Merry Christmas Eve...

It's Christmas Eve, so we're taking a quick break in our current story to bring you something different.

In the United Kingdom there is a tradition of telling a ghost or creepy story at this time of the year.

And since according to Ancestry.com based on my DNA sample, I am 49% Irish, plus another 22 % English, I feel it only right to continue this tradition.

So, we're bringing you the audio version of "The Snowman", complete with imagery, providing a picture book experience, much like I did last year with my unabridged presentation of Charles Dicken's "A Christmas Carol".

As many of you will remember, "The Snowman" was written by my wife/co-author Helen for our "The Vampyre Blogs - One Day at a Time" anthology. It was inspired by hearing the song "Frosty the Snowman" one too many times, before deciding to put a bit of a strange unearthly (or Para-Earth-ly) twist on the story...

So without further ado, here is this year's Christmas story offering...

No doubt, you might be wondering about the opening stating the presentation came from the Library of the Obscure. For those wondering about that, you'll be seeing and learning more about the library starting next month, so stay tuned.

In the meantime, have a blessed and safe Christmas and hopefully a very wonderful New Year.

Love,

Allan and Helen

E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part IV

 

Brian’s eyes find mine, and he smiles. “That’s why you were rushing into some of those burning buildings. You were trying to rescue these.”

“To be honest,” I explain, “I didn’t rush into burning buildings for all of them. A number of those I pulled out of garbage bins, or piles of films that were going to be set on fire. In those cases, I replaced the spools I took with extra copies of other movies, or even blank film so no one would notice they were missing.”

“Wait?” Lisa cries and gives me a puzzled look. “People were burning Roscoe’s films? Was it because of the trial?”

I nod.

“But he was declared innocent!” she protests, while a large man with a huge warm smile on his face quietly appears behind her.

I smile inwardly. It’s always good to see my old buddy, Roscoe.

“You are correct, my child,” Brian beams. “However, the verdict of innocence, came at the end of his third trial.” As he speaks, it’s clear that neither he nor Lisa seem to have taken notice of the famous silent film star, who is currently looking over their shoulders to see which films of his they were holding.

As you can already guess, the fact that they can’t see him comes as no surprise to me. After all, I happen to know Roscoe isn’t a ghost. He’s a mental ‘construct’, so to speak, created by my mind and based on our many years of friendship.

For those not aware, I literally remember everything I’ve ever experienced. Heck, I even have memories of being inside my own mother’s womb, if you can believe it.

And among that mountain of memories is every single person I’ve ever met. Some I met only on rare occasions, or even just once in passing. But I do remember them.

Others, like Roscoe (and a host of others I was really close to), I can remember in complete detail. I can recall their personalities, manner of speaking, all their habits, the works. It’s one of the many gifts my Sangui-Sapio companion has granted me.

And every so often, when I feel really lost or am simply missing one of them, that person will appear to me, just like now.

From my point of view, it’s like they’re in the room with me and we interact as if time had never separated us. I guess the best way to explain it is like having a film projector, in your head. And the film is being shown on a screen inside my eyes, complete with sound, so visually and audibly they appear to be in the same room I’m in. And as is the case right now, my old friends can stand or wander around and even react to any living people who also happen to be in the room. This means I also I get to privately enjoy my old friend’s reactions and antics. However, this occasionally winds up with me reacting and saying or doing things in front of my actual guests which leave them more than a little puzzled at times.

As I stated earlier, my existence tends to be a very strange one sometimes.

Anyhow, I presume my ongoing dilemma of what to run on opening night, and Lisa’s discovery of Roscoe’s ‘lost’ films, is what has generated this impromptu visitation from my old friend. Not that I mind. He may have been known mainly for his comic genius, but like Otto, he was always full of keen insights and good advice.

Meanwhile, Brian continues, “You see, my dear, the first two trials ended with hung juries.”

Immediately, Lisa smacks her forehead while saying, “Which means the accusation was hanging over his head for months.”

“And the newspapers, especially those owned by Randolph Hearst, were dragging his name through the mud the whole time,” Brian adds solemnly.

I watch Roscoe pull out a handkerchief and wipe his brow, muttering, “Pal, you don’t know the half of it.”

