Amy Lane's Blog: Writer's Lane, page 111

FanFic Sunday?-- Interlude

Okay folks-- has been a LOOOONGGG GRL, but I enjoyed myself very much. Had dinner tonight with Ethan Day, and spent the afternoon visiting with Chicken, surviving San Diego traffic, and visiting her cat. Huzzah!

But I miss writing and I miss home and since my eyelids are drooping, I'm going to pitch a little John/Jack interlude about home.

*  *  *

John Stilinski's first day back at home was pretty forgettable-- mostly because he was so drugged he forgot most of it.  The next day, Stiles and Derek were around to help while Carter went and cleared out his inbox and made sure Jo could handle everything for the moment.

John awoke that night, still recovering from the humiliation of his potential son-in-law helping him to the bathroom--because there was a once-strange man rattling around his room.

"God you're loud," John mumbled. "It's a good thing Eureka's perps are all marshmallows, or you'd be dead."

Carter snorted. "Yeah, well, it's a good thing all your perps are werecreatures--with the gas you've passed since I've walked in here, you could kill them all dead."

Stilinski scowled. "Fucking pain meds. They knot up my insides like nothing else. Nungh."

Carter came to his bedside and touched his cheek carefully. "Here--let me go text Fargo that we need something easier on your stomach, and it'll be here in the morning."

"Wait--no! I don't want any special…"

But Carter was slipping into the hall with his phone, leaving John in the dark.

The better to fall asleep, right?

He woke up again, and Carter was lying next to him, one careful hand under Carter's blond sad, the other one lying gently on John's waist.

"This is nice," John mumbled. "How long's it last."

"Most nights," Carter mumbled back, kissing his neck.  "I only stay at Sarah the house when I'm watching the kids."

John grunted and allowed his touch, letting the gruff healing steal through him. "Too bad this house couldn't be Sarah. Derek and Stiles keep telling me they're cleaning shit downstairs, but it sounds like a fucking construction zone."

Carter made a noncomittal noise, and John fell back asleep.

The next morning the underground vacuum tube that Carter had ordered installed began to work. The first item shuttled between Eureka and Beacon Hills was John's non-binding pain meds.

The second thing was a drawing from Jack's daughter that she'd done for her childcare worker.

The third thing was a missive from Allison asking if the system worked well enough for Jack to get off her back and come back to work.

John answered that one with a hand-made thank you note.  And a promise to Stiles and Derek to never, ever, ever ship any of Beacon Hills's freaky assed trouble to their sweet marshmallow neighbors in Eureka.

Thank you

Thank you for reading,
Thank you for caring,
Thank you for coming to talk
And for sharing.

Thank you for loving
And laughing
And traveling
And packing
And flying/riding/train-ing/trying
To come to new places
And joyfully crying.

Thank you for meeting me,
For greeting me,
For hugging me
And GETTING me.

For looking through my eyes a bit
And--like me--never getting over it.

Thank you for loving
My heartbroken boys
And sobbing their heartbreak
Embracing their joys.

Thank you for cheering
For underdog teams
And the kid who's least likely
To see beautiful dreams.

Write for you? Yes!
Sign for you? 'Course.
Hug you? Oh please?
You forgave me for the horse!
YOu forgave me for the tears!
You forgave me for the pain!
You finished the books and you read them again!

So thank you, my readers,
My fans and cheerleaders,
Thank you for loving the books that I love,
The ones that I read and the ones that I write
I love you, I love playing with you,
I'm sad to bid you goodnight--
Sadder still that tomorrow
I'll bid an adieu
And one last, heartfelt, Goddess blessed
Thanks ever so much, I'm so humbled and honored,
So grateful and joyful
gesture of gratitude
To each and every
One
Of
You.

Night GRL 2015--
Thank you :-)

Go Chicken, Go!

