The Christmas Killer

I wrote this for an informal writer's challenge through GRRWG. Enjoy and Happy New Year!!

The Christmas Killer

Cori eyed the clock, twirling a pink strand of hair. She slouched as far as she could on the firm plastic covered “davenport”, as Great Aunt Fran called it.

Great Aunt Fran’s tree held a string of assortedly half lit white lights that flickered weakly. An angel leaned precariously atop, peering with a rather demonic smile.

Uncle Bob slammed his fist on the coffee table. “Dammit!” He wiped the dabble of spit that always came with the football obscenities, and peered closer at the television. “Conner is worthless!”

“Bob, seriously,”sighed Cori’s step-mother. “Can’t you turn it off? We’re going to be starting the party any minute now.” Cori’s step-mother crossed her sheer hosed legs and pat at her French twist. She wore a white business ensemble, with pumps to match.

Uncle Bob turned up the volume and Cori’s step-mother turned to her with her intermittent British accent, “Sweetie, please sit like a young lady.”

“You know Great Aunt Bev won’t start the party until everyone is here, including Sloppy Ray,” replied Cori.

“Uncle Ray,” Cori’s mother corrected, averting her gaze to Great Aunt Bev who had a powdery white mustache. Greatie Bev, as she preferred to be called, bobbled puppy chow mix, which fell in her lap. “I wonder where Ray-Ray could be. He knew it started at six. Six sharp I told him,” with a strong nod of her head. She peeked out the window. “My, it’s snowing. I do hope he’s okay.”

“It’s six-fifteen. I don’t see why we can’t just start. I’m sure he’ll be here soon. And I honestly don’t think he’ll care,” said Cori.

“You’ve heard of the Christmas Killer, haven’t you?” whispered Greatie Bev. Her sweater jangled as she sat next to Cori on the “davenport.” Cori held her breath- and not because she was afraid of a serial killer that Greatie Bev had probably read about in her latest thriller. She was known to confuse literary fiction and reality.

“Christmas Killer?” asked Cori’s stepmother, suddenly losing the accent.

“Ohh yes,” said Greatie Bev, eyes wide and gray curls bouncing with each syllable. “In Columbus he- or she- “she quickly corrected herself, “kills one person right before Christmas. Always puts a Santa Hat on the woman and bright red lipstick- and always sloppy-like and exaggerated.”

Uncle Bob snorted. “A hoax, I’m sure,” and sipped his beer. He wiped his hands on his wife beater stretched by a fairly rotund belly.

“So it’s something you’ve heard about elsewhere,” said Cori carefully.

“Hell yeah- even made the national news last year. And everybody’s got their panties in a bunch because he hasn’t killed yet this year- and well, with it being Christmas Eve, he hasn’t much time.”

“How many years has this been going on?” asked Cori’s stepmother, re-applying her lipstick.

“Oh I dunno- a few years. If you ask me it’s propaganda to get last minute shoppers.”

“Oh heavens,” said Greatie Bev. “Six years at least!”

“I don’t get it. How does it get last minute shoppers?” asked Cori.

Uncle Bob swatted at them for silence as commercials ended. Suddenly, Breaking News flashed across the screen with a blond woman standing outside the local police station. A Santa hat was located on the top right of the screen.

“Good evening. Local authorities have asked us to spread a word of caution. The Christmas Killer has struck the past seven years and as of this moment, there’s been no word of any deaths. We encourage you to use caution. Shop online. Lock doors. Keep children inside. The suspect typically targets women with blond hair, green eyes between the ages of 20 and 35, but everyone is asked to stay alert and report any suspicious activity.”

“See. She said Shop Online. It’s bullshit propaganda!” Uncle Bob held his arms wide, daring anyone to disagree.

“Ohhh,” squealed Greatie Bev, hopping to the front door window. “I wish Ray Ray would get here. It’s getting dark.”

“I don’t think you need to worry, Bev. The killer only targets blond young females,” said Cori’s stepmother.

“At least yours is pink at the moment, Cori,” she said with syrupy sarcasm. She wrung her hands. She fit the victim description quite perfectly. Cori wondered if he had a thing for British accents.