Quietly, I sympathize with my old friend. Not a lot of people knew what he went through, but I did. I was there for him the whole time, along with Buster, Roscoe’s nephew Al (St. John), plus a number of others. We all stood by him throughout all three trials. From the beginning to the end, when he was finally exonerated. Yet, in spite of that ruling, which was accompanied by a formal apology prepared by the jury and read out loud by the judge, it had already been too late. Roscoe’s reputation had been irreversibly trashed in the eyes of the public and Hollywood.

No sooner does that thought pass through my mind, Lisa cries out, “Hey, here’s one for the Halloween season. Fatty and the Ghost.”

Immediately, her father leans over to peek and exclaims, “I’ve never heard of that one. Maybe, it’s one of the films that never got to the screen because of the trial. That happened to several others he did. Although, as I recall, some of those did get shown overseas.”

Meanwhile, Lisa is shaking her head. “I don’t think so, dad. Look at the date. This was shot back in 1912, almost 10 years before the scandal.”

Roscoe, who has been looking over their shoulders the whole time, suddenly shoots a devilish smile me and says, “Are you going to tell them, or should I?”

I suppress a smile and explain to the other two, “Portions of that film were only ever shown to a select group of individuals. Namely, those who were involved in the making of it.”

Brian raises on eyebrow as he gives me a curious look. “Your tone of voice tells me you were one of those people who got to see it. May one ask how you were involved in the film?”

Pretending to examine my fingernails, I reply nonchalantly, “Oh, I didn’t do much, just co-starred in it.”

The looks of shock, surprise, and disbelief that flashed across both father and daughter’s faces, accompanied by a healthy dose of stammering and head shaking, prompted Roscoe to stand next to me saying, “Boy, what I wouldn’t give to have caught that all on film. These two would’ve been great in one my movies.”

“I taught them everything they know,” I murmur quietly back at him.

“Yeah, right,” he laughs. “You forget, I’ve seen how many times Lisa has run rings around you. She’s made a monkey out of you so many times, you could audition for the next ‘Planet of the Apes’ movie.”

Now, Roscoe left this world back in 1933. So, the fact he is now making references to movies that were made decades after he passed, were one of those little details that helped me figure out long ago that he (and a number of my other acquaintances from across the years) was a construct made up from my memories.

Or at least that’s what I’ve always told myself. Tonight, however, I was about to find out that there are still more things in heaven and earth than I ever dreamed possible.

E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part III

 

Leading father and daughter back to the lobby, I turn off all the lights to the theater along the way. Once we’re outside and I’m certain the place is locked up, we start heading to The Crypt. It’s raining lightly, but we’re all okay with that. After all, the building where my club is secreted is only a couple of blocks away.

Lisa sidles up alongside me, occasionally pressing up against me as we go. I shoot a look of appeal to her father, who simply keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead, apparently oblivious to his daughter’s advances. Although, I’m certain I detect a slight pull at one corner of his mouth that falls just short of being an actual smirk.

This of course, leaves me to wrestle with my warring feelings on my own once more.

In that same moment, as if conspiring against me, the rain begins to come down a bit harder. Automatically, I open one side of my billowy trench coat and extend it around Lisa’s head and shoulders to protect her, since I don’t have an umbrella handy. This of course prompts the young lady to wrap her arms around my waist and rest her head against my chest, so I can pull the jacket closed around the two of us.

She’s clearly pleased with this turn of events.

And for the millionth time, I silently admit to myself, it does feel good. No, not just good, but right. However, the times I’ve held Marisa, have also felt just as right.

But before I can start wondering about how holding the two of them at the same time might feel, I find we’ve already turned down the alley that leads to my club. Carefully, we make our way down the stairs and inside the warmth and quiet of The Crypt.

It’s closed tonight so we’re the only ones here. I don’t operate it during the weekdays, since a lot of my clientele are teenagers who don’t need another excuse to avoid their schoolwork.

As Brian locks the door behind us, I carefully extricate myself from Lisa’s embrace and lead the way to the area where the backrooms await. Once we’re there, I show them the hidden stairwell that leads down to the sub-basement. This, like the club itself, is a leftover from the days of prohibition. Once upon a time, all kinds of booze and distilleries where hidden down here, out of the sight of the law (or at least, the ones who were not here to get a drink or two themselves). and once housed all the illegal booze.

