" /> BRAINPAN LEAKAGE » nsa
  • M. R. And The…

      0 comments

    Geriatric Fetish Dominatrix Hooker.

    Yeah, that got your attention, didn’t it? And, no, it’s not just a ploy to get you to read this blog. Well, not entirely, anyway (wink wink, nudge nudge).

    So, what am I babbling about?

    Well, you see, about a week ago I was in New Orleans to attend, and support, my good friend Dorothy Morrison’s book release for Utterly Wicked: Curses, Hexes, and Other Unsavory Notions. Now, a book release is a big deal. It is a party where the book is first rolled out and made available for purchase, usually a week or so prior to the official “street date” set by the publisher. So, Dorothy arranged for her release party to be in NOLA–in the French Quarter, in fact, at a wonderful store on Dumaine called Esoterica. Mimi, the owner, had her annual soiree in conjunction with it, that way there was a really huge party with Champagne, Caviar, and tons of other food & drink. A host of wonderful folks attended, all decked out in Witchy costumes, from downright scary to, dare I say it, sexy.

    This is where the Geriatric Fetish Dominatrix Hooker comes in…

    The thing is, Morrison wanted this to be a big deal (which it was) and since the title of the book is Utterly Wicked, well…ummm…Okay, let me break it down-

    Morrison, as I have explained before, is OLDER THAN DIRT. I doubt I need to provide the calculation here again, but suffice it to say she is what you’d call Geriatric. So, anyway, she plans out this whole outfit for the release. Imagine if you will, Dorothy Morrison decked out as follows:

    Black silk peasant blouse with lace cuffs, black satin boned corset, black leather miniskirt, black fishnet stockings, black Steve Madden boots (ostensibly named “The Sergeant” because they are patterned somewhat after combat boots- but, only in that they are made of both canvas and patent leather, and lace up in the front) with 5 inch stiletto heels, and a black hat with a lace thingamajig hanging down her back.

    Yeah…Like I said… Geriatric Fetish Dominatrix Hooker. All she needed was a cat ‘o nine to complete the ensemble.

    Anyway, she got herself all decked out in this getup, then pranced through the quarter, a walk spanning about 10 blocks from the St. Louis Hotel down to Mimi’s shop. Horns were honking, there were catcalls, whistles, near collisions from people craning their necks, and even a few disapproving stares from the hotel staff. (I think maybe they thought I’d been keeping a hooker in my room)

    I know there are pictures because flashes were going off all night. Hopefully some will get emailed to me so I can show you this getup, because I’m not kidding.

    However, geriatric or not, I have to admit that Morrison looked sharp and definitely had it going on. Hell, when she was getting ogled as we walked down the street I just couldn’t help myself- I told all of the panting guys to back off, because I had already paid her and secured her services for the evening.

    More to come…

    Murv

  • Birthin’ Babies…

      0 comments

    It came screaming into the world with a -30-, Fin, The End, insert your favorite editorial mark here because some of the symbols don’t seem to want to show up in the blog, tagged on its rear, yesterday afternoon, right about 5:00 PM…

    Yeah, that’s right. The latest manuscript is finished, submitted, and all that good stuff. Sent off to “college” with only a virtual suitcase and class schedule (read: date with an editor) as I waved goodbye from behind the keyboard.

    One of my friends asked me what it is like to finish a manuscript– Elation, Relief, Joy, Sadness, what? So, I thought I would share the answer here, hence the title of the blog…

    Uh-huh…Writing a manuscript for a book, especially one that is contracted and has a deadline, is a lot like giving “intellectual birth.” No, not birthing a really smart kid (although, the Evil One and I managed to do that somehow– Our daughter is brilliant and will probably take over the world by the time she’s thirty, but I’ll brag on her later)… What I mean is, by the time you get to the end of a 100K word manuscript, you are spent. Worn out. Ready to just collapse.

    For example, I jump out of bed at 5:15-5:30 every morning. You can almost set your watch by me. Today…Not so much. My feet finally hit the floor around 8:00, and it’s not like I stayed up late celebrating or anything. My celebration took the form of the wife and kid taking me around the corner to the new Mexican place for dinner (so I didn’t have to cook)… That was nice. It was excellent. All was good. But, I went to bed at my regular hour. I was just plain exhausted…

    Some may wonder how you can possibly be exhausted by sitting on your ass behind a keyboard and typing for hours on end. Well, I don’t just sit. I get up to go to the bathroom and refill my coffee or tea… (Actually, I do make sure to get activity in, but that’s a different story)…

    The real deal is the exhaustion you experience is purely mental fatigue.

    (Well, there is the stiffness from sitting in one position, hunching over some research looking up something, the itchy eyes from staring at the screen, the cramps in your hands from typing all day… but this blog is about the mental stuff…)

    Remember, when you are writing you are pretty much living with this set of characters. I know that may sound insane, but trust me, that is how it works. You are walking around in a daze for the 4 to 6 months it takes you to tap out the story on your keyboard, and you have a whole host of folks bopping about in your head. Whispering in your ear. Telling you how THEY would do something that you are doing. Letting you know THEY would never eat a Braunschweiger sandwich because it’s yucky… Well, you get the picture.

    These imaginary characters become a part of your family, and for a period of time, a good portion of your life. You can’t do anything without thinking, “How would XX respond to this?”… “What would YY do if she was in this situation?”…And, more often than not, they tell you in no uncertain terms. Of course, you are the only one who hears them and that makes you look like you are talking to yourself…So, you try to avoid doing so in public lest the men in white coats come to take you away… The point is, they are with you night and day. You cannot get away from them, and if you try, they chase you down and make your life a nightmare. Why? Because you are supposed to be paying attention to them while they tell their story, and if you ignore them they get pissed.

    So, what it comes down to is the feeling when that -30- goes at the end of that last page…

    Well, it’s all of them. You run through them just like you would the stages of grief….You feel accomplished, you are elated, you are ecstatic. You are ready for these folks to go back in their box and leave you alone for a while. Then you get worried. Things happened to them in this story. Are they handling it okay? Are they going to make it through without counseling? Are YOU going to make it through without counseling?… Then you are sad…. It’s like houseguests who have been staying with you forever who finally leave. You think you are happy they are gone, then you realize you have grown so accustomed to having them around that you miss them terribly and want them to come back…

    So, name an emotion, I’ve probably felt it, or will over the next couple of days… That’s why I warned you in the last blog my brain would be like oatmeal for a while…

    It’s a rollercoaster…And, I’m on it right now.

    But, you know what? That’s okay… Because, last night I got to sit and have a normal conversation with my wife– That means not once did I stare off into space wondering how Rowan, Felicity, or any of the other characters would respond to the innocuous things being said.

    Of course, in a couple of months when I start the next manuscript, I am sure they will be happy to fill me in on what they thought…They always do.

    More to come…

    Murv