A very long time ago, maybe fifteen or more years ago, I wrote a story called "Release" which was published in BAD DREAMS and ASYLUM ONE: THE PSYCHO WARD. The story was nominated for a Stoker, about the closest I ever got to one of those haunted houses.

You can find the story here: RELEASE

A couple of years later, I wanted to know what ever happened to Kathy so I wrote a sequel story. I tried to sell it, but I don't think I ever did. My memory is bad these days and I know it sounds terrible to not know if I've sold a story, but there are many stories I've "sold" where the publisher went under or the book never came out and so on and over the years and many computer crashes, I've lost track of some of my stories.

At any rate, it's been ten years since I wrote this story and in the modern publishing climate, am not sure it would sell anyways. Plus, the reader should really read RELEASE first to really get the full essence.

NO ONE LISTENS

The whirring of the drill vibrates through my fingers, roaring through me in a delicious wave; white noise that promises escape and release. I tell my hands to stop squeezing the trigger since I don't want to waste the battery.

Once again, I check in my crappy cracked mirror to make sure that everything is ok. I push back my long stringy hair to look at the two holes, kind of still a bit scabby, so I pick at the crusty bits to see inside better. The holes are about the size of how round my finger is but it is dark in there. If I had a flashlight, I could see better, but I don't. It’s just dark. Dark like nighttime when you can't see the stars. That means the holes are empty and that makes my mouth smile.

I have helped myself in that way only an independent girl can. If you want something done, you have to do it yourself as the ol expression goes. You can't wait around hoping some knight in shining armor is going to rescue you. You have to take control, which I did.

Now it is my turn to help those that can not help themselves. I can be their knight in shining armor, or their knightess, or whatever the hell a girl knight would be. It is time to do what I was put here on this earth to do.

Help others.
.........


How free I felt when the voices ran away.

But it didn't last. Nothing ever does. Have you ever noticed that once you think you can count on something, something finally working out the way it should, then something else comes along and screws it all up?

Well, that's kinda what happened to me too.

...............

Just when I thought I was free of those voices, and that tiny white room and that stupid white dress and Mr. Big Burly Guy, then something else came along all right.

A new voice.

One Loudmouth Voice bothering me all the time. Maybe it's better than all the other voices nattering and fighting over which way my feet are supposed to go and who has the key. But Loudmouth scares me.

Then again, he has a plan. So maybe he's not all bad.

Just...loud...

.......

It started a while ago. I had walked so far and so long, it was like I was suddenly born while I was walking. I was wearing the white gown but it wasn't so very white anymore. I was glad because the white was so bright it hurt my eyes. I had to squinch them shut when I was wearing that stupid damn dress day in and day out in that stupid tiny white room. It gave me such a headache. And it was so boring. There was nothing to do at all. Sometimes my hands would tear at the gown and then next thing I knew, Mr. Big Burly Guy was jabbing me with one of those needles and then pain and numbness would wash through me.

Mr. Big Burly Guy used to jab me with more then that sharp pointy needle. He was sharp and pointy too. He thought I didn't know but I could feel him inside me. Sometimes I didn't want him there. But then, sometimes, I didn't even want him to stop. For some reason the in and out, in and out of him pushing into me was strangely comforting. It reminded me of how I like to fall asleep at night, pushing my fingers into the holes in my head.

So there I was, not liking Mr. Big Burly Guy much that day. He must have had something pretty foul in his mouth because his breath made me want to puke. His hands were grabbing my breasts, twisting my nipples so hard that I wanted to scream but I couldn't scream because his wiggly floppy tongue was jammed down my throat. He pulled my legs apart but this time, he didn't tie up my hands.

Oh, no, he didn't. He must have forgotten that part of the ritual.

One of my hands was stroking his back like I had seen people do on tv and the other reached down feeling where he was pushing into one of my other holes. I touched the hair down there. So wiry and coarse, I couldn't tell whose was whose. But I felt a loose flap slapping at me, kind of hanging down near my butt hole. It was annoying, that extra damp skin. The noise really started getting on my nerves. Slap-slap. Slap-slap. My fingers were twitching, itching to stop that sound. My hand clenched around that sweaty sticky skin and pulled.

Never have I heard anyone scream so loud and so hard. It echoed through the holes in my head, right down to my teeth, and gave me one great big headache.

I'm not really sure what happened. I just knew that this was my chance to run and run no matter how much my heart wanted to jump out of my chest. I also had to be so smart so that all those nosy people in white didn't see me. Getting out of that tiny room wasn't so bad, but trying to find my way out of that rat maze....well, thank god it was nighttime and there weren't many people around. I crawled by the front desk and hightailed it down a staircase. Once outside, I stood staring at the night sky. I hadn't seen the stars in such a long long time.


"Hello stars! I'm making a wish now."

They winked at me and I knew they were laughing but I made my wish anyway. I wished that I would never have to go back to that tiny white room again.

