BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Anyone who has read any of the books in the Rowan Gant Investigations series knows who Detective Benjamin Storm and Special Agent Constance Mandalay are. Furthermore, anyone who has talked to me, or attended one of my writing or Q&A seminars knows that everything is book material in my way of thinking. That includes using various quirks or physical descriptions from the everyday reality to enhance the fictional reality, which is still fiction even if I call it a fictional reality. Make sense? Yeah, it doesn’t to me either…

But, here’s where I’m going with this – I use what I know to write stuff that I make up, but what I make up is exactly that – stuff I make up. It’s not real, and it doesn’t actually reflect a real reality.

Case in point, Ben Storm and Constance Mandalay. I should also say here – SPOILER ALERT if you haven’t read my books, or are only just starting to do so…

Ben is loosely – and when I say loosely I mean LOOSELY based on one of my very best friends of all time, a Metropolitan Saint Louis police officer. Their similarities being that they are both 6 foot 6 and the last person on Earth you would want to see coming through a door at you if you are doing something wrong. Other than that, I get “cop slang” from my friend, and of course, procedure and the like. However, that is where it ends. Ben is NOT my buddy, and my buddy is NOT Ben.

In the first few novels of the series, Ben was married to Allisson. She, in turn was LOOSELY based on my cop buddy’s wife – also a very dear friend. Hell, she took me shopping and acted as my fashion consultant when I was desperately trying to woo E K. She’s like a sister to me. However, once again, the LOOSELY based is just that. My friend worked in the medical field, so I made Allisson a nurse.

Constance Mandalay is a Bride of Frankenstein sort of character. By that I mean she is literally a hodge-podge of personality and physical traits from countless individuals, some of whom I know, some of whom I don’t know, and some of whom are also fictional characters from TV shows and movies. That isn’t to say that the pieces didn’t fit well together, because they did. She’s a great character… After all, she even has her own spin-off series now…

But moving right along…

Somewhere around the fourth novel, Ben and Allisson started having some relationship issues. My cop buddy and his wife were NOT mirroring this. Said issues were between the two fictional characters and only on the page. By the fifth novel, things had ended for them and Ben was moving on with his life. Since the young, pretty, intelligent, Sig Sauer packing FBI agent, Constance Mandalay, had been at odds with Ben on more than one occasion a natural progression took place – Tension turned into sexual tension, and they ended up dating.

Back here in the real world, my cop buddy’s wife was none too pleased about this, and she has been sure to let me know.

Every. Single. Time. I. Talk. To. Her.

And so, just the other night we were all together at Double D’s Pizzeria, which is owned by their son. We were having a bit of a planning meeting about the release party for In The Bleak Midwinter which will be taking place there at Double D’s. I brought them one of the ARCs of ITBM as a gift, and as she started flipping through it I made the preemptive comment, “Yeah, Ben and Constance are still dating.”

She looked across the table at her husband and said, “So you’re still having an affair with Constipated, huh…”

It’s a good thing Mandalay is fictional, because gun or no, I’m thinking she wouldn’t stand a chance against my buddy’s wife, and the nickname would be the least of her worries…

More to come…

Murv

There’s this terrific Joe Walsh song called, “Shut Up.”

It starts out telling you about how he gets invited to a party by some folks who are friends he never even met – this is something that happens to celebrities I’m sure, because it happens to me on a regular basis, and I don’t even consider myself a celeb. Just, “kinda maybe possibly known to a few folks who happen to read.” At any rate, the second verse goes something like this:

Well I followed their directions and arrived a little late
I had a couple Chardonnays and started feelin’ great
I said I hate to interrupt, I’ll be right back I gotta pee
30 people in the bathroom started talkin’ to me
They could not shut up (can’t shut up)
(can’t shut up)
I said HEY…shut up (can’t shut up)
They could not shut up

As it happens, this particular verse strikes somewhat close to home…

You see, everyone makes an assumption that I am Pagan. I understand why, I mean, after all, I write a series of suspense thriller novels about a Witch and I include real, live Neo-Pagan dynamics in the stories. I do book signings at Pagan festivals and bookstores, and… well… I did used to consider myself Pagan. For better than 25 years, in fact.

However, I haven’t self-identified as such for a handful of years now. There are some very specific reasons I no longer identify as Pagan – and none of them have to do with religion – but that’s a whole different blog. Maybe I’ll write it some day when I feel up to dealing with the ridiculousness that will ensue.