Nowadays, most of the floor is an entertainment/game room, with a small kitchen, a bathroom, and another room roughly 10’ by 20’. Unlike the rest of this underground area, the floor in that room is comprised purely of dirt, not wood or concrete. This is a leftover from before I took up residence in the family mansion. Prior to reclaiming my birthright, I spent most of my daylight hours down here resting deep in the ground, whenever I came to town.

Next to the door that leads into this room, stands a huge bookcase. It stretches from the ceiling to the floor and extends a good ten feet in length along the wall. I proceed to remove several books and stand back. Immediately, a tall section of the bookcase swings open revealing an imposing metal door behind it.

“Well, well, well,” Brian exclaims, his eyes wide with surprise, “You’ve moved it again. I swear, every time I think you’ve shown me everything, you produce yet another little wonder.”

“Impressed?” I ask casually.

“Very,” he replies giving me a slight bow. Then he starts studying the metal barrier. “Let me guess, another leftover from Prohibition?”

“From before that,” I explain. “Originally an old bank stood on this site years ago. Then it caught fire and was replaced by the building above us. But no one wanted to remove the vault, so it just sat down here, empty and deserted. That is until the mob took over and started using it to hide their distillery operations. After I found it, Otto helped me update the facilities and install climate control features. That was back in the 60’s.”

“And the films have been down here ever since,” Brian smiles.

“Actually, I didn’t move them in until the early 1980’s” I correct him. “Prior to that, I had another use for the room at that time.”

“So why did you need a climate-controlled room back in the 60’s?” Lisa asks, studying the books I had removed from the case, along with noting the spots where each one had been taken from.

Mentally, I make a note to rearrange the swinging bookshelf mechanism again, as I answer. “Well, originally, I was keeping certain plants and soil samples in here to study while I was working on my master’s degree in Botany. After I’d completed my studies, I got word that all the old films I’d gathered over the years were not holding up as well where I’d been storing them. So, I removed most of the tables I had kept my samples on, added lots of shelving, changed some of the lighting and…” at this I’ve unlocked the metal door, which slowly swings open to reveal a room the size of a rather large bank vault. Kind of like the ones you see on TV, only this one is the real thing.

There are rows upon rows of shelves inside, along with filing cabinets, film repair equipment, and a few other odds and ends.

“Care to step inside and peruse the collection?” I smile invitingly.

Lisa and her dad are so excited they both shoot past me and for a brief moment nearly get stuck in the doorway.

I quietly smile, thinking back to how many times Roscoe, Buster, Al, or the Marx Brothers would pull that stunt with hilarious results. It may be an old gag, but each of them could put a new spin or twist on it like no one else.

At that same time, the first inkling of an idea starts to hit me. Although to be honest, it’s one that has occurred to me several times, but I’m still unsure about it. The idea of running a slew of silent pictures on opening night would certainly appeal to historical movie-buffs. But what about a younger audience? Would they be interested? Hell, most of them have probably never heard of Buster Keaton, or Al St. John, or my old buddy Roscoe. At best, they might be familiar with Charlie Chaplin, but that’s about it.

Just then I hear Lisa’s voice coming from the vault saying, “Dad, would come and take a look at these? I recognize the artist, but not the names of the films.”

Immediately, I start to wonder which films she’s run across so quickly.

Following her voice, I enter the maze of shelving inside the vault, and find father and daughter studying a particular row of cannisters which I instantly recognize. Out of all the rows of films in here, how in the world did Lisa stumble across that section?

Before I can explore that thought further, Brian says excitedly, “Lisa, do you realize what these are? These are some of the films I was talking about earlier. The ones that were believed to have been lost for almost a century! There are collectors out there who would go give their right eye teeth find just one of these!”

“Seriously?” his daughter smiles, “Cool! Oh, and look who stars in most of them...”

Before she can finish, I call out, “Roscoe Conkling Arbuckle! More well known to the general public as ‘Fatty’, a name which he really hated, by the way.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS” - Part II

 

“Come on,” Brian persists, “I’ve seen that ‘personal film vault’ of yours. You’ve got hundreds of movies in there, a number of which are still in their original cannisters as I recall. And I know you’ve already had most of them copied and transferred onto devices that can be used on modern projection equipment. So, what’s the holdup?”

