BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

It’s interesting what you can find when you are randomly surfing the net.

Say, for instance, you are running down something that someone told you about, so you type in some logical, key search phrases. You don’t necessarily find the thing said individual was talking about, but you might just find something equally interesting (or disturbing, as the case may be).

That would be what happened to me today.

You see, I was chasing down something I had been told about a movie someone had seen. They told me that in the credits it has said “Based on the Rowan Gant Investigations Series by M. R. Sellars.” Well, having never received any sort of royalty check for such I was interested in finding out if this was true. As it turns out, I have been unable to find this movie (the person couldn’t remember the title), nor have I been able to find anything remotely indicating that such exists. What I did find, however, was a rather interesting blog.

Now… In the interest of not getting sued for unauthorized linking, I will simply put the URL here and if you are so inclined you can cut and paste it.

taac.us//blogs/Jennings/2007/06/13/wiccan-truths-can-be-found-closer-to-home

You will, of course, want to preface that with a www.

I suppose I found this particular blog interesting because it is about me, and the Rowan Gant Investigations. On top of that, it is written by Father Jennings of The Ancient Apostolic Communion, that being a new Independent denomination in the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church of Jesus Christ.

First off, I was surprised to find that Father Jennings had taken the time to read a book in the RGI series. He comments about the particular antagonist being featured in two books, however his commentary starts with something on the order of “Reading THE book in M. R. Sellars’…” (I capped the THE, not him…However, I am left wondering at the choice of THE over A, or even the and the plural, BOOKS…Oh well, in his blog he wonders about me as well, so I guess we are even.)

So…Father Jennings first seems to have a bit of an issue with my departure from “standard” literary conventions– those mentioned being punctuation and capitalization. I have no problem with that. It puts me in a category with one of my favorite, recently deceased authors, Kurt Vonnegut. He eschewed standard literary convention as well, choosing to create punctuation (such as I sometimes do with the ?! found in my books) and to use non-standard capitalization for emphasis (this is the item that seemed to set Father Jennings on edge the most). As a side note to Father Jennings, I hate to burst your bubble, but most novelists do take license with some of the conventions. And, we have these things called style sheets…

The first MAJOR thing Father Jennings takes issue with, however, is that I never explain “why” Rowan is Wiccan. He goes on to outline that if Rowan were Catholic, it wouldn’t be a problem since it is so close to Protestant Christianity that it would simply be accepted by the reader without question. However, since he is Wiccan, apparently the reader is owed an explanation as to what drove him to that faith.

I thought that to be just a bit amusing.

No, I am not poking fun at Father Jennings. I actually enjoyed his blog. It is well thought out and intelligent. However, I still find this observation of his amusing. Why? Because I don’t make a habit of asking people “why” they became Christian, Hindu, Muslim, Asatru, Secular Humanist, Agnostic, Atheist, or even Wiccan. I simply accept the fact that they are (if I happen to find out, because I don’t make a habit of asking a persons religion either). I also simply accept that they chose the path which best enlightened them spiritually. Perhaps I am a bit behind the curve with that, but the truth is I believe all religions should co-exist in some sort of harmony. I don’t hold any belief that such will happen in my lifetime, but for some of us we look upon religion as a personal quest, and our faith as something which bears no explaining to anyone but ourselves.

However, the good Father points out that one reason it is easy to accept someone being Christian is that they are born into it. Well, in the very first book of the RGI series, Harm None, Rowan points out that his Mother was a Witch. So, following his logic, it has been explained. Of course, I suppose that means I need to write a prequel explaining WHY Rowan’s Mother was drawn to the Craft, but I won’t go there…

Secondly, Father Jennings points out that the Christians portrayed in my books are all so narrow minded they can look through a keyhole with both eyes. Father, I love that metaphor! Reminds me of some of my own. Either way, this is not something I take issue with either. Truth is, he probably hasn’t read ALL of the books, because not EVERY Christian is portrayed as such. However, YES, some of them are. The one he points out most prominently is the ANTAGONIST. Well, you know, there is this thing called CONFLICT. Conflict makes a story and drives a book. Since the antagonist in the volume he references is Christian, and bent on reviving the Inquisition, it simply wouldn’t do for him to be generally accepting of other faiths, IMHO. It should also be noted that the antagonist is NOT portrayed as a typical Christian, but as a very disturbed sociopath. I also seem to recall Rowan  (remember him – the Wiccan?) points out far more benign meanings behind scripture than what the antagonist skews it to be.

