BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

“With the success of shows like Millennium and Profiler, I suspect the Rowan Gant series should do very well…”

The above is a quote from a literary agent with whom I had dealings way back when I was searching out a home for the first RGI novel, Harm None and its then “proposed but not yet written” sequels. I will admit the sentence is slightly paraphrased because that was many years ago and I truly have no idea what happened to the original letter. Still, I can pretty much recall this particular quote because it really had an impact on me.

Why?

Simple. Because in that one sentence he put my works in the same class as Millennium. To me, this was the ultimate compliment… You see, I was – and still am – a huge fan of that series. And, yes, I also watched Profiler, but Millennium was the show that got under my skin and stayed there.

So, let’s look at that comparison for just a second…

The RGI novels are a dark, gritty, police procedural type series about Rowan Gant, a reluctant paranormal investigator turned police consultant who has uncanny insight into the crimes and serial offenders he helps investigate.

Millennium is a dark, gritty, police procedural type series about Frank Black, a former FBI Agent / Case Investigator, (AKA “Profiler”), who now works as a consultant and has uncanny insight into the crimes and serial offenders he helps investigate.

See any similarities there?

Now, I do need to point something out – I wrote Harm None before the first episode of Millennium ever aired. Granted, HN wasn’t published until 2000, but the long and painful road to publication is another story entirely, and one that many authors know all too well – and, yes, it really took that long to find a home for the RGI series… Yeah, I know… Seemed silly to me too.  Suffice it to say, there were plenty of rejection slips to be had before Harm None ever made it to bookstore shelves, but the above quote from a Lit Agent is what kept me going each time I hit a brick wall… Eventually, those walls started to crumble, and there was even a good deal of time spent negotiating with an acquisitions editor at Penguin-Putnam. Again, another story entirely, because I ended up with a different publisher.

However, my point here is that Rowan Gant is not based on Frank Black. And, before anyone gets in a tizzy, I’m not claiming the converse, either.  That would be pretty hard to accomplish unless Chris Carter, creator of the TV series, was sneaking into my house in the middle of the night and stealing my manuscripts. And, while I love a good conspiracy as much as the next person, I don’t think that one is very likely.

I do believe, however, that maybe Mister Carter and I happen to think quite a bit alike. Still, he took one fork in the road and I took the other – even if the two paths ended up running “kinda sorta” parallel in a sense.

For instance, while the two characters have these amazing, vision-like insights, Rowan Gant embraces the magick and mysticism behind his abilities, whereas Frank Black for the most part eschews the mysticism and embraces the science. There are many other points where they diverge, but I’m not going to prattle on about that… The reason being, I’m not really here to make a comparison.

I’m here to talk about Millennium and its fans…

Like I said earlier, I am one of those rabid fans. Just like Browncoats, those foaming at the mouth, done the impossible, die-hard fans of Firefly who managed to create enough noise to get Serenity made, a movie based on that particular prematurely canceled series. (As my regular readers know, I’m a Browncoat too.)

But, back to Millennium… I have the entire series on DVD – which includes the X-Files episode that gave us addicted types a glimpse of where Frank Black was heading once the series itself had been canceled after only three seasons. I’ve watched the whole set several times, and will watch  it several more times in the future. It just never gets old for me.

In addition to the series, I also have the soundtrack on CD at home, in my truck, and even a few ripped MP3’s on my computer and MP3 player.  (Mark Snow – great music…) I can’t tell you how many times I have used that MP3 player and more specifically, the extended version of the Millennium main title theme to drown out a chatty wingnut seated next to me on a long flight.

I had an Ouroboros screen saver with a progressive countdown to the Millennium… Back in the day, when I turned my computer on it would display, “Good morning / afternoon / evening, Murv. There are XXX days remaining…”

Every now and then you might even notice that I pay homage to Millennium in my blogs, either via a mention in the text, a reference, a quote, or even by the title of the entry itself.  For example, the upcoming installment, “Somehow Satan Got Behind Me…” While that particular post doesn’t actually have anything to do with Millennium, the title is borrowed from the title of episode 21 from season 2 of the show. The title for this entry is itself  a paraphrased line of dialogue from the classic tongue-in-cheek episode, “Jose Chung And The Doomsday Defense,” (episode 9, season 2)…