Eyeing him coolly, I respond, “Firstly, I have over a thousand films that have been transferred and are ready for use. Secondly, there are still another 500 films, which you already pointed out are still in their original cannisters, which I’ve only recently been able to begin the process of getting them restored. Once that process has been finished, then they too will need to be transferred and copied.”

At this point Lisa jumps in with, “Got any of the missing Dr. Who stories?”

Rolling my eyes, I nod, “Yes, and I’ve already sent copies of what I had to the BBC. Unfortunately, most of the ones I gave them, they already had. However, several of my copies were in better shape, so it wasn’t a total waste. Plus, there were a few they didn’t have, for which they were very grateful.”

“I’m going to want to see those,” Brian tells me.

No surprise. He’s almost as big a Dr. Who fan as I am, and Lisa’s just as bad.

“But getting back to that thousand plus movies in your possession. Would any of them happen to be...” he begins.

“Yes,” I cut in, sighing heavily. “A number of them are films that were believed ‘lost’ to history. Which is the big reason for my dilemma.”

At this Lisa frowns. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” I answer snippily. “For your information, a number of them are considered ‘classics’, which is why so many historians have been spent years looking for any remaining copies of them.”

“And you’ve had them all this time?” she replies eyeing me suspiciously. “Holding out on everyone and just keeping all the goodies to yourself, huh?”

With a dramatic groan, I answer, “Most of them I got a hold of decades ago. And even back then, a fair amount of them weren’t in the best shape. With Otto’s help, I tried to preserve them as best we could. A number of these were shot from the 1910’s through the 1930’s, which was before anyone really thought about preserving films. In fact, it wasn’t until 1935 that the New York Museum of Modern Art made the first real effort to preserve old films. And by then a bunch of the silent ones had already been lost, because the material they used to film them weren’t chosen for their ability to last over a long period of time. Plus, that stuff was also highly flammable.” Here I pause and add quietly, “Believe me, I know. I was one of those rare fools who would run inside a building where they were stored which was on fire, trying to grab whatever I could, before we all wound up as extra crispy.”

“Seriously?” father and daughter cry in unison. I’d never mentioned this to either of them before. Why? Because I’m a very private person… most of the time.

After a moment, Brian regains his composure and asks, “You were rushing into burning buildings just to save a few old films?”

“I was specifically trying to save certain ones at the time,” I explain quietly. “But between having flames closing in and structures starting to collapse all around me, I just grabbed whatever I could and got the hell out of there. Only after I was safe did I get a chance to go through the ones I had grabbed and find out their titles.”

Coming over to me, Lisa places a hand on my arm and says gently, “Those films you were after must’ve been pretty special, to you.”

“Oh, they were,” I smile and nod.

“And the ones you did save are all in that vault of yours,” she continues.

“Carefully stored in a special climate-controlled room,” I nod.

“Good,” she smiles, “So, is this vault of yours nearby? Or do we have to take a plane to Los Angeles, or somewhere else?”

“Actually, they’re quite close,” Brian smiles, before I can reply. “In fact, it’s carefully hidden within the walls of one of your favorite hangouts.”

At that Lisa turns to me excitedly and squeals, “You’ve got them at the mansion, don’t you?”

This time it’s my turn to smile mischievously. “Ooo… you’re cold. Very cold.”

She rolls her eyes at that. You know, for someone so ‘mature’ she’s very easy to get going sometimes. Of course, the fact that both her parents and I used to tease her with the old ‘Hot and Cold’ game quite a lot while she was growing up, probably doesn’t help. Especially, when we pulled it on her seventh birthday. At my prompting we had stashed her presents all over the house and made her look for them.

Needless to say, the novelty of the challenge wore off rather quickly and ended with tears. Clearly, it had not been one of my brighter suggestions.

So, upon hearing this, one might’ve thought I would have learned from that experience. But no, I pulled it again on her just last year over at the mansion. Only to quickly learn that time had not improved her attitude about the game one bit. In fact, being older and basically an adult, she was able to express her displeasure with me in much more colorful terms than when she was only seven.

Deciding I’d best not play that game with her now, I’m about to tell her the location when she suddenly bursts out with, “You’ve got them hidden somewhere in the building, where The Crypt is located, don’t you?”

Immediately, Brian starts clapping. “Congratulations, you are correct. Someone, give that girl a coconut!”