Cori tried slouching the other direction, and thumbed through Good Housekeeping. “Did you guys invite Aunt Colleen again?”

She’d been invited ever since she’d left Uncle Ray several years ago and never showed. Greatie Bev spent months taking computer and Internet classes so she could track down Colleen’s address. Rumor had it that she even hired a P.I., but maybe that was her confusing John Grisham with reality. Uncle Ray always brought a gift, just in case and Greatie Bev always insisted, “This would be the year” and Colleen would “turn from her sinful ways.”

“Cornelia, show some respect,” said her step-mother.

“Yes, she was invited,” said Greatie Bev. “And I’m sure one of these years she’ll show some sense and come-“she choked a sob and bustled to the kitchen.

Cori’s step-mother motioned her head toward the kitchen, so Cori sauntered in that direction.

“Greatie Bev, should I see if Great Aunt Fran is ready to come down?” Great Aunt Fran didn’t let the holidays infringe upon her online Bingo time. She’d also been caught doing some mildly inappropriate things on web cam, with her “Beau”, Beaufort, who supposedly was from some tropical island, although Cori suspected he might be from the inner city. Great Uncle Frank didn’t seem to mind, saying that after 70 years, when she called out another man’s name, it kept him awake.

“Sure dear, that would be mighty sweet of you. Nevermind about asking about Colleen. I know you mean no harm. It just-it hurts.” She sighed, covering her heart, and began sobbing. Cori tried putting an arm around her, but refused to breathe. She wished her step-mother had agreed on buying that new denture toothpaste for Greatie Bev, as part of the gift basket.

“He’s here!” sang Cori’s stepmother from the other room. “Ray! We were worried!”

The front door slammed shut and Uncle Ray stomped the snow off his boots. Greatie Bev’s tears evaporated and she sped to the other room, standing tippy toed to stain his cheek with hot pink lipstick. He grinned and thrust forth a silver package bedecked with layers of sparkling bows. He wore a Santa hat that appeared more orange than red.

“Oh my,” Greatie Bev inhaled, “Lovely. Oh Ray Ray- she doesn’t deserve you!”

Cori’s stepmother turned off the TV, much to Uncle Bob’s chagrin and the angel toppled, landing squarely on the gift Greatie Bev had placed under the tree.

“Hey kiddo, “Uncle Ray grinned at Cori. She noticed his untucked bowling alley shirt and a month’s worth of facial hair. He handed her his grease-stained coat, “Mind taking care of this for me? You’re getting big, Cor,” he said and ruffled her hair.

Cori held it by the loop with a pinky and Uncle Ray joined the others as they found their designated spots on the plastic covered furniture.

Cori went upstairs with the coat and poked her head into Frank and Fran’s room.
“Party is starting!”
They emerged from beneath a blanket, and Cori quickly closed the door, covering her eyes. “Whyy?” she groaned.

She flicked the light on in the guest bedroom and threw the coat on the bed. Three tubes of lipstick rolled out of a pocket, down the quilt, and dropped to the hard wood floor.

Illusion of Balance

I was reading out of my daily meditation book, when I came across something fitting. Ever had that where something you read, see, or even over hear in a conversation was exactly what you needed? It seems the Universe, God, Life has a way of making that happen.

I've always been a strong believer of balance. It's been my life goal. Thinking, if I achieve balance, I achieve happiness. This goal has been ever so frustrating though because as soon as I find balance in one area (say, nutrition or food in general), it's suddenly lacking in another (suddenly I'm not exercising). I exert so much energy in doing one thing So Perfectly, that something else is completely thrown off, and I find myself quite irritable because I simply haven't found balance in (enough) time with friends or family. Then I eat a whole chocolate cake and my eating is subsequently thrown out of wack. (I am craving chocolate today for some reason!)

So I'm on this treadmill of perfection. I tread daily. I believe It exists. If I try hard enough. Sweat through it. Run enough miles, so to speak, I'll find the mecca of Balance.

I try, I fail. Rinse and Repeat. (Rinse as in start all over!)

