BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

CHECK!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Once is a coincidence. Twice, probably still a coincidence. I can even give you three. But when it keeps happening, uncanny doesn’t even come close.

What am I talking about? Castle.

Now, before anyone takes this the wrong way, I am a big fan of Castle. I’ve made no secret of that, and I even have a Castle T-shirt to prove it. I own the first season on DVD, will own the second, third, etc as each becomes available. I read the first “Nikki Heat” novel one afternoon just for kicks. I will more than likely read the second as well. Again, just for kicks.

However… Saw that coming, didn’t you?

When I first started watching the show I would sit back and marvel at how the character was portrayed. Granted, Nathan Fillion has a lot to do with that, but he also has a script to follow, so it’s not ALL him. What I was marveling at was how closely the character of Richard Castle seemed to mirror my own life in certain respects. Not that I’m ridiculously wealthy or on the NYT Best Seller list. And, while I’m a major flirt, I am not a womanizer. Still, the sarcasm and puns, the arcane knowledge spawned from researching a particular novel, the big kid mentality… Well, let’s just say I found it to be an amusing coincidence. After all, I hang out with a lot of authors – kind of a birds of a feather flock together thing – and while I’ve met a few who act that way to a small extent, never any who are as over the top as I am. Of course, maybe I just haven’t met the right authors.  Who knows?

But then things started getting more and more eerie, and I don’t mean the lake or Pennsylvania either.

Emails started showing up. Just a few at first, from friends and relatives who were watching the show. The occasional, “Did you watch Castle last night? I swear they are writing about you or something!”

I would joke about it and laugh it off, but found it interesting that I wasn’t the only person who noticed the similarities.

However, it wasn’t long before a few emails turned into several, and then several more, with not only friends and relatives writing to me, but fans as well.

“Did you see Castle last night? The writers must read your books or something!”

“Dude! Are you being followed by the writers for Castle?”

“I swear the writers for Castle have your house bugged!”

“Are you writing for Castle?”

“When did you start writing for Castle?”

And,  I could just keep going on and on…

In the back of my head, I had been wondering some of the same things…

After all, the story arcs were taking some interesting and familiar twists:

A killer dominatrix…

A vodoun priestess…

Wiccan and pagan references…

And plenty more…

But let’s face it, I don’t own the market on ideas. Just because I did them in my books long before Castle was ever conceived doesn’t mean a thing. And, I mean that seriously.

Then some of their marketing vids starting doing some weird things… Like Fillion as Castle stating the Fillion owed him 50 bucks. Okay… so I didn’t coin the “so and so owes me 50 bucks” quip, but I’d been saying  it (jokingly) about Fillion (and tweeting it) for literally more than a year, along with my also joking contention that he was secretly using me as his “model” for the character of Richard Castle.

Things that make you go “hmmm,” know what I mean?

Of course, it just doesn’t seem to end there.

Some time back I was chatting with some folks about the show. When asked what I thought of it, I prattled endlessly about the wonderfulness that is Castle. However, being an author I also pointed out that there were issues – as there were with any TV show. Things like their police procedure being off – not that I’m an expert, but I do research procedure for my books through my friends and contacts I’ve cultivated within various law enforcement agencies from local to national.

One of the things I mentioned was that Detective Kate Beckett generally pranced around each episode in heels. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no issue with seeing Stana Katic in stilettos, although I’d much prefer it be E K and not Katic. We’ve already established that I’m a leg guy, and high heels are an exciting accoutrement to said proclivity. But let’s not digress or I’ll need some alone time. My point is, I mentioned that no cop in her right mind would be wearing stilettos on the job. So, what happens? Someone points out to Beckett during the most recent episode that her shoes are a bit impractical for police work.

Coincidence? Yeah… Most likely. I mean, it’s an obvious thing. But with everything else that’s been going on it’s… well… a thing that makes you go hmmmm…

Then there’s the fact that I have wondered aloud about the allure of the “Steampunk” genre… Now, an upcoming episode of Castle is featuring “Steampunk.” Again, most likely coincidence… After all, Steampunk seems to be a big thing these days.

So… In the grand scheme of things, just what is it I’m trying to say?