Both Lisa and I turn and stare at him for a second.

“A coconut?” she repeats in disgust. “First of all, I hate coconuts. Secondly, if that’s all I’m going to get, it better be made of solid gold.”

“On my salary?” her father gasps, “I’m lucky to be able to afford a regular coconut.” Then he shifts his gaze to me. “Nathan, you’re the moneybags of the family, you give her one made of gold. Then I can steal it in the night, melt it down and take off with my wife to parts unknown.”

“Wait! What about your kids?” I ask.

“You’re their godfather, you take care of them,” he smiles, “They can be your problem.”

In response to that Lisa snuggles up to me, sending one thought racing through my mind, ‘One of them already is.’

Mind you, it’s not that I’m not fond of Lisa. Quite the opposite. I both love and adore her. And yes, I’m also attracted to her. Extremely attracted to be honest. But I’m also attracted to her best friend Marisa, and I don’t want to complicate things between them. Especially, since both of them, by my standards anyway, happen to be a bit on the ‘young’ side. Admittedly, they’re both in their early twenties, but I want them to explore their options and experience life. See who and what is out there for them, before trying to decide whether or not they really want to settle for someone who must avoid daylight and live a night owl existence.

‘Someone who will also more than likely outlive them,’ I add silently.

Although, if I’m being honest, I think I worry more about that last part more than either of them. And it’s because of that fear, I have considered doing the one thing I know would change that outcome. In fact, I’ve thought about it more often than I like to admit. But I’m not about to offer that option to either of them. At least not at this time…

“So, are we going to check out your vault or what?” Lisa asks, interrupting my train of guilt. From the annoyed tone of her voice, this is probably the 3^rd or 4^th time she’s asked the question, and I clearly wasn’t listening.

Giving her a sheepish smile as an apology, I nod and say, “Sure, why not?”

TO BE CONTINUED...

E-Journal of Nathanlie Eoghan Steward October 11, 2018 “GHOSTS”

Staring at the empty auditorium, I can’t help but marvel at just how well the restoration of the place has turned out. The gilded wall sconces illuminating the art deco walls and the high arched ceiling and its wondrous art, which draws the eye upwards. It really makes a person feel like they somehow stepped back in time. It’s all, just as I remembered it.

Of course, no one here in Pointer would remember just how majestic this old movie palace had been in its heyday back in the early 1900's. Most would remember it from the 1970's, run down and badly faded. It had closed once and for all during the great recession of 1975. It came into my possession in 1977, although I only learned about it two years ago.*

And ever since then I had gone to great efforts to restore the place to its former glory.

Naturally, there had been several ‘complications’ for the crew during the restoration process. For instance, the question of what the original seat covers looked like had become a real issue. You see, over the years, damaged seats had been reupholstered with whatever material was available at that time. So, when the crew began tackling the seats, they quickly discovered that practically no two seats were exactly alike to guide them. And what was visible had faded badly with age.

The same held true for the wallpaper in different locations of the building. Luckily, I knew and was able to help on those fronts. Of course, there was the odd question about how I could be so sure about my choices. After all, there were no colored photos of the place back in the 1910’s and 1920’s, which was the time frame I was aiming for. But I was able to show them descriptions from old handbills, and diary entries from local historians (thank you Brian). Plus, I had done a painting or two of the old theater back in its heyday, which I was able to show the crew (while carefully obscuring the signature of the artist at the same time).

         But now all was ready. The auditorium, the balcony, the crying room, the catwalks, the lighting, the proscenium arch looming tall and majestic over the stage, while a red velvet curtain shielded a huge drop-down screen from view. And behind that screen, a full working stage perfect for live performances, for both theatrical and music, stood ready for action.

Behind and slightly above my head, loomed a mezzanine, with a fully restored crying room off to one side, where parents with fussing infants could enjoy the entertainment without fear of disturbing other patrons. Next to that, hidden behind an ornate wall, stood a fully operational projection room prepped with both the latest in technology, as well as fully restored older projectors, all ready for action.

Outside the auditorium, hallways glistened with art and mirrors, while colorful carpeting beckoned patrons to explore the premises. Beyond that stood the lobby area, along with the original concession stand, all fully restored to their original splendor, complete with a crystal chandelier overhead.