I ran and ran and ran until my throat was complaining.

Then I walked and walked. By the time I got to the lake, I saw my hand was hiding something from my eyes.

"Open up hand." I said and wonder of wonders if it didn't do just that.

Somehow, I had something like...I don't even know, in my hand. The blood was drying but then I remembered the skin that had bothered me. It was like a little purse. There was even something inside. Like soft mushy grapes or something. I still have it, nailed to the wall. It reminds me of Mr. Big Burly Guy and also not to let anyone know where I am.

I found this place I'm in now, down by the lake and decided to move in. It is small and it stinks. I don't know who lived here. If anyone ever lived here. Maybe no one has. Maybe it was one of those forts where kids hang out. It is so far away hidden and no one has seen me here yet.

Once I dealt with finding a place to crash, I had to find another drill to finish the hole that those nosy people didn't let me finish. It wasn't that hard to get one. I just went into someone's garage when they weren't home and there it was.

A nice new shiny battery operated one.

It didn't take long to finish the job.

When that final bit of bone was broken through, I cried with delight. I stared at my face in the mirror. Blood welled up a bit but it was a cleansing. A baptism into my new life. Two little holes, right there, just kind of by my hair line. I put my fingers in them, feeling the burn of the freshly opened flesh. It felt so delicious. Like home.

This is how it should have always been.

You see, that was when the voices left.

I had one day of walking around, not hearing anyone complaining about anything. It was a dream come true. I went down to the lake to wash and was able to watch the waves without hearing a bunch of bitching and moaning.

Down the beach a ways, there was humongous brown building. It must have been a factory or something. I sat on a nice flat rock and watched some guy walk along the beach. He didn't see me because I was hidden behind some bushes.

Oh, yes, I know I have to stay hidden or it's back to the white room for me. He had long brown hair that blew in the wind and a baseball cap down over his eyes. But I could sort of see his face. He had a nice jaw. I thought he looked like the kind of guy I could talk to, but I didn't know what I would say, so I just watched him walk along, carrying his stuff.

Then everything changed.


..............

The next morning, I woke up and there was someone talking in my ear. The new voice. That dark scratchy voice.

I pushed away the newspapers that were covering me and watched the bugs run away for a new place to hide until bedtime again. They always had to hang around, those damn bugs. Why couldn't they find their own place to be?

"Kathy..." the voice whispered. "We have work to do."

I looked around the room but there was no one there.

"Go away.." I was really pissed off. Just when I thought that maybe I could actually get some peace and quiet, another stupid voice was starting to boss me around.

"Kathy.."

"I'm not listening to you..."

"Oh, but you will."

"I don't see you so I'm not going to talk to you. Everyone else left, why can't you???"

I put my fingers in my ears and then I felt something big and heavy land on my head. I shook my head, but it hung on with its weird little nails.

"Go away."

"No. I'm here for you now."

I reached up and tried to smack it away. There was a flutter of wings and a black feather fell to the ground in front of me.

"I don't like birds."

I stood up and started spinning around, hoping it would let go. But it wouldn't. It just clung to my hair with those creepy little bird toes. I jumped up and down, but it clung like velcro.

"Settle down." he commanded.

I was getting oh so dizzy so I sat down. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There I was, with this big black fucking bird on my head. His eyes were blacker then his feathers and he stared at me, piercing me so hard with those creepy beady eyes that my heart started banging against my chest.

"What do you want?" I asked him.

He cawed, a loud shrieking noise that rattled me to my very bones.

"Stop that." My fingers dug into my ears again.

"We have a lot of work to do..." he said and that was that.

..........

Mister Squirrel was the first to experience the freedom I was chosen to bestow on others.

He was sitting on the grass by my little home, stuffing his mouth with something. I watched him munching. He was watching me right back.

"Hey, Mister Squirrel, are you happy?" He stopped munching and flicked his tail at me. The way he was staring at me, he didn't look happy at all. My mouth made a weird little chittery noise. He cocked his head. I made another chitterchatter sound and he crept a little closer. He did want me to help him.

My hand reached out to him. He sniffed it. Quick as a flash, I grabbed him.

He struggled and tried to bite me.

"Don't worry, you will soon be free." My other hand reached behind me and found the drill. The heavy weight of the drill in one hand, the squirming squirrel in the other was kind of hard to deal with, but somehow, I got him so that his little head was pressed to the ground. I squeezed the trigger of the drill and smiled as I heard the whirring sound. I loved how it felt, the way it kind of jiggled my fingers. It's kind of cool to feel the bit hit the hard surface of the bone and then sink right in.

I didn't do a very good job on Mr. Squirrel. His head was so tiny that the drill went right through into the ground. It got stuck and I had to reverse it a bit to pull it out.

Mr. Squirrel bled a lot and made weird screechy noises. I stared at him for a while.

"Now you too are free."