* Chicken started volunteering at GRL. At this point, everybody I have met knows the following things about my daughter:  

A.  She's stunningly beautiful.

B. She's old enough to be here.

C. She would love to talk books.

D. She's as bad at paperwork as I am.

E. Mom couldn't be happier or prouder that she's here.

* If I listed all the awesome people I met today, my brain would explode.

*  That being said, Kaje Harper, Jaime Samms, and K-Lee Klein put on a lovely panel, as did Rhys Ford, Charley Cochet and Lisa Henry.  I love hearing other writers talk about the thing that drives them. Tis an awesome moment.

*  For dinner we got to watch pretty women dance hula, and an amazing man juggle fire. Yeah, he caught fire too, but he put it out pretty quickly.

*  I had a bunch of LOVELY people at my table for dinner-- and they seemed happy to see me, so that made things much more awesome!

*  I got inside and called my family because I'd missed out on calling them two nights running. Tonight's #hashtagwars theme on @midnight was #CrapperBooks. My family needed me to call so I could tweet Harry Potty and the Half-Clogged Bench , Game of Thrones, and If you give a pea a pee.  It was almost like I was at home!

*  Almost like I was at home-- the fact that I called out "Assholes!" sharply over the phone and they paused, as though knowing they sucked.  Ah, I miss my dogs.

*  The Grapevine flooded over today-- and I'm SO relieved that it looks like it will be done raining by tomorrow so we might get home on Monday! Because cars were getting swallowed up by mud, and it was scary!

*  And on that note, I'm going to bail, cause I've got sleepiness I need to take care of.

Getting Lost

Well, I made it to the airport in time to pick up Mary Calmes and Jaime Samms…

But it took us an hour to get back.

I don't know… something about the freeways here, and the way this featureless road winds between mountains we're moving too fast to examine… I can't really put my finger on why San Diego is so hard for me to parse in terms of places.  I mean, directions aren't my strong point, and they probably never will be, but I've figured out parts of Burlingame by now, and I've been there a couple of times, each time a year apart. AFter all the time I've spent in San Diego there's got to be SOME reason I can't spot the landmarks.

But besides that, I'm having a wonderful time.

Saw Chicken tonight when we went out to dinner, and she's… beautiful, confident, and, hopefully, happy. She's taking her 17 lb. cat to the vet tomorrow because Valkyrie takes the sport of vomiting very seriously and Chicken is afraid she's harmed herself.

I think that cat is too mean to kill, myself. But Chicken loves her desperately, and I"m just enjoying watching her and her cat.

We set up our swag on the swag tables tonight-- which is exciting because everybody has so much fun stuff! Mr. Andrew Grey was sweet enough to let me use his table, since he didn't have anything up there, and at first I was going to say no… then it turned out I had enough stuff to put up there, and I was like, "Uh… that's embarrassing. I'm a swag pig!"

I put on my presentation about setting this morning-- and I was proud. I think I used the slides just enough, and for the right reasons, and but I didn't rely on them.  However people kept asking me, "Oh, how was that?"

I was like, "I don't know-- there wasn't a test at the end!"

I think people were engaged and walked away with something important, and this makes me happy-- if I don't post my materials for the presentation by next week, somebody poke me and let me know. I've gotten some lovely positive feedback on the character materials I have there from the last time I do this--and, yanno, since there IS no test at the end, I think the feedback will have to do!

And mostly it's been a lovely full day--I've received an amazing scarf from Ms. Rhae, and a gift for Zoomboy, as well as a plot bunny from Lissa Kassey for Squish.

The sexed-out stuffed turtle I got from Ms. Brandi Godbehere is all mine ;-)

And with that, I'm going to go clean up and go to bed. I think I was trying to recover from the drive yesterday all day today, and tomorrow is going to be bigger!

Night all!

Moments from packing...