And of course, just beyond ornate doors, a gleaming ticket booth stood, under the protective cover of a huge marquee, surrounded by lights. Across that marquee, in huge black letters, was the proclamation “Opening Soon”.

"I see the sign still hasn’t changed yet,” a voice says from behind, interrupting my train of thought.

Before I can turn to address the speaker, a second voice, a young woman’s to be precise, adds, “It’s been saying that for almost two months, ever since the renovations were finished. So, what’s the holdup?”

I know both those voices, especially the second one. After all, my dearest Lisa spends more time at my mansion than she does at home. Or at least it seems that way sometimes.

Turning to face her and Brian (her father), I answer dryly, “The management has been encountering unforeseen difficulties, which must be overcome before this wonderful place can be opened. Furthermore, management, knowing the public has very high expectations for what kind of experience this facility will provide the community, are even now diligently struggling to resolve these issues as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, much of their time is being taken up by fielding repetitive and inane questions from uninvited visitors.”

I fully expect Lisa to have some equally witty comeback, but her father beats her to the punch. “Still can’t make up your mind on what film or films to present on opening night, eh?”

Rather than openly admitting that he is correct, I give him the most dignified response I can come up with at that moment. I blow a raspberry at him.

Brian, his smile emphasized by the old-fashion sideburns he had recently began sporting, turns to his daughter and says casually, “And that my dear, is the kind of maturity you can expect from your godfather, should you ever have the misfortune of ever having to live with him on a regular basis.”

To which Lisa cocks her head prettily and responds, “Well, then at least he’d have one mature person around to keep an eye on things.”

Considering she’s only 22, compared to my 171 years of existence, I am more than prepared to differ. However, upon thinking back on some of the many adventures with Para-Earths and other strange encounters she’s experienced over time with me and Otto, she may have a point. So, I do the most grownup thing I can think of, I blow a raspberry at her as well. 

Okay, maybe there is some validity to her remark about my maturity. But there’s no way in hell, I’m about to admit it. At least not out loud.

TO BE CONTINUED...

*Author's Note: this event will be covered in "The Vampyre Blogs - Family Ties" novel which is still being written at the time of this post.*

A Matter of Keeping Your Perspective While Writing...

I haven't posted any new stories lately, but this is not because I haven't been writing. On the contrary, I've been rather busy with stories lately. In fact, I recently completed one tale set during in World War I, involving Nathan and a zeppelin. Sounds intriguing? Well, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the 2nd anthology "Two for the Road" to come out, to read it. 

Which with a little luck, and some actual work on my part, may actually happen later this year. We'll see. Honestly, I would like to see it happen, but if I've learned anything these last few months is that "Life gets in the way...", so we'll see. I'll try to keep you all in the loop as best I can.

In the meantime, I've also been working on a second lengthy tale which will also appear in that collection. This one will have a trigger warning at the beginning because the subject matter involves a sex trafficking operation. This tale will involve some sex, violence, and threats of violence against women. The story will not be told by Nathan or one of the other regular members of the cast, but someone new who will wind up having an interesting impact on Lisa. 

Sounds intriguing, doesn't it? I hope so, because this story has given me no end of difficulty to write. In most of my other stories, actually all of them now that I think about it, when the storyteller is not Nathan, Lisa or Marisa, it's someone who is already familiar with the secret of Nathan's condition or are being told about it (like in The Artist tale). Admittedly, in the first book "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home", Marisa and Pastor Lamar Gregory, but both learned the truth before the book was over. Or at least witnessed firsthand, some of what he could do.

However, this time I'm working on a short story... hell, who am I kidding it has already reached novelette length. Anyway, this time I'm working with a character who has absolutely no idea of who (or what) Nathan is. 

And this is where I've been encountering my troubles. I want her to remain ignorant of Nathan's vampiric nature and abilities. So trying to juggle the events that unfold in the story in such a way that neither she nor Lisa actually see him in action. Oh, they might catch glimpse of Nathan's fury here and there, but without actually seeing who's doing what. Most of the action takes place off screen, but they and you the readers will get to see a fair amount of the aftermath, and some of it will NOT be pretty.  I've had more than one person tell me how they'd like to see Nathan not hold back for a change. So, expect a body count in this story, and I warn you all that some of it will be grisly.

