Monday, July 29, 2013

Memories that Shaped

There are other memories, not so much bad memories, but ones that I believe formed my interest in the horror and fantasy genre. 

The first one, being the big bad wolf.  Now I knew he wasn’t real…but.  I was a small child and again these are memories from a long time ago, before I should be able to remember things, but for some reason, I do.  I would have to say I was about 4 years old at the time, and had recently watched this cartoon about the three little pigs.  I have always had a thing with being in the dark (thank you Annie, my one time babysitter that used to lock me in the closet for crying), but sometimes in the night, you gotta go to the bathroom, afraid or not.  The bathroom was only across the hall and down a little ways, so I don’t actually know what took me into the living room that night.  It was past the bathroom.  Maybe it was a noise, maybe it was just to make sure all was right in the world. For whatever reason I stepped my barefooted way down the hall and into the moonlit living room.  There on the wall, was a shadow of the big bad wolf, up on his hind feet, he hands before him in claws.  He was in the house!  He was going to eat me, just as he did the little pigs.  I screamed the house awake, and sadly, didn’t make it to the bathroom.  Lights were flipped on, tempers flared, and all thanks to my over active imagination, and a hanging ivy plant in the big window.  To this day, I don’t often get up out of bed in the night.  I also still have my nightlights and small lights left on throughout the house.  I really don’t like the dark.

The next memory is a basement.  It was a nice basement, big, and bright.  It had a work area for my dad to do his woodwork.  It had a nice big laundry room that was usually chock-full of dirty clothes all over the floor.  Then, just under the stairs, was a full playhouse.  It was made of wood, with little window shutters, and a door with a real handle and knob.  There was a pathway and driveway area where we were able to ride our little bikes and big wheels. Inside was a child size stove, sink, refrigerator, the works.  There was even a small round rug on the floor.  Being downstairs was great fun…if I wasn’t alone.  If my sister was down there with me, even if she was locking me out of the house, or not letting me ride in the fire truck with her, I was happy to be there.  If my dad was in the next room working, I didn’t mind being down there.  However, I would never go down there, alone.  It wasn’t anything I can put my finger on.  It was a heaviness in the air.  It was a hum against my skin.  I can still remember the feel of the hinky touch of something down in that basement.  I remember one time, that my sister left me down there.  She said she would be right back.  Yeah, right.  I sat on the little rug, eating the pack of pilfered Oreos that I had snuck downstairs.  I was happy, content.  Then the heavy feeling waved over me.  I remember falling completely still.  Like a spooked rabbit in a field, I was like stone.  My skin grew cold, and I was honestly terrified.  So afraid I couldn’t even scream.  The oreo in my mouth, yet to be swallowed turned to cement on my tongue.  Then the weight was gone, just as quick as it had settled upon my shoulders, it left.  I can still see myself as I slowly stood up from my little rug, and calmly walked up the stairs, leaving my stolen oreos where they sat on the rug.  I don’t think I ever went down there again.  We moved away from that house, soon thereafter.  If I ever catch a whiff of saw dust, the memory that comes to mind, is this one.  Every dag-on time.  As an adult I once asked my mom about that house.  She said she didn’t like going into the basement. It wigged her out.  I wonder if that is why the laundry was always piled up down there. 

Moments of childhood terror, I had many of them.  Next week, you will hear about Charlie, my imaginary friend…or was he?

Too be continued…again…

Monday, July 22, 2013

Earliest Memories

What are your earliest memories? We all have them, but how far back do they go.  If you could take them out and look at them now, would you say they helped to shape the person you are today? 

I have a few very early memories.  I mean VERY early.  The first being when I was maybe late two or very early three.  I know it was this age as it was before my mom married my dad (another day for that story).  I was an early riser from what I can tell.  I was up alone and hungry.  So to feed myself, I pulled out a new bag of cheeto type snacks and proceeded to dump the entire contents into my little ride along ducky.  It was a yellow duck with wheels on it, with the belly hollow for toys or blocks or whatever.  Then I rolled about the apartment on the ducky, eating cheetos along the way.  It was a good time for my young self.  Until my mother woke, that is.  She saw my ducky full of cheesy goodness and yelled at me to not eat one more!  Not one more!  Well, as a prequel to my future self, I remember pulling one more cheeto out of the belly of that ducky, and crunching it noisily as she stood there yelling at me.  I can still see her face to this day.  It turned this funny shade of not quite red and not quite purple before she grabbed my arm with the squeezing power of a cinch and said right in my now frightened face, “What did I just say?”  It was in that voice that causes children all over the world to shiver in fear.  How did I reply?  “You said not one more cheeto, but I thought you meant out of the bag, not the ones in my duck.”  You and I and my mother now should realized that bag, was empty.  My response did not go over all that well.  I don’t think I sat down the rest of that day. 