I left him there to think about it while I went inside to find something to eat. That's when I realized that I had real power in my hand. I named the drill the Tool of Release.

The next day, when I looked for Mr. Squirrel, he was gone.

So I felt I had done a good job.

..............

"Kathy!"

Goddamn, but if I can ever sleep past dawn any more without Mr. Loudmouth screeching at me. I sit up and stretch and the hot humid dankness of the day rolls across me in waves already. God but does it stink in here.

My little souvenir from Mr. Big Burly Guy has turned black and hard over the past while. I touch it, and remember.

"Stay hidden. No more white room. No more ugly white dress."

"Kathy. You have a busy day today." Mr. Loudmouth screams.

"Why do you always have to yell at me?"

I march outside and find the special tree where I take my morning pee. Lifting my raggy dress, I squat. There is a rustling in the tree above my head as Mr. Loudmouth lands on the branch above me, watching with those beady black eyes.

"Why do you always have to watch me?" He just laughs.

Today my pee isn't behaving very well. It dribbles down my leg and along my foot. I know then that today is going to be different.

I stand up and rub at the pee on my leg and foot with the bottom of my dress. Every night I sleep in this dress to remind me of that place. The dress isn't white any more. It's not even really a dress any more. It's just a big ripped up piece of rag.

Mr. Loudmouth flaps down from the tree and sits on my head as I walk towards the lake. He slips his sharp little toe nails into the holes in my head to hang on better. He's been doing this a lot lately. At first, it really bugged me, since those are MY holes and I don't want any one putting anything into them except me, but the way he clings and bounces when I walk, it feels kind of good. Sometimes, he clutches a little too hard, and I can feel his sharp little claws digging into my skin. But that's ok. Sometimes when it hurts like that, I can think a bit better.

We go down to the beach so that I can wash and get water to make some more kool aid.

The lake has a greenish color today and lots of bottles and cans have washed up onto the rocks. Mr. Loudmouth pushes off my head and flies over to a big rock to watch.

The freezing cold water laps around my ankles, leaving traces of black slimy stuff along my feet.

"Hurry up." Mr. Loudmouth yells.

I just ignore him, wading until the water is up to my waist and then I swim.

I could swim and swim forever but I don't because Mr. Loudmouth is circling and screaming above me to hurry up. I try to ignore him, but it is hard so I get out.

Now my dress is washed and I'm washed and I am ready to face my day. I fill up my little jug with the greenish water and Mr. Loudmouth goes back to his spot on my head, poking his little claws into my holes. It pinches and some stars explode in my eyes.

Mr. Loudmouth says I don't have time to make my kool aid, or even change out of my sleeping dress, we have work to do today. I'm not too happy about that. My mouth is dry. I get the Tool of Release and put it in a plastic bag but oh no that's not good enough for Mr. Loudmouth. I have to put it in another plastic bag, and then another. But I do what he says, since he's pinching me extra hard with those claws today. Trying to boss me around I guess. Someone's ALWAYS telling me what to do, where to go....

"Go sit there." He orders me after we walk a while. This is the spot I sat the day I saw that guy walking on the beach. I wonder where he is today. I think about his long hair and his nice jaw. I wonder what color his eyes are?

"Put your hands on that rock." Mr. Loudmouth says. I put my hands on the boulder in front of me. "LOOK AT THEM."

"I am looking..."

"What do you see?

I stare at my hands. They look like my hands. They look like my fingers. They have lots of lines and gouges in them so I know they are my hands. They aren't even trying to escape.

"I see my hands."

Mr. Loudmouth flies onto the rock and stands beside my hands.

"Now look at MY hands."

"You don't have hands."

"My feet, then. Look at my feet. What do you see?"

I stare at his ugly bony feet with the long sharp nails.

"I see your feet."

"So what's the difference?"

I look at him shaking my head.

"You're a fucking bird..."

"And you're not." Mr. Loudmouth lifts up one of his feet and curls and uncurls his toes. "Your hands aren't as useful as they could be."

"Huh?"

"Get out the Tool of Release."

I shrug and start to unwrap all the damn bags around the drill. I lift it out. It glints nicely in the sun. If you tilt it back and forth all the shiny bits sparkle like stars twinkling in the sky.

"KATHY. Pay attention."

He's prattling on at me but I'm not listening to him. I see the point he is making as I stare at my hands again. Oh, yes, they do have a lot of skin on them, don't they? If my hands didn't have so much skin binding them together, then they could reach further. Suddenly I feel like a duck or something, all webbed up with no freedom. I splay my fingers as far apart as I can, but I see the fleshy bits between the fingers are stopping them. If that fleshy stuff wasn't there, then my fingers could reach even further.

I press the trigger on the drill and hear that happy humming sound. Mr. Loudmouth is still nattering on at me, but I can't hear him over the sound of the drill any ways. I stop the drill and he stares at me with those mean beady eyes.