And, yes, I will admit it – I even have a limited edition Frank Black action figure, (produced by Sideshow Toys), still pristine in the box, that I hope to have Lance Henriksen autograph for me some day. (In case it isn’t immediately obvious, Mister Henriksen is the actor who portrayed Frank Black in the series). If I’m lucky, since I tend to get booked in to do signings at SF/Fantasy Conventions, maybe our paths will cross. Trust me, if I am ever scheduled for a con and I see that he is a guest there as well, I will definitely be packing the action figure in my suitcase. If it gets searched and the TSA folks laugh at me for being a grown man who is packing around a glorified GI Joe doll, so be it. I mean, after all, it’s Frank Black we’re talking about here…

And as an aside, on the note of dolls, I really wish they had also produced a Katherine Black action figure too, based  of course on Megan Gallagher. But then, as I’ve mentioned before, I have sort of a “thing” for Ms. Gallagher – nothing weird,  sicko, scary, or stalkerish, mind you… (and trust me, with the research I’ve done for the RGI novels, I know more about that sort of Psychopathology than I ever wanted…) The real deal is pretty simple… Of all the celebrity types out there, I just happen to find her exceptionally appealing. Probably because she – and moreover her character, Katherine Black – remind me of my wife, E K. Yeah, I know,  a character is a character. Trust me, I am intimately familiar with the whole transference thing. I can’t count how many times I have had people think that I am Rowan Gant, and I just write the stories. No acting involved.  And, I also know that Miz Gallagher and E K aren’t dead ringers for one another or anything of that sort, but they are both absolutely gorgeous, IMHO. However, as I’ve also said before, if I were to ever meet the woman in person I’d probably be so tongue-tied that I would look like an utter moron. So, it’s probably a good thing they didn’t produce a Katherine Black action figure, because if I had one, then had an opportunity to meet Miz Gallagher, I’d probably stand there stammering like a fool.  Therefore, she’d most likely run the other direction as quickly as possible and I’d never get it autographed.

Yeah, like I said, I’m a die hard Millennium fan…

So, at this point I am sure you are wondering why I am babbling about all this? Well, that’s simple. I know that some of you who read my books are Millennium fans as well. And, those of you who aren’t already familiar with the show would probably become fans right from episode one if you ever saw it. So, I would recommend picking up the DVD boxed sets and having yourself a Millennium marathon. It’s definitely more than worth it.

But, wait, there’s more…

Come on… You knew there would be.

Some time back I was “friended” on Myspace by “Back To Frank Black“… Most likely because Millennium is listed under “favorite TV shows” on my profile.  I gave their page a cursory look as I always do when I receive a friend request, but since I was in the middle of meeting a manuscript deadline I didn’t have time to really get into it. Now, while I’m deeply involved in a manuscript, my deadline isn’t looming as close as it was then, so I actually had an opportunity to look a bit closer.

Back To Frank Black turns out to be not only a fan created Myspace page, but a website and blog as well. What’s more, it is a fan-based movement. The page features interviews with Lance Henriksen, and others from the series such as Kristen Cloke and Sarah-Jane Redmond… Maybe they’ll interview Megan Gallagher sometime soon… Hey, a guy can dream can’t he?

But, let’s not digress in that direction…

The BTFB movement actually has a mission – that being to reach out to fans and create a groundswell of demand for a Millennium Movie, or even return of the series. While the original storyline was threaded with the coming Millennium, (at the time – it originally ran Fall 96 – Spring 99), it was truly based in the psychopathology of the hysteria stemming from that impending event. Such sociopathic behaviors have not disappeared simply because Y2K has come and gone. If anything, they may be worse.

Throughout history there have been a plethora of “doomsayers” and prophecies to fuel the fires of the unstable. This most certainly has not changed. For instance, we have 2012 on its way. Supposedly the end of time as we know it… And, trust me, that’s only the tip of the proverbial iceberg where End Times Prophecy is concerned. A quick search on the internet will show you that much… So, the story fodder here is endless…

Therefore… If you are a Millennium fan, do yourself a favor and run by backtofrankblack.com to check it out. If you aren’t yet a fan, then surf on by there anyway and have a look. The interviews are great, as are the fans.

And, if you are an RGI fan, I’m betting you’ll be all about Frank Black, and you’ll want to see his return as much as I, and countless other Millennium fans around the world.

