When you're a hungry street orphan, you grab the first sucker,
ah, big-hearted human that will take you in.
How was I to know Food Guy's apartment was haunted? First, it was the ghost of Mark Twain lurking in my human's kitchen, looking for some whiskey! I tried hiding behind Thor, but the big goof wouldn't budge from the poster!
Old Twain kept calling me "Bambino" no matter how many times
I told him my name was Midnight!
But he let me ride his shoulder which was fun until he whisked me away
to visit the ghost of some long-faced human, Loves Drafts, or something.
I kind of liked some of the things he said to me: "The cat charms you into playing for its benefit when
it wishes to be amused;
making you rush about the room with a paper on a
string when it feels like exercise,
but refusing all your attempts to
make it play when it is not in the humour.
That is personality and
individuality and self-respect --
the calm mastery of a being whose life
is its own and not yours."
Then, he had to go and ruin it by saying stuff like:
“It is good to be a cynic — it is better to be a contented cat — and it is best not to exist at all.”
Luckily. the ghost of Hemingway rescued me for Mark Twain had wandered off. Whew! He was fun and appreciated me: "A cat has absolute emotional honesty.
Human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not." But a guy can get tired of being fed corn cobs,
so I hitched a ride with the ghost of Charles Dickens who took me back to Food Guy's apartment. He chucked me under the chin, saying, “What greater gift than the love of a cat?”
But he sure weirded me out when he told me how grieved he was by the death of his cat, Bob, that he had the poor guy’s paw stuffed and mounted to an ivory letter
He had the opener engraved saying,
“C.D., In memory of Bob,
1862” so he could have a constant reminder of his old friend.
The ghost of Raymond Chandler showed up just then, looking for Food Guy.
Dickens seemed to think old Chandler was a hack writer and took off.
But Pipe Guy listened to me as we discussed the state of the world,
the foolishness of humans, the
prevalence of sorry tasting tuna,
and my difficulty in getting doors opened at the
and meals served at more frequent intervals.
I have got Food Guy up to five times a day, but there is still room for improvement.
that haunted jazz club which is never too far from where dreams have died,
I was playing chess with the ghost of William Faulkner. The fog gathered near.
The jazz murmured low in the shadows.
The torches beckoned to all who wander lost in the dark of their soul.
I must have spoken that thought aloud,
for Faulkner said low, "How do you know they are so lost?"
I smiled sadly, "On such a night, if they could be home, they'd already be there." He returned my smile. "Just so. Just so." I asked, "Why weren't you at the poker game last night?" Faulkner snorted, "Hemingway gets too morose about November's writing contest." "So you approve of NaNo?" "Goodness, no! It is a horrid waste of 30 precious days that will never come again.
The dead know all too well how fleeting life can be."
I nodded, "Mark Twain says each day is a coin we can spend any way we wish, but ...." Faulkner finished with me, " ... you can only spend it once." He sighed,
"But have those contest participants bought anything of lasting value with those 30 coins?" "So you agree with Hemingway?"
"No. He lived a full life and should know Mankind has always looked for the secret elixir, the hidden keys, the lost path to success." Faulkner smiled bitterly.
"Not that they exist, mind you, but we want them to. We live in denial of the simple fact
that the true path to success, whether in writing or in any other endeavor, is paved with courage, imagination, and persistence."
He blew pipe smoke into the shadows. "And it is a lonely road." I sighed, "For me it has been."
"So it is understandable that so many writers think they have found the key to becoming writers
in this joint 'group hug' as Hemingway so colorfully and callously calls this contest." He frowned as I moved my knight in a move he had not foreseen.
"But the truth is as elusive as smoke in the night. Sometimes you can smell it in the air, but it slips through your fingers."
Faulkner took my knight in a move that this time I hadn't seen coming and smiled,
"But I can tell you and your electronic friends the simple secret to writing success."
"It's not nice to tease a struggling writer."
"Oh, I am quite sincere. The simple secret is this:
Write of an old thing in a new way."
In response to my frown, Faulkner said,
"The oldest lodestone to literature is the human heart in conflict with itself.
From Shakespeare to Tennessee Williams that lodestone has been the compass that led the way to riveting stories."
He tapped the chessboard with the stem of his pipe.
