson

 

While the fields of the great house now part 

with fire and scream and dead lines risen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

to judgment, to punishment, of lives stolen

out a darkling land

so crinoline and officer may have swollen

their wealth and life, from a blistered hand.

You are murderers.

 

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Tomb stories- Salem Church

Location: Fredericksburgh, VA

Creepiness: 1 and a half stars

Coolness: 3 stars

Interesting cemetery, especially if you’re into history:   

There was a rather bloody battle around the church’s front steps during the Civil War, and about 400 soldiers were buried, willy-nilly, about the place.  

Including, maybe this guy:

Amputated arms and legs were piled up in the church corners, which should raise the creepiness factor somewhat. But…

Unfortunately, the churchyard is right smack next to a super-busy main highway, and has quite the view of commercial activities.

Even at night, the only creepiness comes from the bad drivers. So, no.

Coolness, though, up there. Battlefield. Old church with bloody stumps thrown around it. And a McDonald’s around the corner. Definitely cool.

Some interesting graves:

Sergeant Snellings chose Stonewall Jackson’s last words as his epitaph.

And what’s going on here?  

Were they afraid Mary was coming back?

Others ended up here from rather far flung places:

Mr. Butzner there would have been 39, 40 years old when the battle occurred. Wonder if he was a German recruit in the Union XI Corp and came back after the war?

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Halloween 2012

Somewhat of a bust. First, I didn’t do my usual elaborate pumpkin, but this, instead:

Meh. Although, I grew the pumpkins mesself.  Yeppur. Right in the back yard.

I didn’t dress up, either, like I did last year:

That’s me as Nick Fury, the real Nick Fury. Tony Stark is standing next to me.

But, nothing this year, although a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent showed up: 

Last year, we had forty kids clean us out of candy. This year? Three:

    

 

A Cowardly Lion, Princess Merida, and a vampire. That’s it. And here I’ve got the perfect neighborhood for trick-or-treating:

You can almost hear Jamie Lee Curtis screaming in the distance, can’t ya? But nobody came.

Even Gracie the Wander Cat was unimpressed:

Oh well. Maybe next year.

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Apocalypticism

My cousin, Jason Smith, is hanging out with the people you want as friends when the Zombie Apocalypse hits:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maRCstZPh-8&feature=youtu.be

 

 

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The Adventures of Gracie the Wander Cat

I guess I’ve always lived in this house. I don’t remember any other place, so, must be. The idiots living here kept me in the closet or the basement, depending on the day. From what I could glean, the guy who owned this place was some kind of ogre who wouldn’t let the idiots have a pet so they hid me…

“Pet.”

I am not a pet. I don’t fetch. I don’t guard. And I don’t need any “lookin’ after.” At all.

I didn’t like the closet. The main idiot put my litter box in there, lined the room with aluminum to seal in the odor, and left me inside, all day. No food, just water. He’d let me out when he got back from school, give me a gaggy snack, then throw me out in the yard. The other idiots would put me in the basement when the first idiot forgot about me or was off doing something else, which was, actually, better. There were mice down there and things to get into, and the back of the oil furnace made a handy toilet. Besides, they cut a little opening in the basement door so I could come and go as I pleased.

And I pleased. I ran all over that house, when I wasn’t locked up in the closet. And I ran all over the neighborhood.  Had a pretty good time, except for the one or two occasions when the main idiot took me to a vet who gave me shots and snipped the ol’ tubes. I didn’t much care for that.

So, one day, I’m running around the house because all kinds of interesting things were going on. The idiots were hooting and hollering about “Graduation!” or some such nonsense, packing up a lot of boxes and moving a lot of crap around. Entertaining. Closet Boy put me out in the yard and drove off. I played around on the street for awhile then came back and waited. And waited. And waited.

None of the idiots came back.

So, right then and there, I’m a Wander Cat. Not a Wild’un, like the group living over there in the woods: Wild’uns never knew a home; Wander Cats did. Wild’uns don’t like Wanders, and vice-versa. They think we’re pussies, yuk yuk. We think they’re stupid.

Because, you play your cards right, you can get people to take care of you.

Which is what I did. This guy, D. Krauss, moved into the place a few weeks later and I kept showing up and meowing and rubbing against the guy and he’d say, “Hey, Cat, who do you belong to?” Well, you, dummy, but he never caught on and winter came and I spent it going from place to place, taking a meal from some kind old lady and a houseful of female college students down the street, or making one out of the occasional field mouse. Lived under porches and under D. Krauss’ deck out back, something he never knew. From time to time, I’d find him outside and and rub against his leg, trying to catch his interest, but they guy is just too dim.