To borrow from the series itself…

The time is near… The time is now.

This is who we are…

Murv

Part 9 of 12

Continued from: Mahwage: Clink! Clank! Oh, Murv!

Apparently, I perform well under pressure, even when it comes to mathematics…

Yes… The ring was exactly, and I do mean exactly, where my advanced calculations had said it would be. I didn’t even have to get dirty looking for it. I simply stood on an upturned 5 gallon bucket, removed two screws from a vent cover on the duct work, and there it was, winking at me in the dim light as if to say, “Whee! That was fun, let’s do it again!“

Needless to say, I ignored the ring’s request, replaced the vent cover, and returned upstairs. I also made it a point to show my mother-in-law the ring so that she would know the crisis had been averted, and more importantly, that I was not nearly as big an idiot as she imagined me to be. To this day I’m not really sure she was convinced…

Oh, and before I go any further I need to address a couple of things…

First, my apologies to Z Z Top for snagging one of their song titles for this blog entry. But, I think you’ll see why I did it if you keep reading…

Second, if you look closely at the picture above and on the right, you will notice that E K appears to have a grin on her face… In fact, it is something almost resembling a laugh. Well, that’s because it is. A laugh, I mean. Although you can’t see my face in this photo, rest assured, I was desperately trying to stifle a guffaw myself. It seems our rings were in a mood that evening. Not only had E Kay’s wedding band taken an unscheduled excursion through the HVAC duct work, we  even had ourselves another “ring mishap” right smack in the middle of the ceremony. Scott, (visible on the right), had handed me E Kay’s ring. Erin (remember Erin?) had handed E K my ring. Both of us, at his behest, had handed the respective rings to E Kay’s father, (the guy in front of us performing the ceremony), so that he could bless them… When he handed them back to us,  each at separate times as the ceremony called for, somehow I ended up with my own ring to slide onto Kat’s finger. Well, my ring being larger, obviously, this wasn’t that much of an issue. However, as the logical progression continued, moments later E K ended up with her own ring to place  on my finger and we tried desperately to make a surreptitious swap without letting on, but ended up getting tickled…

But, let’s step a few minutes back in time… (Yeah, don’t you wish you could do that for real? Me too.)

So, here we are, instantly back in the recent past… Well, it was recent past then… Now it is… Well, you know what I mean…

At this point I have recovered the fugitive wedding ring and I am feeling fairly proud of myself over such a grand accomplishment. However, since the clock didn’t stop during the mini crisis, we are at T minus 15 at this point… E K is still in the bedroom making herself too gorgeous for words, or as has been my personal contention for years, desperately trying to pry open the window that had been painted shut by the previous owners in order to make her escape. She maintains that my theory simply is not true, but when we went to replace that window during our continued  remodel several months later, I found claw-like fingernail gouges in the woodwork that looked suspiciously like they had been made by a human being with petite little feminine hands. From all appearances they seemed to have been made while she was attempting to dig her way through the wall.

With evidence like that, you tell me… What would you think?

But yeah, I digress…

We were coming up on zero-hour and fast. People had been arriving for several minutes, and our tiny house was now full, and even overflowing onto the front porch. In fact, it became obvious that there was a bit of an exodus occurring right before my eyes. It was at this particular point when I realized that I had started to sweat more than just a little. At first I thought it was simply because I was the groom and it was my job to sweat profusely immediately prior to the ceremony, however it was soon brought to my attention that everyone else was sweating too. Given that they weren’t standing in my shoes, there had to be something else going on…

You see, as I outlined in the earlier installment, “Mahwage: The Wedding Suit,” not only had the 2008 startup of the Large Hadron Collider screwed with the fabric of time and space, effectively f*cking up clocks on 10/31/87, apparently it had also temporarily shifted the entire planet on its axis, returning us from the beautiful fall weather we had been experiencing, (since, after all, it was autumn), to something more closely resembling mid-summer.