"Only that is worth writing about, worth the agony, and the sweat of wresting something from nothing."
Faulkner leaned forward, stabbing my chest with the pipe stem.
"Leave no room in your writing for anything but the old truths of the heart,
old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed -
love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice.
Until you do so, you labor under a curse.
You write not of love but of lust,
of defeats in which no one loses anything of value,
of victories without hope and,
worst of all, without pity or compassion. Your griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars.
You write not of the heart but of the sex glands." He wrinkled his nose as if to sneeze.
"When I was in Hollywood, Samuel Goldwyn would point out the latest hit to me and my fellow script writers
and say, "I want the same thing ... only different."
"No stories of young boys or girls fated to save the world, no wallflower girl courted by supernatural heart-throbs, no ...."
"Dare to save your character's world in a way not seen before and with imagination not cookie-cutter formulas.'
I moved my last knight, positioning it to take his King. "Checkmate."
He tipped over his King and arched an eyebrow, "Only a callow soul takes advantage of the dead."
The ghost of Mark Twain pulled up a seat and crowed, "Why I do that all the time!"
This great endeavor reminds me of the lyrics to Thea Gilmore's song: "Start As We Mean To Go On" We’re gonna do what must be done And start as we mean to go on Well, we came to the party late But we’re staying here to see the sun And start as we mean to go on.
So we'll start the meter running We're gonna start to count the cost To see what we're becoming And not what has been lost.
The supernatural predators come out after Katrina. Can two undead legends stop them?
AFTER KATRINA, THERE IS NONE BUT TWO TO STOP THE UNDEAD
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LISTEN to GHOST OF A CHANCE
Can an author be drawn into his own fictional world and killed by his own characters?
HIBBS HAS FOUND HIS VOICE!
A tale of enchantment
Souls At The Crossroads
Where do you need to be?
THE DEADLIEST ENEMY IS WITHIN
What if Stephen King wrote of the life of a blood courier?
Listen to this haunting tale of horror and love
It is 1853. An undead Texas Ranger is on board a cursed ship in search of a murderer who is wearing the face of her last victim as a mask.
Listen to the LAST FAE
When the world is mad, there is little else to do but show them what true insanity is!
Can a man marry both the moon and the sun?
In the eclipse of myth, he can
What Defense is an innocent soul against the Powers of Darkness?
Let Hibbs, the cub with no clue, show you
Before Indiana Jones or Allan Quartermain
There was Sam McCord and his doomed love for Meilori Shinseen
Alice and Victor in 1834 New Orleans
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Buy_FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE
Hurricane Katrina has cast New Orleans into darkness. Predators, living and undead, close in on the helpless survivors. Can Samuel McCord and a vampire priest keep the French Quarter from being drowned in blood?
Buy_LET THE WIND BLOW THROUGH YOU
Enter the dangerous world of a Native American Noir thriller where forbidden love clashes with the politics of crime
You will never see the end coming
In his beginning is his end
My 1st SERIAL TRILOGY continues
There are none so lost as those who refuse to see
The 1st SERIAL TRILOGY!
In the dark, we are all orphans
In Memoriam - Maukie my cyber friend
Maukie - the virtual cat 2 3
RITES OF PASSAGE link
The earliest Samuel McCord adventure: Dare to board a fantasy Titanic as it sails into the Bermuda Triangle
BOOK 1: No one talks openly of the misty figures seen walking along New Orleans' iron-laced terraces, casting no shadow. Of the shapes seen rising from sewer grates. And no one willingly visits the crypt of Marie Laveau at midnight. Into this strange world arrives the street orphan, Victor Standish, from Charon's Greyhound. Charon has to keep up with the times ... the End Times. And the teen destined to be called the "Ulysses of the French Quarter" has come just in time for Hurricane Katrina, the End of All Things ... and the deadly love of the Victorian ghoul, Alice Wentworth.
VICTOR AND ALICE ARE BACK!
BOOK 2: Victor's a street kid. Alice is a Victorian ghoul Their love breaks the chain of reason. Their new adventures bring the French Quarter back from the brink of nightmare.
BOOK 3: Victor & Alice are in the French Quarter of 1834. Voodoo. Demigods. Revenants. And the hilarious Menage a Trois of Death! Oh, and someone we love dies at the end.
