BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Yep… You would think that considering the books I pen I would eschew getting myself involved in any more mysteries than are absolutely necessary. After all, making them up, plotting them out, and then attaching them to paper through the use of words should be enough for one guy, correct?

But no… Leave it to me to get myself involved in a murder investigation here at home.

So, let me explain the event leading up to this homicide for you:

I was making one of my daily trips to the library (yes, that would be a euphemism- library, can, throne room, crapper… take your pick.) Anyway, there I am, reading through the latest issue of Missouri Conservationist when over the top edge of the magazine I spy something. At first, I thought nothing of it, but that only lasted a second or two. You know how it is – you see something and it doesn’t quite register at first, but then after a heartbeat or so it smacks your right between the eyes… Well, that’s pretty much what happened. So, lowering the magazine, I took a longer look.

Lo and behold, there on the back corner of the bathtub, not quite covered by the shower curtain, are Barbie and Ken. Now, I’m definitely no prude- if you’ve read the Miranda Trilogy, you know that to be true- however, I have to admit that I blushed. You see, Barbie, in all her curvaceous glory, was grappled with the buff eunuch in a “girl-on-top missionary position”. It was obvious that they had been swimming in the bathtub at some point because Babs’ long, flowing, nylon hair showed signs of having dried without the benefit of combing or detangling. Ken, on the other hand, had little problem in that department, what with the helmet hair and all, but I digress. The point is, putting two and two together told me that after some frolicking in the sudsy surf, the two had apparently become amorous and, well, needed to do some business. Perfectly natural. Basic carnal urges and all that… So, all good…

At any rate, as I said, I blushed, then went back to reading about hummingbird feeders while making it a point to finish the article and all my business associated with the reading of said article a bit more quickly than usual. I mean, I seriously doubted that the two love birds really wanted a spectator, know what I mean? (BTW, due to Ken’s general lack of endowment, I didn’t bother to offer any contraception. I suspected it probably wasn’t needed.)

Okay, so now we fast forward to the next day. Here is where the crime scene comes into play…

As expected, I needed to once again visit the library. Just one of those other natural urges. This time I think I was planning to read the local school district newsletter so I would be up on any bond issues, or things I might need to know which would affect my child’s learning. I pretty much figured Babs and Ken would be done by now, so I was feeling pretty safe in selecting one of the longer articles to read. Of course, as we all know, the best laid plans of mice and Murvs, yadda yadda…

Upon entering the library, naturally my eyes were drawn to the porcelain beachfront where the two fashion dolls had been making out. Not because I am a closet voyeur or anything, I just wanted to be certain they were finished so that I could in fact indulge in reading the lengthy article without feeling rushed. What I saw this time was less a scene from a skin flick and more a horrific tableau from a slasher movie (or, one of my books even…)

Ken’s rigid body was laid out in the very same spot where Babs had been…ummm…uhhh…”mounting” him. However, like I said, it was his body. The poor plastic eunuch’s head was sitting several inches away, quite obviously separated from the rest of his buff plasticness, and it was staring dully at the ceiling.

Well… Being a curious author of suspense thrillers that usually involve some type of gory murder, I felt compelled to investigate further. Using the rolled up newsletter to carefully push back the shower curtain (I didn’t want to disturb evidence like fingerprints you see) I proceeded to check out the surroundings.

Much to my surprise, perched on the ledge of the tile back splash, was Barbie, resplendent in her sparkly blue- and extremely filled out- bathing suit. Her pretty little face, replete with a tasteful touch of eye shadow and pearlescent pink lipstick was tilted in the direction of the carnage. And, moreover, on those pearly pink lips she was wearing that painted on smug grin.

The investigation is proceeding, and so far Babs isn’t saying a word, but I’ve got one of those feelings… You know, the Rowan Gant Twilight Zone knocking on the back of my skull kind.

And, you know what it’s telling me?

Barbie is a Black Widow. Maybe they should have named her, oh, I don’t know… Miranda?

More to come…

Murv

What with this being Memorial Day and all, I thought I would blog on a subject over which I have been ruminating for a few weeks now.

Every year, both my publicist and I receive numerous requests for donations from events nationwide. A huge number of these events are Pagan Pride Day celebrations, some are gatherings with less global ties, some are “friends of library X” type of things, and still others are speculative fiction type conventions. Now, the donations solicited are customarily autographed copies of my books, for the express purpose of them being placed in raffles or to be used as door prizes. Usually this is done to A) Give attendees a shot at winning something nice and/or B) To raise money (in the case of raffles) to help finance the event.

Monthly, my publicist and I sort through these requests and cull out the obvious scams (yes, there are plenty of those), the places I have already sent donations more than once (sorry, but I have to be fair to everyone), and those who flat out demand a donation. Yes, believe it or not some of these people don’t politely ask for a donation, they actually send emails or letters which state things like “since we as a community support you by buying your books you owe it to us to donate to XYZ event” (that is paraphrased a bit, and actually even toned down, but you get the idea.) And, yes, I will readily admit that I take a dim view of this tactic, meaning, if you demand a donation from me I would suggest you not wait by the mailbox because you are just going to be disappointed.

Anyway, once we have the list pared down, we select events to which we will send a stack of autographed books. Unfortunately, yes, there has to be a selection process because as I have noted before, just because I wrote the books doesn’t mean I get unlimited free copies or something of that sort. I have to purchase the books I send out as donations, and contrary to popular belief I’m not made of money.

So, yearly I end up sending out several hundred dollars worth of books and spend a ton on postage/shipping to get them where they are going. I’m not complaining about that, I’m happy to do it. I am merely stating facts so that I can put this in perspective. Anyway, on with the story… Out of the 50 or so events to which I donate books each year, if five of them even bother to acknowledge receving the books, I am doing good. If one or two of them actually say “thank you,” then we are talking about a banner year.

No. I am NOT kidding about the above statistics.

Which brings me to Memorial Day. Over the past few years I have also donated boxes of books to groups who were ostensibly shipping items to deployed pagan soldiers. These groups requested books, etc, and I happily obliged. While I am wholly against the war, I am all about our troops, and will do whatever I can to support them. Anyway, the above “support groups” fell right into the same category as all the other events. Not a peep. Not even an acknowledgement of receipt.

So…After having met with a huge number of soldiers at Fort Hood earlier this year while at the Ostara Fest in Texas, I obtained the APO’s for two different Open Circle groups in Iraq. When I arrived home I boxed up books, along with a note, and shipped them DIRECTLY to these APO’s instead of through the support groups.

Guess what happened…

I received thank you’s. Not only did I receive thank you’s, but BOTH of these groups took the time to pass a card around and have EVERYONE sign it before mailing it to me. This is something that could have easily been done by email, but no, they took the time to individually sign and snail mail, from Iraq, thank you cards for the donated books.

So, I have to wonder about this…

On the one hand we have the groups here at home who sit on their asses, safe and secure, make demands of people they don’t even know, and then don’t even bother to drop a quick email thank you to that person who has sent a donation.

Then, on the other, we have the men and women who have been sent across the ocean, living in a big nasty sandbox, far away from their families, getting shot at and risking their lives on a daily basis, who make it a point to take the time to send a personal, signed, thank you card expressing their appreciation.

Can you guess which of the two made a positive impression on me?

Happy Memorial Day – especially to those of you in uniform who earned it.

More to come…

Murv