Yes, what I am saying is that  it was unseasonably warm… Way, way unseasonably warm. And when combined with all those bodies milling about in an enclosed area, as well as a half dozen medium-sized cans of Sterno flaming away beneath chafing dishes, along with a couple of crock pots set on high… well, it was just plain sweltering in the house. Not a problem.  Easy to fix. I would just turn on the A C…

… Uh-huh… Yeah… Problem…

And said problem is yet another reason why we paid way too much for our “fixer upper”. I slid the switch on the thermostat, and the A C clicked on. It then proceeded to make a groaning noise, followed by a clank, punctuated by a sputter, underlined by a screech, and then  when it was fully satisfied with itself, the damn thing settled in to a loud, not quite right sounding whirr. All well and fine, except that whirring was pretty much all it was good for at that point. Uh-huh… The compressor was all but shot, and the coil was hot on its heels… And, while that pun wasn’t intended, it is entirely accurate… The A C was blowing hot air…

But, even though the air flowing from the vents felt more like the product of the furnace than the A C, at least now it was moving…  Sorta… Well, a little bit…

So, in a last ditch effort to adjust the comfort level, we ran around the house and pried open every window we could so as to assist in the circulation. There were still more people coming for the reception following the ceremony proper, so heat exchanging was definitely going to be an issue. This process took a little elbow grease, because remember, the previous owners had been very good about painting the windows shut for us. While that thought was awfully kind of them, I was less than excited about it right then…

But, let’s move on to those stockings…

I make absolutely no secret of the fact that I am not a “boob man”. This is probably one of the reasons Erin, (remember Erin? By the way, is anyone sensing an “Erin” theme here yet?) Anyway, this is probably why Erin and her most bodacious and prominent chest didn’t enrapture me as it had done for the other red-blooded males back at ComputerTrend. I mean, nothing against breasts… They’re nice… Even fun to play with now and again… (No, I never played with Erin’s… Sheesh, you people…) But, to put it very simply they aren’t the physical feature that first attracts my attention when it comes to the appreciation of the female form… (As you can see, I am desperately trying to apply some political correctness to this part of my rambling, and failing miserably in the process, so I’m afraid I’ll just have to abandon the attempt…) The long and short of it is this… I’m a leg man. Nothing titillates, (yeah, odd word choice, considering), me more than a woman’s legs. I’m all about the whole stocking-encased, silky thigh, back of the knee, shapely calf, well-turned ankle appendage ending in a stiletto heeled pump…

Uhm… Excuse me just a moment…

…Okay, I’m back now…

What? I was getting more coffee… Jeez… First Erin, now this… Y’all are worse than me… Give me a break.

Okay, so let’s get back to the story… So, yeah, everyone has their turn-on’s, and shapely female legs are mine. So, my lovely bride, both knowing this fact and being in possession of a fantastic pair of legs, (yes, hers, not someone else’s), had picked out a pair of sexy, white, back-seamed stockings to go with her dress and high heels. Trust me… I was not complaining about this fact at all…

Now… I have to divert from the storyline once more in order to pass along a bit of pertinent information. E K was, at that time in her life, habitually late for everything. She still is, but to nowhere near the degree she was back then… Remember the part in an earlier installment about us annoying one another? Well, there’s one for you… As it happens, I’m habitually early. See the rub? I am pointing this out because much time has passed with all that A C mucking about and window opening handjive.

Therefore, much to my chagrin, we have now arrived at T plus 20 or so… Yeah, the mission profile has been altered and I didn’t get the memo.

And so, the tableau is set up thusly… E K is still in the bedroom. I am standing in the middle of the living room with all of our friends and family, doing the only thing I can think to do, which is shrugging my shoulders and shaking my head. My sister has already made a trip or two back to the bedroom to check on E K and has assured me that she is neither sick, nor has she escaped.

We continue to stand and/or sit, as the case may be, around the living room and stare at one another. Every now and then I would shrug once more and smile nervously. By now my best man, Scott, has punched me in the arm enough times that I am convinced I will be needing to head to the emergency room for an X-ray and cast once the ceremony is over… Got all that? Good, because here goes…

Finally, we heard the bedroom door click and swing open. A hush fell, almost like it would in an actual chapel. It must be something to do with “Bride Radar” or some such, you got me, all I know is it got real quiet, real fast… Anyway, from my vantage point I can see down the hallway and slowly, but surely, an absolute vision comes into view. E K was beyond stunning and my breath literally caught in my chest. However, since I realize full well that during this series I have gone on and on and on about how gorgeous  my wife is, in my eyes at the very least, I’ll try to refrain from doing so for a minute or two.