Suffice it to say, while I don’t call myself Pagan these days, I’m still Pagan friendly and really doubt that will ever change. After all, when I did call myself pagan I was friendly with people in other religions, and still am. No reason for that to be any different.

Oh, and before anyone starts spreading rumors, no, I didn’t convert to some mainstream Judeo-Christian path either. I simply identify as a Free Thinking Secular Humanist where “religion” is concerned. But, as I said, that’s another blog.

This blog is about people in the bathroom…

You see, I do a lot of book touring, a good segment of which involves pagan festivals and stores. 95% of them are absolutely wonderful. 5% of them are unbelievable horrors. Believe me, I have stories… Some of you may have even heard a few of them.

However, even with the 95% that are wonderful, things can happen. These things are generally not in the direct control of the event organizer or store owner, and fortunately, can tend to be funny in retrospect.

For instance…

There’s a great – and I do mean great – store in Newark, OH called Violet Flame. Heather, the owner, treats her visiting authors like royalty. You have a nice private place to sleep, access to a steam bath, she is an amazing cook, and on the last night you are there she holds a shindig in your honor – usually with a band, BBQ, and booze. Guests come and join in for a chance to visit and mingle, as well as a chance to have a laid back, informal convo with the guest author/authors.

It’s a blast, and by far one of the best gigs I do. I love going there. But, even there things can happen.

Back to that “for instance”…

There we were at the shindig. The band was playing and I had even spent a little time behind the mic, crooning with them. They are great guys, because even though I can’t carry a tune in a bucket even if I have help,  they let me get up there with them anyway. Probably because it’s fun to watch me make a fool of myself, but hey, it’s become a tradition…

So, as with any party where one is swilling 14 oz cups of  fermented malt beverage from an iced down keg, I had to go to the bathroom. Unfortunately, I was pinned down in one corner of the deck – figuratively… I mean, I was blocked in, but not really pinned down if you get my drift – by a couple of oddballs who had wandered into the party from a house nearby. It was obvious that they had already been partying plenty themselves. At any rate, they found the free beer, and then found the “famous author.” My ear was being bent and my legs were starting to cross as I did the potty dance.

Eventually, the need became great enough that I pulled a Joe Walsh. Yes, I did in fact say, “I hate to interrupt, I’ll be right back, I gotta pee…”

And, with that, I made a bee line for the bathroom inside the house. Now, that should really be the end of the story. I mean, I had escaped the drunken wingnuts, and I was also about to empty my bladder.

But no… If that was the case this would be a boring blog.

The way Heather’s bathroom is set up, there is a shower room, and a toilet room. I entered, closed the door, then went into the toilet room and closed that door as well. All good, right? Wrong. No sooner had I unzipped, unfurled, and begun to unload, the hinges on the toilet room door creaked.

Figuring it was someone unfamiliar with the setup, I called over my shoulder, “Occupied! Just a minute!”

This was when I almost watered the magazine rack. I didn’t, but I came close.

You see, the female of the wingnut team that had cornered me on the deck  had followed me into the bathroom and she now slipped her arms around me from behind and began to hug me, whereupon she announced in my ear, “I want to be pagan with you.”

At this point I had tied a square knot in Wee-Willy-Winkie in order to halt the flow of used beer, and was trying to stuff things back into my pants as fast as I possibly could.

“Lady, I’m trying to pee here!” I shouted. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

“You Pagans are all about orgies and sex, right?” she slurred. “Well, I want to be Pagan with you.”

By now, even though my tank was only half empty, I had retracted my hose and was twisting out of her grasp, while simultaneously closing the pod bay door (please, Hal).

I didn’t shake, I didn’t flush, I didn’t wash my hands. I just yelled, “Not happening!” as I bolted for the door and rushed through the house.

Drunken wingnut chick was yelling, “Come back,” (seriously) as I exited onto the deck and made a beeline into the yard. I located Heather and immediately told her what had happened. By now, frootloop girl is coming out the back door looking for me, but luckily I didn’t have to deal with her anymore. In that moment, Heather muttered, “fuckin’ chica,” as she stalked off, and that was the last I saw of crazy bathroom woman.

By the way, did I happen to mention that besides being a bookstore owner, festival organizer, and fantastic cook,  Heather is also an ex-cop?

Nope. I’m not kidding…

More to come…

Murv