Tomorrow I leave for San Diego, but, Goddess bless it, not alone, and I am thrilled! I am swinging through Davis to get the awesome and snarky Mr. Chris Koehler, and then we're heading for Turlock to get the lovely and outrageously fun Ms. Kim Fielding. Together, we shall road trip it down to San Diego, just us, our luggage, and swag. (It has occurred to me that I have more than my share of swag and luggage. My shame is great.)

Anyway-- I bring you the following bits from a very busy day:



Squish: Mom, do you think reality inhibits creativity?

Mom: Why are you naked in the bedroom while I'm packing?


*  *  *

Mate: So, what did you need from the All-Shit store when I come back from my meeting?

Me: Azo. Any kind you can find.

Mate: You're going on a trip to San Diego tomorrow?

Me: Yup.

Mate: That could be the saddest thing I've ever heard.

*  *  *

Chicken: No, I'm not fired. I just smoked us all out of the restaurant--but they said I'm not fired!

Me: 0.0

*  *  *

Big T: Sure I'll cook dinner. You want ground beef and shredded potatoes and vegetables, right?

Me:  Right.

A few minutes later…

Big T: So… squash. Does squash count as a vegetable.

Me:  Unless it's butternut.

T:  Okay.

A few minutes later…

T: What constitutes a butternut squash.

Me:  The squash in the fridge was a butternut squash.

T:  I think I won't put that in the dinner pot.

Me:  Good idea.

(btw-- he did a really good job with everything else. Very tasty!)

*  *  *

Zoomboy, watching @midnight with Chris Hardwick:  Mom, what's a dildo?

Mate: We're just not talking about that tonight.

ZB: Cool.

A few minutes later:

ZB: So, better debate questions?

Me:  Yup, that's the hashtag war.

ZB: Why are dogs.

Me: Perfect.

*  *  *

Me:  "Yes, this Amy Lane."

Kinko's/FedEX:  "Yes, Ms. Lane, we have your banner and your copies?"

Me:  Oh holy CRAP I totally forgot about that.

Kinko's: Well, we'll hold it for another three months.

Me:  But I need it THIS WEEK.

Kinko's: Oh. So, tomorrow or--

Me:  Tonight. I'm leaving RIGHT NOW.

*  *  *

And wish us luck and safe driving, and hope the little dogs are okay with out me.

And the humans.

Oh!

And this: http://happyeverafter.usatoday.com/2015/10/13/paranormal-authors-cats-calmes-lane-maree-arvin-langlais/

It's about time the cats got their own article!  Thanks BookTaster!

.. or Was it Left? (The rest of yesterday's fic)

And we start with our intrepid heroes right before poor John gets put in the hospital, shall we?

* * *

 John thought that, if she hadn't ripped Carter's heart out, he might actually have liked Allison, Carter's ex.

Or at least she would have been his type.

"I'm sorry, Carter," she said acerbically, "you want me to what?"

"The alternative energy whatsis ," Carter said bluntly. "You need to drop it. One of our guys is out there with some sort of weapon, and his son and his son's friends can't protect themselves with it up."

The pretty woman with the amazing dark eyes and lovely dark skin frowned. "But the only way that thing would be a problem for anybody is if…"  She frowned at John.  "Your son's a supernatural being?"

John grimaced. "Not since his junior year in high school," he said apologetically. "But all his friends are werewolves."

"And his boyfriend," Carter said helpfully.

"Yeah him."  John didn't even want to think about his uneasy friendship with Derek Hale right now.  "They're running for their lives-- can we maybe take down the barrier so they can get away?"

"And figure out who's got a laser that converts to plain old bullets when it passes the barrier," Carter said, all business. "This guy is trying to kill innocent--"

John made a noise.

"They're innocent," Carter insisted, "People!"

"Well," Allison said with an indulgent smile, "since you're worried, we can put someone on it. But remember, this is Eureka, Jack-- we don't really get casualties here."

"Yeah, well people drop like flies in Beacon Hills," John snapped, "so maybe we could get a move on!"