E K smiled and began walking toward me. I smiled back at her, and as she stepped into the living room her heels clacked across the hardwood floor, sharp and obvious in the hush that still gripped those in attendance. She glanced around at everyone and said in a shy voice, “Sorry… I guess we’re ready now.” I stepped quickly to the “altar,” (as seen in the first picture up top, the “altar” was the yet unfinished window at the South end of the living room.)

My plan, of course, was to wait for my lovely bride to make her complete entrance and allow her to be the center of attention for a moment, just like it is supposed to happen at a wedding. She picked up on the cue and ventured farther into the room as she walked slowly toward me.

I continued smiling at her, but noticed that her own smile was quickly fading. In fact, her eyes had grown wide and her face had begun to twist into a look of surprise, fear, consternation, concern, calculating thought, and about twelve other similar expressions… And, these bizarre looks were being displayed all at once. Without missing a single, dainty step, as if perfectly choreographed, she turned smoothly on her heel and continued her march in the complete opposite direction, making a sharp right turn into the hallway from whence she had come, as she called over her shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

A pair of seconds later we heard the bedroom door open, and then quickly shut. We all looked around the room at one another, totally dumbfounded. This was the last thing anyone had expected, and it once again had me wondering if E K was trying to claw her way out the back window in a bid to seek freedom. Of course, customarily the groom is the one to get cold feet, but since we had already been setting a precedent throughout our entire relationship for re-enacting scenes from movies that hadn’t even been made yet, there was always the chance that this incident was going to be plucked from our lives and inserted into Runaway Bride.

For a moment, I considered sending my sister back to the bedroom with a bottle of scotch  and a tumbler. My hope was that a shot or two would bolster my maybe-soon-to-be-wife’s courage, but before I could set that plan into motion, Kathy reappeared, her smile now beaming as she once again muttered a quick “sorry about that,” and made her way through the assemblage to stand by my side.

It wasn’t until we were preparing for bed later that evening… Yes, later that evening… Not night, not the next morning, that evening… Trust me, we’ll get to the “why” in relation to that in just a bit. Anyway, it wasn’t until then that I found out what that whole little back and forth dance was all about. And, I only found out because my bride suddenly announced to me that she had lost all feeling in her legs…

You see, it’s like this… While me not having a suit was a major screw up…  I readily admit that… It seems I wasn’t the only one who was misfiring in the grey matter department. E K… Yes, E K, had screwed up too. When she purchased the stockings to go with her dress, she had thought she picked up a pair of thigh-highs, when in fact she had picked up stockings. As in stockings that require a garter belt. A garter belt which was still packed away in a box in the basement, because we had only just moved in and were woefully behind in unpacking due to the remodeling activities. So, even if she had asked me to retrieve the lacy accoutrement for her, I probably wouldn’t have been able to actually locate it amidst the boxes until sometime during the spring of 1994, which obviously would have been just a tad bit late. She knew this… Remember, like I said before, she’s a smart cookie…

So, in a MacGyverish gambit, she had attempted to make the sheer fabric stay in place with a bit of  cellophane tape… Unfortunately, by the time she made it less than a half dozen steps into the living room, the stockings began to fall, hence the sudden horrified look upon her face.

But, why had she lost the feeling in her legs? Well, here’s the thing… Her own personal lightning fast calculations in the face of an impending crisis had led her to the only solution available within the confines of the bedroom, and time allotted upon her hasty retreat… For the entire evening she had been holding up her stockings with heavy duty rubber bands wrapped around her thighs… Now, that’s what I call commitment to a cause, for you see, I happen to know my bride had other actual thigh high stockings in the bedroom. I know this because she used to buy Leggs stockings mail-order by the dozen. Now, I doubt if she had any that were white, although she may have. I don’t actually make a habit of inventorying my wife’s undergarments.  That would just be… Well… Weird… Harmless, but weird… Anyway,  my point here is that I’m willing to bet there were some in “nude,” or some other hosiery shade that would have worked just fine with her dress.

But of course, that’s my E K for you… Once she sets her mind to something you best stay out of her way, because she is going to see it through come hell, high water… Or even sagging stockings…

But, as I said, this little tidbit of information came to my attention much later in the evening… I’m afraid this story isn’t over quite yet…

More to come…

Murv

… NEXT: Mahwage: Trick Or Treat!