END OF DAYS is here!
St. Marrok's. The most eerie high school in which you will ever die. Its curriculum? The End of Days. Alice Wentworth plans to get an A+.
ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM link
SEQUEL to RITES OF PASSAGE: Come aboard the doomed DEMETER with undead Texas Ranger, Sam McCord, and sail with her into the depths of madness in ADRIFT IN THE TIME STREAM.
SEQUEL to FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE: The dead rise. Elder Beings strain to enter our world through Katrina devastated New Orleans. And the Angel of Death is kidnapped to clear their way. Can Sam McCord stem the tide of madness in time?
Buy_THE LAST FAE
Once there was an age undreamed where legends walked this earth … and nightmares, too. Terrible were the battles, tragic the outcome of the wars. Until finally there were only two survivors : the nightmare and one bruised legend. These are the legend’s stories, each one a different facet of the same priceless gem – a jewel that has come to believe herself worthless. So come. Listen to her. Listen to THE LAST FAE.
GHOST OF A CHANCE
What if what you wrote became real?
When dreams are sacrificed, it is the soul that burns.
CHECK OUT THE FUN!
Explore if you dare
Buy_THE LAST SHAMAN
Journey with the last Lakota shaman, Wolf Howl. The white govenments call him Drew August. Those who hunt him call him Death. The last day of Man has dawned. Watch as Wolf Howl turns to meet his human hunters. Shadow, the love of his life, returns to aid his hunters. Then, Mankind's death descends. Can he save Shadow before the world's time runs out?
BRING ME THE HEAD OF McCORD!
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GHOST WRITERS IN THE SKY
LEARN TO WRITE BETTER AND LAUGH ALONG THE WAY
LAST EXIT TO BABYLON
At the dawn of the End of All Things, the Last Fae finds there is no hope ... but love.
IT'S HERE TO BUY!!
The trilogy concludes. Not even the eclipse of myth is forever. But love is. And eclipses return. Listen. The voice of Blake, son of Man, is calling across the night skies.
Buy THE PATH BACK TO DAWN
Only in the eclipse of myth can a young man find himself with both the Moon and the Sun as his brides. Can he survive what follows?
Buy_LOVE LIKE DEATH
From the pages of THE LAST FAE springs this paranormal romance/thriller. Fallen, the last fae, discovers the name of the young teenager to whom she lost her heart : Blake Adamson.But she also discovers what happens when you believe your fears over your love : heartache and loss. And so Blake Adamson finds himself torn between two loves : one fae, the other an alien drinker of souls. Their love is deadly, but love, like death, will have its way.
THE BEAR WITH 2 SHAD0WS link
Based on the stories my Lakota mother told me as a child when I was deathly ill in a freezing Detroit basement apartment. Think a Native American LORD OF THE RINGS.
Read the shadowy origin of ROSE RED
FROM THE GREAT BEYOND HOP!
You dare not miss it!!
LISTEN TO THE CDC
THE WORLDS OF ROLAND YEOMANS
Donna Hole astonishes with her insights on my linked worlds
FANTASTIC REVIEW OF THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH
Michael Di Gesu does a masterful review. I am honored by his friendship
LIFE LESSONS taught me by GYPSY
Dedicated to GYPSY
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HELP THE HURTING
100% of the profits for ALL my books this FEBRUARY are going to THE SALVATION ARMY. My Valentine's gift to the hurting.
Buy_BLOOD WILL TELL
One lone telepath finds himself a helpless spectator as the race of Man is subjugated into mindless drones by the very blood within their bodies.When the war is over, and he finds himself totally alone ... How can he go on and why?
CALL ME TOMBS
The last Lakota Heyoka faces voodoo and ultimate evil in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania with his Hellhound, Puppy
BLOG TOUR FOR ALEX J, CAVANAUGH'S NEWEST NOVEL
The Norse Gods Are Watching You!
BRAINE at TALK SUPE
NERDY IS THE NEW SEXY!
BECOME A JEDI KNIGHT FOR TEENS
THE SECRET OF SPRUCE KNOLL
Help save the endangered species of Earth by buying THE SECRET OF SPRUCE KNOLL!
AMAZON KEEPS SELLING OUT!
Written by the author who could very well turn out to be the new William Faulkner, Elliot Grace
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