Allison's head snapped back liked he'd hit her, and suddenly she looked actually concerned.  "Oh… yes. You're right. I'm sorry… here…"  She hit a button at her desk. "Fargo!"

Five minutes later, John was standing in a situation room with green X's and red X's and Carter and Allison standing together and finishing each other's sentences.

Fucking wonderful.

"So," Carter said tersely, "this spot here is the power source for the cross-preternatural-atom-smasher thingie--"

"And it's not working well,"  Allison muttered. "It wasn't well designed. It may just break down by itself--"

"Well we can't count on that!" John protested. "You people may have that kind of luck, but believe me, it doesn't run in Beacon Hills!"

"I hear you," Carter said distractedly. He was busy tracing the line with his fingers. "Okay-- that's the barrier, and it's part of his defenses-- if we destroy that--"

"But you can't just destroy it, Carter," Allison said, her tone lecturing and familiar at once. ""You have to shove something in here-- see?  This part right here?  That will complete the circuit.  And then get out of there because it won't take much to overload and short out. Now, Peterson--"

"The werewolf employee you fired," Carter supplied helpfully.

"Hey-- we didn't fire him because he was a werewolf--"

"But he didn't know that, so now he wants to kill all the fucking werewolves to prove something to you--"

"I'm sorry!" Allison exclaimed. "Look-- we had no idea there were so many of them. We didn't expect that barrier to catch anything, you understand? We're going to have to hire the guy who designed it back--we thought it was nuts!"

"We live forty miles away," John snapped, out of patience with their banter. "Forty goddamned miles. Somebody could have looked up our crime rate to see if maybe there wasn't something there. So right now, we've got to go put a… what? Something non-conductive in there, and we've got to do it before the… hey-- wait-- what's that?"

"That's Peterson," Allison said, assessing the infrared scans. "And he's tracking something."

"That's it!" John turned and stalked to the doorway. "I am going to go commandeer a goddamned car and get out there. That is my son he's tracking, and if it's not my son, it's his friends or his boyfriend, and basically kids I've known my whole life. So you people stay here and design kill jars for Tinkerbell, and I'm going to go save my kids."

He was halfway to the opulent elevator that would take him to the equally impressive atrium/foyer of the company when Jack appeared at his elbow.

"Jesus, John-- way to make an impression!" Carter laughed.

John cast him a sour look. "Are you sure she's gone back to her first husband? Because you two were pretty freakin' cozy. Maybe you can man the situation room and watch me become a little dot on the screen too.  Wouldn't have to move away from this madhouse if your boyfriend's a little dot on the screen, right?"

"John…" Carter soothed. "You know it's not--"

"Yeah. I get it. Not that easy. You've got kids. I get it. I've got kids, and your people are trying to kill them, and I'm not happy about that."  The elevator dinged and the two of them trotted down the steps and toward the entrance.  "I would really love it if nobody ended up dead, because believe me, it doesn't always go that way in my corner of the hell mouth, okay?"

Carter bumped shoulders with him. "Yeah, John. I get it. Let's go save your kids."

*  *  *

Stiles jumped his bike over a tree stump and around a big tree.  Behind him, he heard the weapon fire, and a bullet-- or laser bullet or whatever--ripped into the giant redwood he'd just used as shelter.  Another shot sounded, and he heard a yip of pain.

"Derek!" he shouted, just as Derek rounded the corner, barreling full speed. God, he wasn't sure how long the two of them could keep this up.

Sometime in the last hour, Scott and Liam had recovered their werewolf powers and for a moment, they'd distracted their pursuer while Stiles had tried to gain ground.  But he'd heard the gun report, and a couple of yips, and then silence, and his heart was pounding in his chest with worry.

God-- not Scott. Not Liam. They were probably just healing-- right?

Derek seemed to be able to shake the plain lead bullets that the laser was shooting, so they should-- right?

