BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter…

Notice how I start my blogs that way a lot? Yeah, well, just one of those things…

Anyway, those of you who follow me in the aforementioned  social networking venues are aware that I have been furiously hurling words at the page for the last couple of weeks. I know many have assumed that I was working on another Rowan Gant Investigations novel.

Well, actually, I wasn’t…

(Never fear, the next RGI installment will be out next year in July…)

However, what I was working on was being a closely kept secret for a couple of reasons.

1. My publisher didn’t want to jump the gun.
2. Sh*t happens
3. You just never know

Okay… So that’s three. Be that as it may, the project was under wraps because we really weren’t sure if it would be finished in time.

You see, I came up with an idea some time back for a story. A holiday story of sorts. I pitched it. There was a good reception. But I didn’t go home with the bride, so to speak.

Then, recently, I got the green light, with the idea that it would be out next year. Me, I didn’t want to wait. So, I ran off at the mouth and made a promise I wasn’t entirely sure my sorry ass could keep. That being that I would hammer out this Novelette in time for it to be released FOR FREE as an E-book, on Christmas, of THIS year.

Yeah, I know… Stupid, eh? But, the publisher agreed to give it a try and I started flinging. Of course, you know me. A Novelette (7500 to 17,499 words) turned into a Novella (17,500 to 40,000 words). I’ve been turning in pages as fast as I could spit them out, and it seems I did not disappoint my editor.

On top of that, the “Dead Santa” project I kept mentioning? Well… EK, The Chunk Man, and I – with the gracious loan of a Santa Suit from Missus Loota-Chack, did a photo shoot as well, and provided the art department with the pictures I had in my head for the project. They’ve already been hard at work as evidenced here…

So… On December 22nd, Merrie Axemas: A Killer Holiday Tale will be released in E-book format, FREE. For those of you who have yet to get yourself one of those nifty gadgets (such as yours truly) it will also be available in a PDF format and readable online.

I had fun writing it. I hope you have fun reading it… Stay tuned for the information on where and when you can get your copy…

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