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, one spring day, I hear my name being called, “Gracie! Gracie!” I come out from some wood pile and saunter on over and it’s that guy, D. Krauss, standing on his porch holding some kind of card. “That’s your name, huh?” he asks, looking at the card. Well, yeah, I came, didn’t I?

“According to this,” D. Krauss waved the card at me, “you’re an orange-and-white longhaired Main Coon, a runt, and you’re due some shots,” and the guy grabs me by the back of the neck, shoves me in a box, and, next thing you know, I’m gettin’ flea dusted and vaccinated and groomed and, well, I’m not liking it very much. I spit and scratch but the vet wraps me up in a towel and gives me a shot and, wow, the colors, the colors…

When I wake up, I’m back in the house. Oh no, not the closet! So I stumble over to the door and raise a racket and that D. Krauss guy comes over, “What’s wrong, what’s wrong?” and I’m still at the door raising a ruckus and he opens it and I bolt.

Been outside ever since, but, it’s okay. That D. Krauss guy has been feeding me. Feels guilty, I guess, and I’m not stupid so I show up and meow and act grateful and even let him  scratch my chin, but you ain’t gettin’ me back inside, bub.

After all, I’m a Wander Cat. 

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Why I live in Virginia

Even the horse is overwhelmed.

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All Hell Breaks Loose

 

Go here: http://www.freefantasybook.com/

 

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Glitch free

The “Last Book Sale” post, that is. I think. I deleted then reposted all the pictures, and they seem to be okay now. So, the one or two of you who were interested can go back and look. G’head, g’head. Let me know if glitches remain.

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Tag, you’re it

My pal Cat Connor just tagged me and, well, when you’re it, you’re it. Sooooo:

Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Thing:

What is the working title of your book?

Which one? Okay, fine, the three Most Close to Being Readable:

a. The Ship to Look for God

b. Partholon

c. Frank Vaughn, Killed by his Mom

Where did the idea come from for the book?

a. Ship- from an offhand remark, along the lines of “My luck, I’ll get to Heaven and God won’t be there.”

b. Partholon- from those weird anthrax letters in Florida, DC and NYC.

c. Frank- from a bizarre trip I took across the south in 1965.

What genre does your book fall under?

a. Ship- epic fantasy, but not high fantasy. Says a lot about my geekdom that I know what that is.

b. Partholon- post-apocalyptic.

d. Frank- magical realism

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

a. Ship- Tommy Lee Jones for Otto, Javier Bardem for Ferdinand (No Country for Old Men reunion) and Hayden Panatierre for Claudia.

b. Partholon- Kiefer Sutherland for John Rashkil, Shia LeBouf for Collier.

c. Frank- Freddie Highmore for Butch, Gerard Butler for Dad.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

a. Ship- Otto dies and wakes up in Heaven, discovers God is not there, so joins a group of misfits building a rocket to go look for Him.

b. Partholon- Campus policeman John Rashkil survives a biological attack on the northeast US, only to face a bigger evil rising from the ruins.

c. Frank- in the summer of 1965, a ten-year-old accompanies his manic depressive and wildly violent Dad on a Homeric journey across a changing South.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Partholon is under contract with Rebel EPublishers. As for the others, who knows?

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

a. Ship took about a year because I was having so much fun writing it.

b. Partholon took about three months.

c. Frank took about six months.

Now, ask me how long it took to do the revisions. And how many revisions. Go on. Ask.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

a. Ship is like a very upbeat Lord of the Rings.

b. Partholon is in the I am Legend arena.

c. Frank is The Great Santini written by Homer.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

a. Ship- the fun of replacing the old “harps and fluffy clouds” trope with a crazy Heaven filled with people who just shouldn’t be there (Doc Holliday??).

b. Partholon- hard to say. An inner conviction that, even in the worst possible situation, some people will do the right thing. Or at least attempt it.

c. Frank- it’s a story that just had to be told.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

a. Ship- a lot of interesting characters keep showing up, from a Zulu chieftain who drives a Delorean to Rousseau, who tries to keep Otto from finding God. Did I mention the epic battle at the end between a hodgepodge of desert tribes led by an Indian lancer against a semi-futuristic army of angels or demons or something, we’re not quite sure what they are?  No?

b.  Partholon- action. Lots of it. Brutal, harsh, and no prisoners.

c. Frank- the title refers to a murder that happened in Lawton, OK in 1965. The murdered kid shows up.

Okay! That’s mine. Now for the next victims:

Sara J. Henry

A. S. King

Jose Bogran

EJ Knapp

Deanne Roy

These are the rules:

* Give credit to the person / blog that tagged you

* Post the rules for the blog hop

*Answer these ten questions about your current WIP (Work In Progress) on your blog

*Tag five other writers/bloggers and add their links so we can hop over and meet them.

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Oy

Not sure what’s happening with the picture uploads.Dang internet. Bear with me…

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