The barrier that had crippled Scott and Liam at the beginning had been fading in and out-- it was weird. It was like the power source was malfunctioning, and Stiles was beginning to hear a fluctuating, piercing whine as they ran.

But beyond the worry and the hope, there was the other worry and hope, and that was that they were being herded somewhere. There was a destination in mind. That was good, because Stiles knew his dad was coming to help. If there was a destination in mind, that meant his father wouldn't just be blindly wandering the woods trying to find running kids and wolves and asshole with a weapon, his dad could find them. 

It was a hope.

It was a hope that bloomed full grown when he steered the bike out into a clearing--and then turned and  stuck to the inner perimeter of the forest, because any idiot knew he was a sitting duck in the middle of the clearing.

The clearing was full of long grasses, with some sort of big machine whirring in the middle.  Oh, yeah-- probably the power center for whatever the barrier was. They were going to have to destroy that thing in a hot hurry, weren't they?  Stiles tried not to hit trees and brush while he scoped out the big scary machine, and it wasn't until he got about a quarter of the way around the perimeter--debris being shot around his head, that he realized that Derek was pretty fucking wily.

As soon as they'd burst into the clearing he'd sunk to his stomach, and while Stiles was dodging bullets and debris--

Derek was stalking their attacker-- but Stiles wasn't sure it was on the safe side of the barrier. What would happen if the thing went up-- would Derek be rendered helpless and naked for a few vital moments, like Scott had been?  God, what would happen if their attacker got caught in the barrier if it fluctuated up while they were struggling.

Oh hell-- not attacker-- he wasn't alone like they thought.

Attackers. 

Derek lunged at the guy with the gun and they both heard a "Don't worry, Dad! I'll amp up the barrier! He'll never live!"

Stiles panicked.

Wolf sounds and gun sounds were echoing throughout the clearing, and Stiles steered his bike through all of that deadly openness---

And was almost broadsided when a little electric police car burst in through a barely-visible dirt road.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the cement block holding the freaky machine, and Stiles's dad jumped out of the passenger side of the car, holding…

A baseball bat?

"Dad!" Stiles called out. "Dad-- what are you--"

The weapon fired-- but it was aimed inside the barrier, so a very effective laser shot out and cut the electric car in half.

"Aw crap," Carter muttered. He pulled out the weapon in his holder and went running in the direction of the trigger happy sonofabitch who killed his car.

"Stiles get down!" John called. "And call Derek off that guy-- Jack'll get him. He's a--"

"Dad!"

They could all hear the full snarling cacophony of a full-on werewolf fight.

"Dad, you're one of them!"

"Oh Jesus, save us all," John muttered.

"Crap!"

John and Stiles both looked up in time to see a kid in his late teens pick up the fallen weapon by the struggling furry bodies of Derek and a werewolf John had never seen before.

"Derek, no!"  Stiles cried out, and at that moment, the fluctuating whatever it was next to John gave a giant fuzzy red throb.

The two struggling werewolves because two struggling naked men, and Carter drew up short, exclaiming, "Oh that's not pretty!"

And the kid with the gun stood there with his finger on the trigger, his chin quivering. "Dad…"

Okay.  John recognized an opportunity when he saw it. He grabbed his bat-- Stiles's bat, actually, it was in the back of his car-- they'd passed it on the way.

Stealthily he made it to the power thingie, which was designed pretty much like any bad-guy's machine ever, with a big sparking gap in the middle that would fit a baseball bat perfectly. (John wondered if maybe Eureka wasn't a giant supernatural node exactly opposite of Beacon Hills's energy signature, because if this had been in Beacon Hills, it would have A. Looked a lot less simple and a lot more sinister, and B. Been guarded by something deadly that John had never heard of. No wonder Carter thought he could do anything-- his town pretty much cake-walked the hard stuff.)

He drew near the hydro-atomic-preternatural-energy-whatever and pulled out the bat, never taking his eyes off the kid.

