BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Okay, I’ll be honest, this is going to be one of those short and sweet postings. I’m up against a deadline – not right up against it, but it definitely now falls under Visual Flight Rules – so I’m not free to “blawg” like usual… Still, the title does have a bit of a dual meaning.

1. I’m off in the land inside my head where I am not necessarily me. I’m just some random cluster of glial cells that happens to be taking notes.
2. There’s another place out on the web where people might think I am me being someone who is not me, but in a real sense of the word is actually me. But it’s not.

Make sense? Nope… Doesn’t to me either…

Let me see if I can explain –

As far as number one goes, I’m writing. I have a manuscript deadline to meet. Of the two, I think that was probably pretty self-explanatory.

As to the oddball number two…

There’s a blog out there called Ripped From The Pages…

RFTP is a blog (duh, Murv, you just said that), and it is written by characters – primarily Felicity O’Brien – from the Rowan Gant series of novels. It details things going on in their lives outside the boundaries of the books. Some folks, quite understandably, have assumed that it is me penning these entries.

Well… It’s not. Now, I know I often speak of merely being a stenographer in the world of my characters, and yes, I still maintain that position. However, in this particular case I am not even the stenographer behind the prose. As it happens, a dear friend, fan, and co-creator of the “Official Unofficial M. R. Sellars Fan Club – Murv’s Stalkers” is the voice behind Felicity and her blog entries.

So that we are clear, YES, these blogs are officially sanctioned by me, and I do see them prior to public release. I also provide some of the pictures that are used (though not all, by any means)…

Why am I telling you all this? Well, you see, here’s the thing. Sometimes folks will leave comments on the blog addressed to me. I don’t always see them unless “Felicity” tells me about it, or I just happen to surf by there. “Felicity” has pointed out that she is writing the blog, and not me – however, I am willing to bet that many are just assuming those notes are from me being silly – or  personality dissociative…

Well… It’s not. There’s a “Felicity” behind “Felicity” on Ripped From The Pages… And you know, sometimes she even fools me…

More to come…

Murv

First she steals my heart…

Then she steals my freedom…

Next she steals my French fries… (right off my plate)

And then she steals my virginity… Wait… No… That was already gone.

Thing is, now she’s stealing my schtick.

Yeah, I know, Richard Castle is already doing that, but I can’t say too much about that. Last time I did I pissed off the fan club shill.

But, even with everything else, now E K – Her Supreme Evil Redheaded Goddess Techno MILF – is taking my schtick. No, not that schtick… She got that one even before we were married, and she doesn’t even let me see it, much less play with it anymore.

I’m talking about the part where I’m funny.

Okay, stop laughing, I am too funny.

Seriously. Enough.

All right then… So, there I was, engaged in my morning routine. You know, the one that starts at 5:30 AM where I get the coffee going, then give her Eebilness a back massage, followed by setting out her breakfast stuff, yadda yadda…

And that’s when it happened.

There she was, the Eebil Redhead, standing in the kitchen in her sheer black negligee and stiletto heeled mules, as she does every single morning, looking like she had just stepped out of the pages of a Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog…

Wait… That was while I was still asleep. Let’s fast forward a bit…

There she was, the Eebil Redhead, fiery hair sticking out at all sorts of odd angles, one eye shut, clad in sweats and a fuzzy bathrobe. How’s that for truth in advertising?

Anyway, she was standing at the counter peering into a fresh box of Raisin Bran. If you remember my previous blog entries, you know that E K must have Raisin Bran every morning, otherwise people suffer – namely me. I came around the corner just in time to see her eyeball the contents, then eyeball the bowl she had just filled. She did this a couple of times, then closed the top on the box and began to shake it in a most violent fashion. She bounced it up and down, rattled it, beat it on the counter, slung it around in a circle, then shook it some more.

Then she opened it, eyeballed it, eyeballed the bowl, and then did it all over again.

Unable to take it any longer I asked, “Ummmm… What in the world are you doing?”

“Imma rebbstrupping nabn race pins,” she mumbled. You have to understand, when she’s half asleep she speaks the same language she does when she’s drunk (See: Gimme Mai Shooz…)

“What?” I asked.

“Imma rebbstrupping nabn race pins.”

“What?” I asked again, because that’s what I say when I don’t understand someone. Truth is I’ve been saying that a lot lately.

With an exasperated sigh, she cocked her head, put a hand on her hip, drew in a breath and half yelled, “I’m redistributing the raisins!”

“Oh, okay…” I replied. I stood and watched her in silence for a moment, then asked, “Why?”

She pointed at the bowl and said, “Two scoops in every box and I’ve got one of ’em right here.”

I love you honey. I even obey you and try not to complain too much when you beat me severely, use me as a doormat, and steal my French fries…

But now you’re crossing the line. Observational Satire and the associated witty commentary are MY things. You need to stick with being unbelievably smokin’ hot and incredibly evil. It works for you.

Me, on the other hand, humor is all I’ve got.

More to come…

Murv