So discouraging! Have you been there? Felt that irritation with yourself? Why can't I get it right? The online article about how I should be eating all organic food is stuck in my mind. Then there's the commercial about Depression. Depression Hurts. Better balance my mental health too. And some TV talk show expert says to avoid the harmful chemicals in counter top cleaners. Note to self: stop at the health store. And my therapist's recommendations about how to keep up healthy relationships- how to fight fair. Blown that a few times. As a self help junkie I find myself bombarded with it constantly.

Then I fail again. Or so it feels.

So when I read my daily devotional, it reached out and smacked me, in a friendly way, on the forehead.

I couldn't find the exact quote from my meditation book, so I'll sum it up. Constant balance is not the natural way of things. The world is in constant flux however. The pendulum swings one way, but then later finds middle ground again. There will be periods of imbalance because that's the way this life and our world works. So instead of fighting it, I'm working on accepting those times when I just feel "ick" and out of sorts. When I have days where nothing "goes right" or when I don't get enough sleep. Times when a relationship is rocky. It's going to happen. It's just a matter of acceptance.

Starting my story....

Wow! The last month has been a whirlwind and now it's almost Thanksgiving, which will also be a whirlwind, but in a good family-whirlwind kind of way. Okay, I've overused the word "whirlwind", probably a English 101 no no. I'm claiming the exception-- usage for emphasis. But I digress....

What have I been so busy doing? Well, on top of the usual entree of work, chores, errands, appointments, and time with my hubby and stepdaughter, I managed to fit in my first ever Writer's Conference (through the group I joined recently), went to a 31 party hosted by my friend/"sister-in-law", attended weekly yoga classes, and took a re-imagining painting class (see earlier blog entry about re-imagining). Oh, and I started my novel/short story/whatever it turns into.

I've been brainstorming, outlining, plotting, character sketching, researching for a couple of months, and then avoided writing by doing a lot of reading. I rationalized it by telling myself I wasn't JUST reading. I was analyzing the books to see what flows, what makes characters appealing, what bores me, and read a range of genres-- and all of that is true and very helpful! But-- I kept ignoring the nagging voice that told me to simply sit down and write my story. I even read a book about how to use fear and anxiety to better your writing (The Courage to Write), but I couldn't fool myself for long. There is something terrifying about sitting down and staring at that blank page with a poised pen realizing, "I'm supposed to write." No more analyzing writing, discussing techniques at conferences, emailing fellow writers. This is it. My American Idol Performance.

I finally gave myself permission to write two pages of garbage. It's not very good, and I spent a week beating myself up about how horrid it was and that I'm not a real writer. Then this past weekend, I arranged my "reading nook" to be very cozy with good lighting (somehow relieved my anxiety to have that part perfect). I wrote two more pages, and this might sound odd, but I'm intrigued by my own characters and eager to see what happens to them. And a new character popped up out of nowhere! So I had a total of four hand written two sided pages, and I shouted in excitement to my husband, "I've started my novel!" It's only a skeleton, but it's on the page, instead of wandering around in my mind. Now my problem is that I have two other stories taking up that space in my mind and I"m not sure whether to put them on hold or start them....we'll see.

Princess Diaries- 10/28/11

My step-daughter is 8-years-old, and even though she sticks with the trends (iCarly!), she's still a traditional girl at heart. She loves castles and princesses, and plans on living in a huge castle when she grows up. My hubby, J, and I asked her if we could live with her. Never too early to start planning retirement.

We have silly and inspiring conversations with her, and I love the profound ideas and quirky comments she comes up with. So I'm sharing my first blog entry of the "Princess Diaries".

Last Saturday when she came over, we were eating breakfast, and she was playing with a rubbery spider finger puppet (see above).
She was twirling him by one of his legs and I warned her,
"He might get dizzy!"
"And puke in your milk,"added my husband. Thanks for that image, honey!
It was dangerously close to the milk, and honestly I was more concerned that the milk would soon make contact with the floor.
She giggled, covering her mouth.
She stopped the spider merry-go-round,
"I saw a spider web at my Grandma's!" (I Love the things that kids get excited over)
"Oh yeah?" I said.
"It was beautiful!" she gushed.
She traced the web pattern in the air,
"Line, line. Spider. Line." (Yup, I could almost see it)
"So there was a spider in it?!"
"Yeah he's my friend."
"Does he have a name?" (I have a tendency to name everything, including plants)
"Yup, Webby!" she announced proudly.
"That's cute!"