Who apparently had gotten over his shock at finding out his father was a werewolf and had decided to kill them all.  And Stiles was the person closest to him, so that's where he aimed.

"Hey, asshole!" John called, and he couldn't miss the panicked look Carter gave him, or the way he stopped sneaking up on the kid and looked from John to the kid in back in agony. Tackle him, or shoot him? Tackle him or shoot him?  What a terrible choice.

Maybe John could save him.

"Look! You may want to take cover," John called out, edging closer to the reactor, "Because I don't know what this is going to--"

He shoved the bat into the space, and then hauled ass--toward the kid with the gun.

"Mister, what did you do?"  The kid asked in a panic.

"Michael, run!"  said his father, naked and disoriented on the ground.

"Don't talk to me!" Michael shouted. "You told me they were horrible, and you're one of them?"

The gun leveled toward Derek and Peterson on the ground again, and Stiles threw himself in front of both of them.

Jack leveled his weapon at the back of Michael's head and said, "Michael, put the gun down!"

MIchael looked behind him to see what the new threat was, and John shoved Stiles out of the way, hissing, "Get Derek out of here before that thing goes!"

Stiles grabbed Derek, who was staggering now, wobbling on his two feet, and looking behind him in confusion. Together they started shambling toward the forest, and just as John heard Stiles shout, "Scott! Liam! Get out of here, we don't know what's going to happen when that thing goes!", Michael leveled the weapon at John…

And the generator for the barrier shorted out, sending a shockwave of preternatural and hydro-atomic energy rocketing around the little clearing.

And the gun went off.

And that was the last thing John could remember.

*  *  *

And now he was loopy in the hospital, and everybody was taking responsibility for the fucked up kid and the dad who didn't want to be a werewolf.

And John just wanted Carter to stay.

"Scott's okay, you know," Carter said quietly, when John wandered off.

"Yeah," John smiled. "You said. Love that kid like I love my son. Don't want the werewolves to get killed. Is that so bad?"

"No."  Carter held his hand up to his lips.  "You know… Allison was by while you were out."

Ick. "Wonderful. Did you practice reading each other's minds and trade parenting pro-tips?"

"No," Carter said again. "We talked about how easy it would be to pave a road between Eureka and Beacon Hills off the main drag."

"Why would you do that?" John asked suspiciously. "Don't you have a talking house or something?"

"Yeah," John conceded. "And Sarah really loves my family. But.. you know. I could, maybe, hang out there when it's my turn with the kids, but…"

John swallowed. "So… like shared custody. I get shared custody of you with your stupid electronic town."

"Do you not want any custody at all?" Carter asked, and John looked up and saw his blue eyes held the same expression they had when Carter had propositioned him in the bar, those months ago.

They held hurt.

"Of course," John muttered. "Full custody would be nice. Full custody would be…"  Suddenly he started to chuckle, low and evil. "So that talking house," he muttered. "Would that be… you know… vacant, when you're not there with the kids?"

"Yeah?" Carter said doubtfully. "Why?"

"Cause I bet a werewolf and his boyfriend could live there. What do you think."

Carter nodded, and relaxed. "I think that sounds really good."  He closed his eyes then, and held John's palm to his cheek. "Almost as having you better sounds. You ready to get out of here? They say you can go home tomorrow."

John rolled his eyes, falling asleep already. "You're gonna make a shitty nurse, Jack Carter," he said distinctly.

"You're the idiot who's putting himself in my care," Carter murmured. "You have only yourself to blame."

Of course he did.

John closed his eyes and dreamed of waking up next to a man, an equal, a partner.

Dreamed of making love to that person at night.

Dreamed of making a life and a home in a way he'd never suspected.

Dreamed of Jack.


*  *  *

Okay-- probably not next week, when I'll be at GRL, but the week AFTER, we'll see Jack nursing John back to health.