Putting my right hand on the rock, I splay it as far as it can go. The pointy drill bit rests on that fleshy part between my first finger and my thumb. I squeeze the trigger and in seconds, the flesh is split and torn until it hits the bone. I stop. Blood pours out, almost hiding the work. I move my thumb and though it stings, it can splay out much further now.

It doesn't take long to do the rest of my hand. The rock is slick with my blood. So pretty and shiny, glimmering in the sunlight. I am still so very thirsty. A little puddle of blood is pooling in a crevice. It is so pretty and I dip my finger into it. It is salty and warm. I lean down and stick my tongue out as far as it will go. I lap the blood, tasting the sandy grainy bits from the beach mixed in. The rock is licked clean but there isn't enough to quench my thirst. My hand still drips so I suck on the part between the thumb and first finger. The blood starts to slow and soon it decides to stop falling out of me, even though I am saving it anyways by putting it back inside of me.

So I guess I have to get the other hand done too. This will be a little trickier since this hand doesn't like to behave as well as the other hand. I put my left hand down on the rock and try to pick up the drill with my right hand. It is slippery and it is hard to hold it since I'm not used to how wide my fingers can spread now. The pain is a sharp throbbing, like a stinging burn. It makes a little rhythm and I start to sing along with it.

The Tool of Release whirs as I slice through the annoying webs on my other hand. As the pointy part slips and slides along my skin, it reminds me that I have to stay hidden. No one is watching as far as I can tell.

The drill slips from my bloody hands. I didn't do as good a job on the second hand and my finger is kind of hanging funny. The veins are slipping out, trying to run away as they peek out into the sunlight. I push them back in watching as the blood pulses through them and leaks out onto the rock again.

"Stop bleeding already." I lick up the blood as fast as it falls out. The blood wants to run away but I can't let it because it is my blood and if too much falls out then I will fall down. I learned this once long ago.

"Hurry up." Mr. Loudmouth yells at me.

"Now what?" I ask. "I'm tired."

"Shush...we have but begun."

"Begun what?"

"Sharing your knowledge of course. Bringing Release to all who need it."

"Yeah, yeah..." My hands look really cool now even if they are kind of bloody and all. They look like bird feet. Well, if you squinch your eyes just right, they look like bird feet.

Taking a plastic bag, I wrap it around the hand with the finger hanging funny. It's seems so stupid to bind it all up again but the blood just keeps going and we have to keep moving. I put the Tool of Release back into the other plastic bag and wrap another one around it.

We walk along some more watching the waves lick the beach. My mouth is all thirsty again.

We come to the big huge building that I can see from my little home. The windows are all broken out and the bricks are hanging all funny. Man, does it stink around here.

"Go in." Mr. Loudmouth says.

There were seven stairs but really there are eight because one of the stairs is kind of two stairs because of how they are all crumbling and broken. Eight is a nice round number, like two circles on top of each other. Or like glasses or a pair of boobs.

"Stop laughing." Mr. Loudmouth screams. I put my hands over my mouth to stop laughing but the giggles still fly from my lips. The plastic on my hand is rustling really loud and it's annoying me. I can't even hear what Loudmouth is going on about now, the plastic crackles and crinkles making my ears hurt.

"Good bye plastic." The plastic lands on the floor and I can hear again. Well, not really because now the plastic around the Tool of Release is starting to natter at me and it's getting louder and louder.

I rescue the Tool of Release from the stupid noise and hold it in my hand. It is a nice feel, that heavy Tool in my cool, new hands.

There is a pile of old dirty rags. But no, it isn't a pile of rags at all. It's someone snoring.

There is a sharp pointy thing lying on the ground, like Mr. Big Burly Guy used to use. Stupid needles. And a bag of medicine and some other stuff is right beside it. For a minute I'm afraid that I'm suddenly back in the white room, but then I remember I'm not. I'm somewhere else. I'm on a mission, aren't I? A mission to help people be free.

My head doesn't feel too good so I sit down. Leaning against the wall, I get a
good look at Mr. Raggy Guy. He's got long brown hair and a bit of a beard. It's the guy that I saw walking along the beach that day! He's very thin, and is sweating a bit.

Actually, he's kind of twitching. His cheek is really really cold. And his hands open and shut. I lean against him for a bit and listen to him breathing. His face is so nice, I like his cheekbones, his strong jaw. He twitches again.

Poor Mr. Raggy Guy.

I press my hand against his forehead and can feel the voices in his head swelling and rolling.

"Don't worry, Mr. Raggy Guy, I'll help you."

I pick up my Tool of Release and place it against his forehead. As I squeeze the trigger, his eyes fly open. Boy, does he have the coolest eyes. They are brown with little flecks of green and gold. They are like shooting stars. He screams and it startles me, rattling the holes in my head right down to my teeth. Mr. Raggy Guy moves so fast, trying to sit up or something, and I fall forward just as the Tool of Release pushes through the bone. He stiffens and his hands reach up to grab at the tool. He kind of jerks around like he's dancing for a bit then his hands fall back to the ground and he is still.