I don’t really know. All I can tell you is that too many coincidences add up to something pretty weird. So, here’s the thing…

If the writers of Castle happen across this blog – who knows, they might be subscribers – do me a favor and throw me a bone. I may be a best seller in the small press world, but in the overall authoring world I’m just a mid-lister. Since you’re paralleling my personna – and my story lines, and my characters, and my tweets, and my panels at cons, etc – even if it is probably utter, uncanny coincidence, have Rick Castle mention my name. Have him call me for advice or something on occasion. I don’t even have to be on the phone – you can easily write a one-sided conversation. Have a couple of my books laying on a desk. Something… I could use the publicity…

I’m NOT asking for a guest appearance – although I wouldn’t turn one down. Of course, I’m not “ruggedly handsome” so I’m sure that would be out of the question anyway. No biggie.

But come on guys… The Rick Castle personality has been MY schtick for better than a decade. HOWEVER, at the most recent convention appearance I did I was actually accused of trying to imitate him by someone who had not yet been introduced to my work.

And, you know, it’s kind of annoying to be accused of trying to imitate yourself. Especially when all of the coincidences point to it being the other way around…

More to come…

Murv

THE PUF REPORT: Part 1 of 5

Some of you may have actually “friended up” with E K on Facebook. To you I say, “What in the hell were you thinking?!” I mean, after all, I warned you. I have cited examples, explained, warned, waved flags… But, did you listen? No. So, as far as I’m concerned you have no one to blame but yourselves. If you willingly walked into the web of the evil redhead, well… All I can say is, told ya’ so…

Anywho… Those of you who were silly enough to end up pinned to the wall like a butterfly in her personal collection have likely already seen this next bit of text. For those of you who were smart enough to not end up in her killing jar, firstly, good on ya! Secondly, here’s the text in question:

Now, as you can see, this was her status on May 27. The following morning we were set to leave for PUF (Pagan Unity Festival) in Burns, TN. This is an event where I have been presenting workshops and signing books every year since 2001. In fact, I have even been told that if I die prematurely, they will dig me up and bring me to Tennessee so that I will always be at PUF. It seems that much like the brewers of Guinness and the bit of real estate where the brewery is located, PUF also has a 999 year lease on me. Fortunately, I don’t mind. 🙂

But, back to our story… Also as noted in that status update there is a little winky face behind the bit about Johnathan getting pouty. Johnathan, by the way, is a very good friend of ours. We’ve known him almost forever… As in, ever since he was a snot nosed, skater punk kid. He’s grown up with a kid of his own now, so that should give you an idea on “forever”. He’s also a fantastic artist who is responsible for the covers of my books. Yeah… I am one of the fortunate few authors out there who is friends with his cover artist. Makes life a bit easier when it comes to collaborating on the vision for the artwork. However, the long and short of the deal is this – Johnathan always accompanies us to PUF. He has for several years now. In fact, he is even considered a part of the PUF Staff now.

And, so our story begins…

Friend or not, E K will not pass up a chance to torture a male member of the species, whether physically or psychologically. Usually it’s both, but since we were short on space in the van she didn’t pack any of her prized instruments of the inquisition. Of course, this didn’t preclude her from invoking her psychological ops.

And, it all began with a winky face.

Now, for you to properly understand the depth of this torture, there are some things of which you need to be aware. To start with, Nicky’s BBQ is in Clinton, KY, not terribly far from the small town of Fulton. It has been around somewhere near the edge of forever. They fix real, honest to goodness, BBQ pork shoulder. Now, when I say BBQ, I mean BBQ. Not some grilled meat with some sickly sweet sauce globbed all over it. I mean slow smoked pork shoulder that has cooked forever and a day over a low, wood fire. Then is pulled apart (hence the term pulled pork), maybe chopped a bit, and served with coleslaw, tater salad, beans, and a couple of slices of bread. If sauce is a necessity, one begins with a liberal dash of Tobasco or Louisiana Hot, followed by a few squirts of a good ‘ol vinegar and pepper based nectar. Of course, this is all served on a paper plate and eaten with a plastic fork.

To anyone from Kentucky, and other parts South, this is heaven on a plate.