Sooooo…this leads me to Father Jennings question of my personal open-mindedness where religion is concerned. To that I say, rest easy. I don’t hate Christians, Father Jennings. I take people on an individual basis, regardless of religion, race, politics, or personal philosophy. I treat everyone with respect until they treat me otherwise. Once they have shown ME disrespect, then I have no use for them.

However, since you have questioned my “broadmindedness,” I will pose this question to you– Did you ever think that perhaps I created the characters based on personal experiences? Like maybe the time my house was covered with banners in the middle of the night, all of them reading “Witches Live Here – Burn In Hell”… Or, the Christian Charity that refused to accept a sizeable donation from me because, and I quote that which was said to my face, “Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch To Live…”

But, I’d rather jump down from the soapbox. I am not here to preach hate. As I said, I take people on an individual basis and many, MANY of my good, close friends are Christians who adhere to the philosophy of live and let live, just as I do.

We ALL have things to learn, and we all have our crosses (pentacles, thor’s hammers, etc) to bear. That is just part of life.

So, lest anyone think otherwise, I took no offense at Father Jennings blog. I found it interesting and entertaining. As I said, it was intelligent and well thought out. However, the comment section was closed so I couldn’t reply there, so I thought I’d just write my own little diatribe for the masses in my own blog…

Oh, and by the way, like it says in the front of my books–

The are FICTION…

More to come…

Murv

Being on a book tour is hard work.

On the outside, looking in, it probably doesn’t seem that way to most folks. But, trust me, it is. Take, for instance, this most recent tour.

Each day, Morrison and I would get up at the buttcrack of dawn. As in 4AM or even a bit earlier. Sometimes a bit later, but not by much. This would immediately be followed by us complaining about how we were too old for this crap. Instead of giving up and going back to sleep, however, we would take our turns getting a shower, then stuff all of our “possibles” (as Morrison calls them,) into our respective suitcases, and then spend a few minutes disassembling and reassembling the 3 dimensional puzzle that was the trunk and back seat of the rental car. Once we had jumped up and down on the trunk lid a few times, finally getting it to latch, we would hop into the vehicle and hit the road. Our first stop would usually be the office of the motel for a cup of coffee and a stale donut. If no such comestibles were available to us, we would find a Dunkin Donuts, local diner, or even a stop ‘n shop where we could grab the aforementioned caffeine and carb fix.

Then, Jane, AKA “the bitch in the box” would bark her orders at us as we navigated the streets of unfamiliar cities, eventually making our way to an unfamiliar highway, then striking out on the next leg of our journey. The drive could be 4 hours, or it could be 7. It all hinged on where we were expected to be next (as outlined in the sacred blue folder, which lived for 15 days tucked behind the sun visor on the passenger side of the car…) Sometimes we had to be in one place by 11AM, only to turn around and be in another place by 6PM. Somewhere in that mess we also needed to check in to our motel, freshen up our road weary faces, and do what it is that one does when your job is signing books and entertaining workshop attendees.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. Both of us truly enjoy going on book tours and meeting folks. I’m simply pointing out that this is NOT the glamorous life you see depicted in movies. It’s work. It’s tough work. And, it involves long, long days and nights. Typically, our work day is 14 to 16 hours.

You will notice in the above diatribe that nothing is mentioned about lunch. Just the stale donut and coffee at 5AM or thereabouts. Why no lunch? Because, when your schedule is that tight, and you are zipping across entire states going from bookstore to bookstore, lunch isn’t always an option. That stale donut/bagel and weak coffee is your primary sustenance for the day.