My Tool is stuck again.

As I reverse the Tool of Release, I stare at Mr. Raggy Guy's sweet face. His cool eyes are just kind of staring up at the ceiling and some blood got into them. I wipe the blood away.

His lips are full, they feel so nice against mine. I stroke his cheek.

"Mr. Raggy Guy needs a hug." I wrap my arms around him and feel his thin body against me. It has been so long since I have touched another human and I remember those nights that Mr. Big Burly Guy wasn't so bad.

Mr. Raggy Guy has a lot of tattoos. He even has an earring in his nipple. It is cold in my mouth as my tongue plays with it. Mr. Raggy Guy fills me up pretty good, considering that I am doing all the work. I pull his arms around me as I rub him against me, inside of me.

In and out, in and out. His face really is so nice, but all that blood dripping down it is ruining it. Tilting his head down, I lap away the salty blood, feeling him inside of me at the same time. I see the hole of Release that I had made too deep.

I peer inside, wondering if anything is going to come marching out. I push my finger into it. It is weird, sticking my finger into someone else's hole. I've only ever stuck my finger into mine. I feel all tingly doing that and when I pull my finger out, it is full of blood and stuff. It tastes ok, so I push my tongue into that hole.

I feel even more tingly and I can't seem to get him to fill me up fast enough. I can taste him, I can feel him, I can feel the holes in my head whistling, I can feel between my legs such a glorious rush that I have never felt...

"Hey, you." A loud strange voice yells.

"No..." I moan, clutching Mr. Raggy Guy, pushing myself harder against him, in and out, in and out, wanting the feeling to never stop. "I'm not listening."

Hands pull at me and I am pried away from Mr. Raggy Guy. I feel as if I am going to die as the connection is broken.

Two men in black are staring at me, black beady eyes glaring, black tools in their hands but they aren't Tools of Release. No sir. They are guns.

Who knows what they are going on about? I just know that they put those shiny silver things around my hands. All I can hear is Mr. Loudmouth screaming at me at how I ruined everything. How I let myself be seen. He sits on my head with those awful talons pinching into me as the car flies down the street, screaming and screaming.

"Can you get this fucking bird off my head?" I cry out at them.

They look at each other.

"There is no bird on your head lady," One of them says.

"Yes, there is. This big black fucking bird, always telling me what to do...."

"Relax, lady...there is nothing there."

In my reflection in the glass, Mr. Loudmouth is still clutching on, glaring at me.
No one listens to me, no one cares...

You know, if Mr. Raggy Guy hadn't of freaked out like that then he'd be fine and we could have hung out for a bit, but noooo....

you just try to bring a little bit of help into the world...

and it all turns to shit.
.......


S. Giron
Copyright January 2000

It was fun to get out last night, drink too much wine and beer, and chit chat to other humans. There was a blast from the past as a guy was there who used to hang out with my ex-husband. I hadn’t seen him in about fifteen years. So that was kind of freaky since he knew Brenda for reasons much different than I do. You never know who knows who? Too funny. He hadn’t seen my ex in over ten years though they used to be rather tight.


Around four-thirty, I sprawled out on the couch and died until around 8. Then I got up and drove home in brilliant and hot sunshine. I went back to bed for a quick snooze and woke to tornado winds, hail, darkness, massive thunder and lightning. The weather has been turbulent since.

As always, Derek said all week he’d come home early today and well, to me early is be here by noonish, maybe one and we’d have all day to hang out, maybe see a movie or just have some kind of fun as a couple with no kids since Dorian is at work. Well, it’s after four and I don’t see how he’s getting here before 8. So much for spending any vacation time with me. Christ, there won’t even be time to go for a drink before he passes out and goes back to work tomorrow. I know how this goes; I’ve been with him for seven years. It’s always a bummer when someone doesn’t miss you as much as you miss them. But that’s the story of my life. I’m a romantic at heart, but I guess I’m too tom boyish for anyone to notice.

Just called him and he’s caught in the floods in Hamilton. See if he’d left in the morning like he said he was going to, he would have been in St. Catharine’s before the “tornado” hit and home by now. He won’t be home before midnight at this rate.

So onto my stories that I hope to finish maybe tonight or tomorrow.

The horror story is called LISTENING TO YOU cos I was listening to that song at the gym and it got all stuck in my head when I was writing the story. It’s about a nerdy college girl who has the hots for a hunky college guy who lives on her floor in residence. She’s pretty much a stalker and I’ll leave it at that cos with horror stories, you don’t want to describe them too much or the suspense is wrecked.

The Cougar story is called BEHIND BLUE EYES since I was listening to that song while walking through the woods when the cougar story idea came to me. This is a straightforward old lady young dude hot and heavy fling story. The guidelines state that women have to be over forty and this woman is about fifteen years older than her young thirtysomething stud.

