BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…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

I actually have two of them. One is Wendy with WillowTree Press. The other is Scott McCoy who is an independent, outside publicist – meaning he is with an outside firm, not the publisher proper. This blog is about him. We all affectionately refer to Scott as “Chunkee”, because he’s a big guy. (I have to pull a Rowan and look up, just like Row does when he’s talking to Ben.)

Anyhow, I am fortunate in several ways having Chunkee and Firestorm Publicity Services… For one, Firestorm is located in St. Louis, where I live, so they are local. Makes it easier to meet up with the Chunk Man. For another, Chunkee is a good friend, as well as being my publicist. And, finally, he is more than just a friend and publicist, he’s kind of like a personal assistant as well.

To explain, he not only puts out press releases and other things that a publicist does, but he also books my gigs, handles a lot of my correspondence, and has even acted as “bodyguard” on the couple of occasions when that has been necessary.

Now, if all that isn’t enough, he also understands when it is crunch time for me trying to get a manuscript in by deadline. He knows that when such times arrive, I need not be disturbed unless it is something incredibly important. But, he also knows that I get moody and need comfort type stuff…

So, here we are at crunch time. I have a deadline to hit in about 10 days. So, I’m busy. I’m grouchy. And, I’m in need of those things which comfort my very soul.

Chunkee could tell this by the simple tone of my email responses to him…

Therefore, as I sat here at the dining room table, tapping away at the keyboard yesterday, I heard a car door, then the storm door on the front of my house creaking open. A moment or two later, I heard the car door again, followed by a vehicle pulling out of my driveway and heading off down the street. No doorbell. No knock. Nothing.

Curious, I went to the door and noticed through the windows that the storm door was propped open. Now… Like Rowan, my heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t expecting any kind of delivery, and I have had stalkers in the past… My initial thoughts were– If I open the door is something going to explode? Will it maybe be some flaming poo instead? What could it be?…

So, with great trepidation I carefully opened the door. There, resting on the threshold I found a grocery bag with a note from Chunkee pinned to it, which read simply:

Care Package For Murv.

Looking inside I found a six pack of Blue Moon Belgian White Ale, a bag of “scoop” corn chips, and a jar of chili cheese dip. Three of my favorite comfort foods.

All I can say is Chunkee be the man. I couldn’t ask for a better publicist, or a better friend.

More to come…

Murv