Another early memory was soon thereafter.  I call it the tree incident.  Again being an early riser, I was up and about at the break of dawn.  My sister (one year older that my three-ish years) was up as well and we decided to go outside and play and let mommy and “Bill” sleep (my future dad).  So we went outside and into the square courtyard of the apartment complex.  Off to the side was a tree that I liked to climb.  Now I could climb into the tree just fine.  It was getting out that I had a bit of trouble with.  Just one step, I found troublesome. The last big step out of the tree was too big for my little legs to make it by myself.  You only need to fall out of a tree once to realize it’s problematic.  However, with the help of my sister, I could always get out of the tree without issue.  That morning, I climbed up and as high as I could go.  I liked to sit up within the branches and leaves and watch the world without it watching me back.  I loved that tree.  My sister suddenly jumped out of the tree and said she’d be right back, she had to go to the bathroom.  I didn’t care.  I was happy up in the tree.  It was only after she was gone that I realized I had to go to the bathroom too, but I couldn’t get out of the tree.  I sat up there and waited for her to come back.  I watched one of the older couples come out and set up their chairs.  Another man soon joined them.  They sipped coffee and murmured back and forth to one another right under my tree.  My sister never came back for me.  I really had to go.  I tried to get out of the tree by myself, but couldn’t do it.  I was afraid of that last step.  I started to cry.  That was when the threesome of older people took note of me.  When they understood my dilemma, one man climbed up to get me out.  I didn’t say thank you, I just raced home as soon as my feet touched the ground and into the house where my sister was bouncing on the bed of my mom and Bill.  No one cared that I was gone.  No one cared that I had been stuck up in a tree and that a STRANGER had to get me out.  They just laughed at me and said not to climb that tree anymore.  I felt very lonely that day.  I remember the feeling.  I remember the incident. 

The cheeto moment didn’t so much make me who I am today, but it did seem to make cheetos taste funny ever after.  The tree incident however, changed me.  Being spanked was no big deal, it was not the first time and would not be the last by a long shot.  But being forgotten was.  Feeling like no one cared that I was stuck in a tree, scared and forgotten, hurt me and changed me.  That moment in my life shaped me.

To be continued….

Monday, July 8, 2013

First Draft - Soooo Close

Today is a blog about my next novel in the Shadow Dancer series.  The working title being:  Shadow Fire.  Oh it’s not scheduled for anything yet, but I am working to finish the first draft this week.  I am one piddly scene away from completion…of the first draft that is.  This book took me on a strange and exhausting path, one that I did not foresee when I started it.  I thought it would be a simple fantasy with a bit of love tossed in.  It has become quite the journey and a lot more complex than I could have ever expected. 

What is it about?  It’s about Leif and his life and how he became the man we know and how he then becomes the man we want him to be.  Sounds interesting, yes?  Let me just add that WOW, writing the POV of boys is hard.  Who knew?  Boys, I’m sure know this, but I, a girl, had no idea. 

Again, it’s so close to being written, which means it is then really close to being submitted, and hopefully on the publication train.  I can’t tell you too much more about it yet, but have no fear, once I have it finished, finished, and ready for submission, I will let you all know.  Until then, be patient, it’s on its way. 

Have a great week everyone, I’m off to the Realm of Acadia and the life and loves of Leif.  I want to get it done, this week!  So, no more time to blog.  Off I go.

Monday, July 1, 2013

July 4th - Independence Day

A short blog this week from me as the week is short with the holiday fast approaching.  Just a quick note to the masses out there, that when you are watching fireworks and enjoying your BBQ's to take a moment to remember what the day is for.  Celebrate your freedom and give a moment of thanks.

Have a great 4th!  See you next week.