In the story, it’s steamy, but in real life, that’s one helluva age gap. Not sure if guys really would want to be with women that much older than them in an ongoing relationship in real life unless there’s a handy plastic surgery dude around and a ginourmous bank account. I mean, sure Demi and Cher do it, but they can get touch ups and are fascinating famous people. A woman like me wouldn’t hold a man nearly two decades younger than me for long cos there’s no reason, no money, no fame, no glory, not even plastic tits.

The guy I was paired with in the orgy scene in Slime City was 24 and he said his girlfriend is 45. That’s a twenty year difference but I can’t see them getting married and such. He just enjoyed her attentions and no doubt, that legendary Cougar amour. But would a young dude like that marry a woman in her forties? What about when he’s forty and she’s sixty? How would that go?

Many years ago, long before Derek, I dated a couple of guys about ten, twelve years younger than me. One of them I really liked but the age difference made me nervous so I ended it. We’re still good friends and sometimes I wonder if it really would have mattered that much? Though we’re not compatible for other reasons too. I was in my thirties back then and it felt weird. Now I’m nearly fifty. And I notice I’ve been hanging out with a new crop of young late twenty/earlythirtiesh horror authors since that’s what’s going on in the HWA in Ontario these days. I like hanging out with the younger guys cos they are funny and shameless and still have a glint of ambition in their eyes and want to grab life by the balls. I’m looking forward to my next bbq so we can all hang out again. It was fun hanging out with Michael Colangelo last night, speaking of young thirty something horror authors!

In my book, Teacher’s Pet, the woman is forty and she ends up having a strange and satisfying romance with her twenty something year old art student.

I’ll be reading from Teacher’s Pet when I go to New York City and perform at IN THE FLESH on Thursday August 20 at 7 pm.

Funny how when I was reading the guidelines for the Cougar story, it was saying that Cougars are women in their forties with guys at least five years younger than them. Derek is seven years younger than me so I guess I really am a Cougar, as much as I joke about loving the young boys. Ah well...

Sometimes I find being in my forties depressing and other times, I don’t care at all. I know I have a long life ahead of me, I just hope I don’t lose my joie de vivre (when I’m not being morosely depressed, yes I’m a paradox) or my sex drive and though I’ve never been the most attractive crayon in the box, I don’t want to lose what few looks I’ve managed to hang on to.

Don D’Auria once joked with me about how most of my work is titled after WHO songs and it’s an age thing at this point. My Generation. I have my reasons. I think. I’m not sure if they are articulatable but I’ve been doing it so long, I don’t think I could stop if I tried. And there are other stories that are titled or inspired by other artists too.

In the BIG BOOK OF NECON from Cemetery Dance (it JUST came out!), there’s my story called SOMEBODY PUT ME TOGETHER inspired by Faith No More. I also have a story in one of the Asylums called NO ONE LISTENS which is based on that same song.

My story “Wrench” in HOT BLOOD is based on Schism by Tool.

“I Stand Alone” by Godsmack on the Scorpion King soundtrack is in Queer Fear 2.

“Somewhere that’s Green” from Little Shop of Horrors and I think it was BACKSTAGE PASSES but might be some other antho. Can’t remember right now.

And so it goes.

Such busy times but of course, I say that every time I blog. And it's true. What a horror it would be if I were not busy!

So it looks like I'll be going to Burbank to the Stokers after all! Film director and author, Greg Lamberson pulled a stunt right out of "It's a Wonderful Life" and took up a collection for me by my horror writer friends to send me to Burbank to accept my Silver Hammer Award. This was after I told him that the Canadian government wouldn't sponsor my measly request for a travel grant. Since my award isn't for writing but for PROMOTING Canadian authors for over ten years through the Horror Writers Association by writing the monthly newsletter (Canadian Content Corner), running a booth at Word on the Street for seven years for horror authors, and running booths at various conventions as well as holding monthly/bi/tri monthly networking meetings at various restaurants for about four years or more (can't remember)... no that's not good enough for the Canadian Government to spit up a measly $1000 grant.

I was told that a) the award isn't for my writing so it doesn't count and b) horror isn't "literary" so it doesn't count.

Of course, why would should the government support and promote mass market authors (I've had over 15 books published) who keep the economy going and who have children to raise as productive citizens of the world? It's better support authors who have audiences of less than 100 readers because of course they are more valuable somehow...

Why should the government be proud that a Canadian has been recognized by an international writers organization that is mostly known for recognizing Americans?

At any rate, at the last Horror Writers Association and Friends dinner, I was presented with a wad of cash that can go towards my trip to Burbank. I've not bought my plane ticket yet, waiting for another seat sale. There was a great one about two weeks ago but I didn't have two dimes to rub together. I still don't, but I have enough money for a plane ticket if that seat sale comes back!!