By the time you get finished with the appearances for that calendar date, it is almost certainly close to being the next day. As in, 11PM or after. You climb back into the car and head for the motel…or to the home of a friend where you are going to crash…and set out again. Sometimes the friend or motel is close. Sometimes it’s two hours down the road so that you are just that much closer to your next gig. It’s just the way of things. When you get where you are going, you suddenly realize that the donut and coffee are fully digested, every single nutrient that could be gleaned from them has been and has been used to its full potential…It also dawns on you that your adrenal gland, which has been keeping you upright for the past 8 hours is now tapped out. So, before you climb into bed to get your 3 to 4 hours of sleep, you roll into a diner and get a hamburger…or a cheese sandwich…or you even drop by the Quick E Mart and toss down one of those not so appetizing, pre-made, pre-packaged chicken salad sandwiches. (Well, I ate a sandwich, Morrison had M&M’s. I think she was looking for comfort food that night, and the Quick E Mart didn’t have a steak.) Anyway, the point is that you dump some kind of fuel into your system so that you can keep going.

So, what does this have to do with Pizza? Glad you asked.

After one of our gigs…I think it was in Rehoboth, MA, but don’t quote me, because I really did lose track of where and when I was (this is not unusual)…we had a one and a half hour drive to get to our crash point. We were staying with some friends who happen to live in Salem, MA. Since we had never been to their place before we had some directions with landmarks. A few minutes outside Salem, Morrison mentioned to me that one of the landmarks was the fact that their apartment building had a pizza joint on the ground floor.

Neither of us had eaten a thing since that morning. The magical word PIZZA had been uttered. We both looked at one another and said, “Pizza!” Our stomachs began to growl. Our mouths began to water. And, we said PIZZA! yet again. The monster was out of the proverbial closet.

We arrived at our destination, and with the help of our friends Kim and Alec, carted our luggage up to their spacious and exceptionally cool apartment. Kim called downstairs to order us a Pizza, primarily because we crawled out of the car and didn’t even say hello. We just kept saying, PIZZA and sighing wistfully. Fortunately, Kim and Alec are very bright and on the ball, which meant they were both able to quickly decipher the inane ramblings of two wiped out authors on tour.

The Pizza place was getting close to closing time so they told her they were only serving slices, and not making whole pizzas. Alarms went off. Eyes watered. Emotional breakdowns were on the verge of ensuing. Pizza was what we needed. Pizza was the only thing that would sustain us at this point. Without pizza we would wither and die. So, we all marched downstairs right into the pizza place. If nothing else, we were going to get a slice.

That was when Morrison gained a momentary spark of lucidity and genius. She looked at the girl behind the counter and said, “Are any of those pizzas back there whole?” The girl said, “Why yes, we do have a whole cheese pizza.” Morrison waved money at her and said, “Give it to me.” Note, she did not say “please, may we have that one,” or “would you be willing to sell us the whole pizza.” No, she said “Give it to me.” Obviously, since she was waving money she didn’t mean that the girl should literally “give it to her,” but it was obvious to everyone in the place that Morrison wasn’t leaving without that pizza.

I was reaching for my wallet. At that point we were both willing to toss all of the green we had onto the counter in order to obtain the sacred pizza. Fortunately, they were scrupulous folks and didn’t take advantage of us in our deteriorated states. We got the pizza, went back upstairs then stood in Kim and Alec’s kitchen, a slice in one hand, and a nice, cold, hard cider in the other. And we ate.

And we ate…

And we ate…

All in all, I can guarantee you that the pizza was pretty much average as pizzas go.

But, that night…Well, let’s just say on that particular night, it was the best damn pizza either of us had ever eaten in our lives.

More to come…

Murv

PS. In a day or two I’ll tell you about round two…New York style pizza (actually, they call it “pie”) purchased in New Jersey…