An 8-year-old girl who's not scared of a spider, but befriends him? I was impressed.
"That was nice of you to leave his web. A lot of people would have ruined it."
Her shoulders sagged and hands went to her side,
"Xavier ruined it!" ( cousin Xavier the Destroyer-- how evil!)
"Oh no! I'm sorry."
Before The Destroyer came along though, she had been looking out for little Webby. She explained how she had caught flies, coaxed them to the web, released them near the web, and well, did her best so Webby wouldn't go hungry. Apparently, Webby had never heard the "Location location location" motto.

"So where do you think Webby went?" I asked.
"Florida because it's warmer and he can get a tan!" She was quite matter-of-fact about it.
Of course! November--the time of year to head South. Why would I think any differently?

We have a winner!

Congrats to Jennifer Armintrout for winning my first Giveaway!! Thanks to everyone who participated. :)

Soon I'll be starting my recurring feature "Princess Diaries", and you can be on the lookout for more Giveaways! I also posted a poem under the "My Art" tab of my blog, for those of you who have been asking to see my work-- it's a sneak peak of sorts.

Namaste~

Lynn

Official Blog Kick-Off and Giveaway!!

I'm committed. I tested this blog thing out, and I like it. Never really pictured myself as a blogger. When blogs first came out, I thought it seemed kinda conceited. But if I use Facebook, I'd be a hypocrite to think blogging was a vain hobby. And I like to write, so it's a good match. :)

It's a Friday, Pay Day, and I'm in a good mood. So lets get this started! Comment on ANY of my blogs OR subscribe to my blog (you'll have to email or FB me to let me know because I don't think it notifies me), and you'll be entered to win a $20 Amazon Giftcard. I'll do the drawing sometime early next week, and post the winner!

Also, let me know if you're interested in being a guest writer for my blog, or if you'd like to promote your book (or anything else) in one of my future giveaways. :)

Re-Imagined!! And my ADHD

I love everything creative and sometimes get frustrated that I only have time for well, one or two, creative hobbies--at least while I'm working full time. I find something new and think, "I would love to try that!" For example, I was window shopping, in Plainwell, and found a cute little sewing shop that offers classes. I immediately snatched up their info. But--time for it? On top of my other "priority hobbies"? Well, no. Sewing might suit (seriously --no pun intended!) me better when I'm 65, retired, and have a country grandma-like chair. Which brings me to the picture.... I found a local business (Allendale) run by a woman named Michelle who [re] imagines old furniture into something very shabby chic and vintage-y. So awesome! I subscribed to her blog immediately and started daydreaming about starting my own business. This is Wholesome Art. That's my term. I'm hoping to maybe have one of my own shoddy hand-me-down furniture pieces [re] imagined by her. I love this chair and desk, and others must too. She often sells her pieces even before she has time to sell them. From reading her blog, it looks like she's swamped with business, which I think is pretty awesome in today's economy. And it's recycling at its best!

So what might you [re]imagine? Something glossed in cobwebs in your basement? Something from her blog? Maybe something that's not even furniture. Use your imagination!

I'm going to [re]imagine an old piece of furniture and post it at a later date.

What are your long-forgotten-message-in-a-bottle dreams? Maybe you can dapple in one like me, even if it doesn't turn into a life long pursuit. I thought I had creative ADHD, but maybe a little dabbling is okay. :)

Here's her blog, if you're interested: http://reimaginedjustforyou.wordpress.com/
http://reimaginedjustforyou.wordpress.com/

Asylum Lake

So, I'll admit, I haven't been one to read local authors or even buy from local independent book stores. I take the easy way, click my mouse, scroll, click, and I've bought it from Amazon! A guilty thought is easily brushed aside. Why get your panties in a bunch? It's one book.

Then Borders, a national, yes national, book store chain went out of business. I have a friend who lost her job. Hmmmm..did I play a part in that? Well, not directly, right? ..Right? I can't quite convince myself. How far does the domino effect go? There's no real way to trace it.

I could go on about supporting local business. But I should get back on track.