I'll be rooming with Monica Kuebler from Rue Morgue Magazine. Two married ladies on the loose in LA will be fun!

I'm editing Beach Boys anthology which will come out in June, I imagine.

I'm still working hard at the editorial day job.

Dorian is dancing in the Miss Canada pageant on Thursday and Saturday nights. I have mixed feelings about it. I'm thrilled as hell he's dancing on TV, but I've never really believed in Beauty Pageants. So there it is....

Next week, the excitement continues. I'm driving to Buffalo for a read through of Slime City Massacre since Kealan Patrick Burke is flying in for a face mold and other cast members will be in town. Then I drive back in time for the Evita/Joseph reunion party on Saturday.

On Monday May 25, I go in for surgery to get my gall bladder out. Oh, the joy!

But hopefully after that, my life will be back to normal again. I've not had a coffee in well over a month and it shows! I've not had booze either but somehow I don't miss it like I miss my java...whaaahhhh!!! I've been a pretty good girl keeping to a low fat diet. I have cheated a bit, with some candy, and I had cheese things on Saturday night at the HWA dinner, which isn't bad considering how much beer I usually drink at those functions!

After my surgery, I hope to resume working on Lord of the Thighs. I've been too distracted to work on the book. Too worried about the surgery to think.

Time to get back to work.

Wow, what a Friday! Three things happening at once today, but that's how my life goes since I'm an Aquarius!


I'm a guest blogger at Jennifer's Random Musings today.

http://jennifersrandommusings.wordpress.com/

Come by and say hi!!

The Sexstrology Anthology that I edited is on sale today only at Ravenous Romance for 20% off.

http://www.ravenousromance.com/lovestrology/sexstrology-anthology-2009.php

12 authors of varied backgrounds band together to write metaphysical erotic romance stories set in the mystical town of Hermana!
A sculptress returns to her dead grandmother’s house—only to find love and mystery.
A librarian has to decide if she should burn a historical document—to save tortured lovers.
A man tries to dig a swimming pool and unearths a centuries old mystery—and a hot, sexy lover.
A famous actor tries to find normalcy—in the arms of a local.
A blind date might be the right date—especially if it ends in bed.
A painter discovers new inspiration—and the love of a lifetime.
A ghost hunter has the night of her life—and the sex of her life.


These are just some of the people you will meet between the pages of this erotic astrology anthology by such talented authors as:

Yvonne Navarro
N. T. Morley
Monica J. O’Rourke
Sandra Kasturi
Lisa Manetti
Eva Lilliglash
Derek Clendening
Jo Atkinson
Tricia Tucker
Michael R. Colangelo
Meline Nadeau
Rachel Kenley


With astrological forecasts for 2009 woven throughout, this is a compelling collection for the new year!


I've also been part of a blog tour all week. Today I'm the featured author at PNR Inklings

The Blog Tour Schedule:

04/18 - Zhadi's Den - Intro Stop -
04/19 - Jennifer's Random Musings - Elle Amery
04/20 - Unbound - Lisa Lane
04/21 - Talk About My Favorite Authors - Angela Cameron
04/22 - Kissa Starling - EM Lynley
04/23 - The Countess - Jamaica Layne
04/24 - PNR Inklings Blog at ParaNormal Romance - Sephera Giron
04/25 - Wicked Thorn and Roses - Isabel Roman
04/27 - Sia's Thoughts on... - Neve Black
04/29 - Bryn Greenwood - C. Margery Kempe
04/30 - Bookwenches - Savannah Chase
05/01 - Neve Black - Inara LaVey
05/02 - Night Owl Romance - Final Stop

Blog Stop Urls:


Zhadi's Den - http://www.danafredsti.com/blog

Jennifer's Random Musings http://jennifersrandommusings.wordpress.com

Unbound - http://hagelrat.blogspot.com

Talk about My Favorite Authors -http://talkaboutmyfavoriteauthors.blogspot.com/

Kissa Starling - http://kissastarling.com/blog

The Countess: http://trishwilson.typepad.com/blog

PNR Inklings Blog at ParaNormal Romance: http://pnrinklings.com

Wicked Thorn and Roses: http://wickedthornandroses.blogspot.com

Sia McKaye's Thoughts On...: http://siamckye.blogspot.com

Bryn Greenwood: http://bryngreenwood.wordpress.com

Bookwenches: http://www.bookwenches.com

Neve Black : http://www.neveblack.com/blog

Night Owl Romance http://www.nightowlromanceblog.blogspot.com

Wow, April already.

I realized that I know at least seven people celebrating their birthdays today. How crazy is that?

Last night I did some stage managing at an wonderful singing production of The Secret Garden. The fire alarm went off five minutes into the show and for a brief moment, I worried that I had somehow set it off. But it wasn't me of course, and out we all went into the bitter April rain. However, they started the show again and it was absolutely marvelous. I couldn't believe the quality of singing and it's amazing to know that we have such wonderful talent, CHILD TALENT even, here in Mississauga.