Now in order to achieve this effect of keeping the main storyteller ignorant, I've had to remind myself time and again about perspective. And it's been an interesting challenge to write the scenes in such a way that keeps the reader in the know, but not our heroine. To deal with this problem, I've resorted to making sure most of the more violent action scenes off screen, but close enough for our storyteller and Lisa to hear and react to what they can make out. 

But it took me a while find a way to pull this off, as I don't want readers to get bored. Most of you are used to getting to witness the action firsthand, so to speak. But this time, I'm kind of using a method that H. P. Lovecraft (the author and creator of the Cthulhu mythos) employed. In his works, many a time the main character catches a brief glimpse of something to horrifying or mind-shattering, that he only gave the reader snippets of what the character saw, then focused mainly on how it made that person feel. The horror, the revulsion, and sense of being in the presence of something that didn't belong in this world, to make the reader feel and react to the situation as if they were there.

It's a unique method of storytelling, but extremely effective. I'd compare it to the use of shadows in early horror movies to let the audience 'see' what terrible thing is being done to a victim. I for one still love this technique and still shiver at some of those old black and white scenes. This is probably because I subscribe to the idea that as much as special effects artists can come up with incredible and grisly results, it still doesn't compare to what our own imaginations can come up with. Lovecraft understood this, and it is why his works are still sending shivers down spines to this day.

Anyway, as I've worked on this story, time and again I find myself writing the action where Lisa and our storyteller get to see too much. It's at that point I have to say to myself, "HEY! I thought we were keeping Nathan and his abilities a secret, remember?" At which point, I have to go back the next day and fix that area, because these realizations don't always come to me as I'm writing.

There's also another problem I've been encountering that involves Lisa. Because she clearly states in "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home" that she's never seen Nathan's darker side. And the tale I'm working on takes place, just weeks after her Sweet 16th birthday and two years before the events of the novel. So now I had to ask myself, how do I explain why she doesn't seem to recall what happened? Yes, I'm one of those people, who questions apparent inconsistencies in television, movie and book series. Well, rest assured, I've got a solution worked out for the problem.

In fact, a lot of the things that take place in this tale is laying groundwork for a number of plans I have for Lisa, Marisa, and Nathan down the road. But first I have to finish writing the story, which will require me to keep the story in the right 'perspective'. Which I hope will come easier with time. 

My apologies if this entry was more about my writing process, but I thought you all might like a little insight to how and why I write the stories the way I do. Point of view, and perspective, are key elements to how I come up with stories and the tone I set for them.

See you all again soon. Take care and happy reading my friends.

PS: Having recently completed my professional Voice Over training and gotten my demo recordings back, I'll be focusing on turning both "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home" and "TVB - One Day at a Time" into audiobooks and release them later this year.

Private Journal of Doctor Jack Tyler December 29th, 2012 "The Haircut" - Part III

      I frowned at my grandfather saying, "Hey, my hair isn't that long.

   "No, but it looks like the last time it was cut someone took a weed-whacker to it," he grunted and gestured at the seat. "So which of you mop-tops is going to be first?"

     "Mop-Top?" Darlene repeated, scrunching up her face in such a way it was clear she didn't know whether to be amused or confused.

     Luckily Cheryl came to her rescue, "That was a popular way of describing men with long hair back in the 60's. I think it started when the Beatles came here to the United States for the first time." Here she paused and studied me for a moment and then added, "You just need to look at your father to get a good idea of how long their hair was back then."

     My offspring gave me an appraising stare and then shook her head. "They considered that long? Looks more he's losing some..."

     "That'll do," I cut in giving her a look that once upon a time would strike terror into her heart. Now all it did was earn me a mischievous grin. Sigh... they grow up fast and much harder to intimidate these days. 

     Meanwhile, Nathan had hopped into the barber's chair, much to my grandfather's satisfaction. Especially when Nathan started asking him about the NY Mets.

     "That bunch of bums!" granddad snarled, while tying the styling cape around Nathan's neck, "Don't get me started. And why are you bringing them up? This isn't baseball season."

     "My point exactly," Nathan replied cheerfully, "If they play during the off season they might actually find someone they can beat. Maybe a girl's softball team for instance."

     Darlene immediately jumped in saying, "You've got to be kidding. We'd mop the floor with those losers, any day of the year."

     "You tell 'im," granddad smiled and turned back to Nathan, "She gets that from my side of the family."