As you know, I am originally from Kentucky. ‘Nuff said.

Now, while there are many, many BBQ places dotting the countryside, Nicky’s is one from my youth. As I said, it has been around since the edge of forever. I can remember it way back into my childhood. Of course, being one who likes to share, I introduced my family – and Johnathan – to this oasis of pulled pork on Highway 51.

But, back to E Kay’s evilness…

The reality of the matter is this: the route to Burns, Tennessee does not actually include Clinton, Kentucky. In fact, to go to Nicky’s takes us better than an hour out of our way. This usually isn’t a problem, however, due to the fact that I still have family in Fulton, and we make it a point to take the detour and visit for a bit. And, since we are usually heading down 51 right about lunchtime, Nicky’s is the preferred stop.

Not only that, Johnathan has pretty much come to anticipate it. Much like Pavlov’s dogs, as soon as the trip to PUF is mentioned, he begins to salivate and the first thing he says is, “Are we stopping at Nicky’s?”

E K, being Satan incarnate in a pair of stilettos, usually just smirks and says, “Maybe. What’s in it for me?”

When the actual day of departure draws closer, Johnathan begins babbling incoherently about “pulled pork” and “vinegar BBQ sauce”. His ramblings are overtly punctuated by the word, “Nicky’s” followed by a maniacal cackle. Truth be told, he sounds kind of like Beavis and Butthead on a mission to get BBQ.

E K, of course, continues to torture him with “Maybe’s” and “I dunno’s” right up until we cross the bridge into Kenucky, right there at Cairo, Illinois. You see, that’s pretty much a dead giveaway that we are aiming ourselves for Fulton with reckless abandon. Once we pass by the paper mill at Wickliffe, well then, it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that Nicky’s is on the menu.

This year, however, my kin had funeral to attend on the day we were passing through. Since timing was everything, we weren’t exactly sure if we would continue on through Fulton, or continuing on. E K, again being evil and all, couldn’t resist getting Johnathan under her heel and twisting it just a bit. At each T intersection she would announce that perhaps we should circumvent the backroads and hit the highway. She would even feign turns in the complete opposite direction of Fulton, all while watching poor Johnathan in the rear view mirror.

The poor bastard started with yelping, “Nicky’s?!” repeatedly, and before long was shaking uncontrollably and mumbling about pulled pork. With each intentional but aborted wrong turn, his anxiety grew and E Kay’s grin widened. By the time we were finally cruising down 51, Johnathan was on the floorboards in the back, curled into a ball and mumbling, “N-n-n-niiiiccckkkky’s… N-n-n-niiiiccckkkky’s…”

At the last minute, the evil redhead whipped the van into the small parking lot of the whitewashed block building, then kicked a blithering Johnathan out onto the pavement. Feeling sorry for him I helped him in the door and to the lunch counter where we placed our orders. Fearing the inherent cruelness of the redhead, Johnathan not only ordered the BBQ plate like usual, but also a pound of pulled pork to go – with extra sauce on the side.

Adding insult to injury, E K kept reaching over and swiping his plate before  his fork could touch it. She would cackle and grin, he would get all teary eyed and plead with her. When all was said and done and she allowed him to eat in relative peace, the poor guy shoveled it in so fast he ended up looking like a toddler who’d had spaghetti for the first time. Pork bits were stuck to his face with a swath of vinegar based BBQ sauce. Potato salad was in his hair, and coleslaw was all over his shirt. He was backed into a corner, clutching a plastic fork and watching E K like trapped prey watches the predator that is about to make it into dinner.

We finally coaxed him out, hosed him off, and managed to calm him down. It took some doing, but I finally got him to leave Nicky’s with the pound of pulled pork hugged tightly in his arms. In an attempt to reverse some of the damage, I offered to take a picture of him next to the Nicky’s sign.

I’m sure Johnathan has a copy of this framed and hanging on his wall. He might even have a smaller one in his wallet to take out and look at throughout the day as he anticipates next year’s excursion.

E K, on the other hand, is already plotting to tell him they moved and left no forwarding address.

More to come…

Murv

Next installment in THE PUF REPORT: Part 2 of 5 – Where’s Kat?