I'm working on a few projects and thinking about the details of Lord of the Thighs, my next sojourn into the erotic romance world. I re-read Lord of the Flies last week and now have a solid game plan. It's the nitty gritty of the relationships I want to flesh out before I begin.

Over the past week or so, but not today, knock wood, I've been having the stupid stomach burning stuff again. I went for a barrage of tests, mostly looking for acid reflux (my nemesis) and will find out what's going on on Monday.

I may have picked up a bug from the massive amounts of people I read tarot for in the previous week. I must have read for over one hundred people over the course of a week, and did loads of palm reading too. So who knows?

I've been busy taking Thing Two to his audition at York yesterday, driving him to work and such and Thing One showed up with the stomach flu a couple days back. I had spent Monday standing in lines with him for various government documents. The week before, I had to stand in my own line for an hour to pick up my PRC card. At least I can travel in peace for another five years.

I have a series of blog appearances coming up.

I've been lightly working out at home with Derek and Thing Two to the P90X dvds. Gotta lose the writing-all-winter flab around the gut!

Okay, back to more work.

Coming Up for Air!
As always in my little world, things happen quickly and oddly.

I spent a few weeks trying to pull together a surprise birthday party for Derek. This was very hard to do because I was so very swamped for several months. I was writing a book a month, casting daily horoscopes, working full time, in a show that rehearsed 20+ hours a week plus travel time, driving Dorian to his various classes, jobs and volunteer work, auditions, running a monthly reading series, writing HWA newsletter and running the HWA monthly gatherings etc. and trying to do a bit of cooking and cleaning. I literally had no free time since August. So I tried my bestest to pull together a party for Derek. I thought it went fantastically.

It was hard to do the invite list since he has few friends and I have no phone numbers or other contacts for them. I even went through his phone book but there is not much in it. I myself don’t even have a phone book so he’s one up on me!

Yet on the other hand, if I’ve not seen or heard from anyone since our wedding last year,(and some at my wedding I never met before or since) then are they really our friends? If his so-called friends don’t like me or want to deal with me, should I be obligated to even bother to invite them or feel bad if I don’t know if they got the invites? If his so-called friends/relatives have issues with his new wife, then too damn bad. He chose to marry me after over six years of living together, so I’m here for a while and you can suck it up! Real friends accept the new spouse.

Life is too short.

I do know that the people who showed up, over thirty of them, adore Derek and want the best for him. People that couldn’t show told me their reasons and that I respect and totally get, especially if they were hit with the plague I’ve just recovered from or had tickets to shows or obligations with their children. I totally get anyone from out of town not wanting to come. Lord knows I hate travelling more than half an hour for a party myself.

I do not enjoy people that say they are coming and don’t show up. That’s what RSVPs are all about, people!

Anyway, Derek had a great time and if you ever want to be invited to any of our shindigs, maybe you could be friendly and actually talk to us once in a while. Secretly messaging/emailing with my spouse and never talking to me, doesn’t get you on my guest list.

We had a fabulous wedding and I threw him a fantastic 40th party. We want to hold more parties, especially once we move downtown in the next year or so.
In other news, I’m taking a break from the SEXSTROLOGY series and the book a month treadmill. I’m writing two more books for Ravenous that are NOT related to the Sexstrology series. The first book is about Sex Magick in Manhattan and the second book is m/m.

Ravenous Romance is having a two for one gift certificate promo until the end of the month, so if you’d like to check out some e-books and save money, take advantage of it. http://www.ravenousromance.com

Don’t forget to bookmark the site for your daily horoscopes. I write them all fresh with no computer programs. Please email me or RR to let them know how you like them or don’t like them.

Now that I’m done with the bday party, EVITA, and the book a month, I’m starting to head back to the gym more often. I hope to lose the thirteen pounds I gained since my wedding and lose a few more on top of that. I had a lot of health problems this winter and I know it’s from sitting on my ass twenty hours a day and stressing out about all my deadlines and obligations.

I did watch the Bachelor this year, the only time I’ve EVER watched it all. What a dick that Jason is. I might do a whole blog about that fiasco sometime. I loved a thing I saw on The Soup last night about how Jason is going to explain to Tye how he got his new step-mom. I was screaming with laughter at the gym on the elliptical. Too funny but all the links to it on Youtube have been removed.

Wow, somehow I managed to actually remember my blog password and such. I've neglected this poor blog as I've been exploring Facebook and Myspace.

However, I'm sure I should start posting here again.

Last May, Derek and I got married, finally! We've been together seven years this week.

Today is Derek's 40th Birthday! Happy Birthday Derek!

I've been wearing a new hat, writing erotic romance for Ravenousromance.com

I also write the horoscopes.

Well, time to get back to editing my newest book SWINGING INTO SPRING!

It's great to be back!

Blessed Be,

Sephera