     "And mine!" added my grandmother pointedly. Then she turned to Cheryl and said in a stage-whisper, "He'll never admit it, but he always loved the fact that I wouldn't put up with his nonsense."

     "Like hell," granddad shot back, "I married you because no one else was willing to try to straighten you out so you'd behave more like a lady."  

     "And how did that work out for you?" Nathan asked innocently.

     Granddad glared at him for a second then murmured something about, "Gimme time. I'm still working on it." 

     I was about to comment how he'd already been working on her for almost 70 years, when I noticed my son Joe picking up an old photo album off the table. "Be careful with that," I told him, "That contains some priceless pictures in it."

     Naturally he gave me a skeptical look. "Dad, you say that about all the albums at home and it's just filled with pictures of us when we growing up."

     Looking up into the mirror, granddad saw which book Joe was holding and said, "Memories of family will be more precious than you'll ever know one day. But that's not what's in that book. Those are photos, most of them signed, by some of my favorite customers from over the years. Go ahead and take a peek, you might recognize one or two faces."

     Obligingly, my son did as he was told and immediately his eyes widened at the first image he came across. "Cary Grant!" he cried.

         

     "You're kidding?" his sister gasped and went over to see for herself. 

     Meanwhile, Granddad got to work on Nathan and was saying, "Really nice fella. Great head of hair. Loved working on it and passing the time with him. How old was he when you first brought him to my shop?"

      Nathan had to think for a moment. "Let's see, he was still pretty new in the vaudeville circuit when I met him. I'd say he was just eighteen at the time."

     "That's what I thought," Granddad nodded, "Always stopped in for a shave or a haircut whenever he came to town too." 

     Meanwhile Darlene had turned the next page in the album and started frowning. "Who's the funny-looking guy with the big nose? Was he famous too?"

      "Let me see," Nana told her and went to take a peek. After a moment she smiled, "Oh, that's Jimmy."

     "Which one, Stewart or the other one?" asked Granddad looking up from his work.

      Nana shook her head at him, "Did Jimmy Stewart ever have a big nose?"

     Suddenly, Nathan leapt out of the chair and swung around. His nose had grown considerably as he started talking fast in a raspy, jolly voice. "Who's got a big nose? Madam I'll have you know this schnozzola has given me the world's most memorable profile. It even got me into Guiness just last year."

     I quickly jumped in. "You're in the Guiness Book of World Records?"
     "Nah," Nathan replied in the same voice, "Any chump can into that old waste of paper. Nah, it got me into the Guinness brewery and straight into one of their vats. And lemme tell ya, it weren't full when I fell in, but it was plenty empty when I got out. Ha-cha-cha-cha."

     My son Joe, who had been frowning as if in deep thought, suddenly spoke up. "I know that voice. That's the guy who was the narrator from the 'Frosty the Snowman' cartoon."

     "Hey, that's right," his sister agreed. "And the cartoon version of him did have a big nose just like that." 

    "Dat's right kids, and lemme tell ya. They still didn't do it justice," Nathan continued in Mr. Durante's voice. "Why just the other day I..."

     At that point, Granddad grabbed Nathan by the arm and made him sit back in the chair. Of course this didn't stop the rush of jokes coming out of his client. In fact it wasn't until he pulled out the hot towel and placed it over the comedian's face that the dialogue became more muffled, but not completely silent.

    From then on, the rest of us continued going through the album marveling at the number of famous folks who Granddad had had the pleasure of working on over the years. Nathan helped supply some visuals to the proceedings, much to everyone's amusement and delight. 

    When Granddad finished with Nathan, Joe was more than willing to sit in the chair next and get his hair cut. Not that he really needed it, but by this time he was eager to hear more of namesake's stories. In the meantime I sat back and waited my turn in the chair. It was great seeing my kids really connecting with their great-grandparents. Like Granddad said earlier, memories about family were priceless and at that moment, I was wishing I had my phone out taking pictures. But I didn't, because Nathan had already grabbed it and was shooting away. 

    I later found out, both he and Cheryl had videotaped some of the exchanges and nonsense that followed. It was a great visit, but what made me the happiest was on the way home both Darlene and Joe asked when we were going to visit again. 

     We made a lot of memories tonight and all because of a simple haircut.

     

    - The End