Through my writer's group, I came across a former member's (R.A. Evans) book, Asylum Lake . I recognized that name, and was instantly intrigued. I used to go jogging at that lake when I lived nearby! I zapped an email and he confirmed that, yes, it was inspired by THE Asylum Lake, and the nearby state hospital. I was giddy!

I bought a copy from a local bookstore (Schuler's) which happened to offer $1 shipping if I bought online. I was pumped! None of this, your-total-reaches-$24.75-and-if-you-add-another-item-you-get-free-amazon-shipping!-- sometimes I really wonder how much money I've lost that way. Don't get me wrong. I love Amazon. It's one of those how-did-people-survive-without-cellphones type of things. But this was eye opening. Maybe Schuler's can compete, and has a fighting chance!

After two book hang overs (AKA staying up too late the night before and needing lots of coffee at work), I was finished. 200 or so pages in 2 days. I was mesmerized, and shocked. I don't read horror or watch horror movies. I tend towards historical fiction/romance/drama/comedy. Now maybe I was biased and wanted to like another beginner writer's (first?) published work. Maybe I was seduced by all of the local references and inside (Michigan) jokes, such as the losing Lions history. Maybe it helped that it had mystery... But it also takes a lot to grab me, especially when it's not a genre I'm not typically drawn to, and I think that has merit.

It was refreshing! Stepping out of my comfort zone in more ways than one.

I'm including the Schuler's link. I'm not including the Amazon link (although you could easily look it up) because that would just seem wrong after what I just said.

http://www.schulerbooks.com/product/asylum-lake

And the author's website.

http://www.asylumlake.com/index2.html

Creature of Nonperfection

I've been brainstorming, and I'm fascinated by the way this story is taking shape. It keeps changing form, flexible, not quite pinnned down. Some sort of oblong ghost-like creature, not fully visible yet. But I'm learning that's okay. Letting go of perfection is difficult. Change is also difficult. Allowing myself to change the characters and settings is completely foreign to me. I used to give up when I felt one aspect wasn't Perfect. But that never got me anywhere. I'm also allowing myself to flow freely. I have some guidelines and goals, but I don't beat myself up if I don't get much written for a few days. Although I do try to spend a little time everyday daydreaming about the story, and I make mental notes of what I want to change or add.

When I remove the pressure and perfection, I find that I'm much more productive. I wonder how else I could apply that to my life?

Inner Demons

I think most writers have fought the battle. The internal battle. But I'd never thought much of it until now. I've been a practicing procrastinator for ten years and recently had the brilliant insight that I'd much rather be a writer than a procrastinator! However, there was a reason my procrastinator made himself at home- setting up his tent in my mental front yard. Annoying squatter!

I refer to them as my inner demons. Most everybody is familiar with them, but they seem to battle the most with Artists, or so that's my theory. These are the "voices", sometimes loud and sometimes faint that tell you you're not good enough, that your pride and joy piece of art actually sucks, that you're too slow, and that you aren't a "real" writer. (By the way what is a "real" writer? I have yet to met a fake writer!) These are the constant streams of thought, like a tape recording- running through your mind- sometimes without your awareness. These demons can be paralyzing and I have a sneaky suspicion, are largely responsible for writer's block.

So, as I'm making changes in my life, and starting to write again, I've found these demons resurfacing full force- willing to use biological warfare if needed.

I stare at a blank page.
"There's millions of writers out there. How can you even begin to compete?"
I start anyways.
"That sounds too professional, like you're at work. You've lost your creativity."
I sigh and try again.
"Your style needs adjusting. I'm bored of it."
I finish a page.
"What?!" it taunts. "You think you're the next Nora Roberts?"
That's it. I put it away and get a bowl of cookie dough ice cream.

Score 1 for the demons.
0 for me.
The problem? I BELIEVED those voices, demons, whatever you want to call them.

It was such a faint whisper, but a couple of weeks ago, right before joining GRRWG, I heard a refreshing new voice.
"Maybe you do have some potential as a writer."
It might not sound super positive, it's a bit tentative yet, but it felt like a flash of insight because I BELIEVED that statement.

I still have bad days and battle my inner demons. I still eat ice cream. But I also have a new belief to hold onto and the murmurs of positivity are growing louder, which breeds hope and self confidence. And of course it helps that I'm doing what I love!