And Then the Wolf Zigged Right

 Okay guys-- I was hoping I'd finish this installment tonight, but it's been something of a day, on the tail end of something of a week. I'm going to hit you with my best shot and hope for the best, okay?  (Turns out my best shot was not much. Sorry!  Maybe I'll add more to it tomorrow.)

*  *  *

"It was not," John Stilinski said muzzily from the hospital bed. "Not Jack's fault, not Stiles's fault…"

"Dad!" Stiles said, at the same time Jack squeezed his hand.

"znice," he mumbled. "So nice my son loves me. Would be even better if there wasn't such a big fuss everyone trying to get killed. That would be real frickin' nice."

"I'd have to agree with that," Derek muttered, sending Stiles a dark look.

"I was not trying to get killed!" Stiles retorted. "What I was trying to do was keep a certain werewolf from getting killed!"

"So was I," John said happily. "Me too! Scott--I was trying to keep Scott from getting killed."  He sobered, all business.  "We know Scott," he said, looking at Carter like Carter would find this totally okay. "He's Stiles's best friend-- good guy. Alpha werewolf. Lost his girlfriend in high school, very sad."

"Not as sad as him trying to date all those women when he's nuts bout Liam," Stiles muttered.

John shook his head like he was trying to wave that way. "I don't want to know about Scott's sex life," he begged. "I know way too much about yours."

"Well right backatcha," Stiles snapped, and Derek was a dear and smacked him on the back of the head.

"That's your fault,"Derek hissed. "Now let's make sure your dad's alright so he can talk to Carter!"

John smiled at his son, feeling like the whole world was a big balloon, and nodded. "Fine," he said, still stoned. "I like Carter. He's okay."

Stiles grunted and glared some more, but Derek nudged him meaningfully.  Stiles sighed and kissed his dad on the cheek. "Get better, Dad. We'll check with you a little later, okay?"

Sheriff Stilinski nodded, and then stared at Carter for a moment.  "You're staying, right," he said, eyes big.

Carter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You asked," he said after a sigh-- but he was still squeezing John's hand.

"You like me," John said loopily. "Can't ditch a bozo who likes me."

A corner of Jack's mouth quirked up. "Yeah, neither can I--but I'm telling you, Johnny boy, it's a rough sell when you jump into a hydro-electron atomic capacitor with nothing more than a baseball bat."

John nodded. "I'll be honest-- I was going for the guy with the gun."

"Yeah, I figured when the capacitor went off. You were damned excited about running in font of that thing, do you know that?"  Jack shuddered, and it was John's turn to squeeze his hand.

"We'll have to agree to disagree," he slurred, but Jack shook his head.

John groaned inwardly. He had the feeling Jack was not going to forgive him easily for how it all went down.

* * *

Yeah, yeah-- still here!

So, thank you to everybody yesterday who chimed in, both with suggestions and commiserations.  I guess it's a mark of how concerned I really am that I was actually the first one to contact authorities--and now we'll just have to wait and see.  Mate and I have a plan--to be implemented after GRL-- and have some discussion under our belts, and sometimes just having a plan of action and a course of, "If this, then this," is all you need for some peace of mind.

In the meantime, preparations for GRL continue apace--and the kids…

OKay-- so I'm leaving Mate at home with them for an entire week, and something occurred to him.

"Hey, I'm going to need a schedule for when to pick them up, right?"

And oh my god YES because the kids have just… I mean, we do soccer and dance already, but now add GATE, Choir, and chess club to the mix and…

We need an honest to God schedule.

Squish was asking me, "Mom, do you ever think about alternate universes?"

"Yes, all the time, why?"

"Because, I like to think about a universe in which I take karate instead of soccer. Or sometimes a universe in which I take nothing at all and just sit home and do nothing everyday."

"You think that sounds like fun?"

"For a while, yes. But I think I'd get bored."

Well, she had GATE last night, and then dance, and then we saw The Princess Bride in the theaters, and then she woke up early to go to choir, and this afternoon, picking her up got drawn out because it was ZB's first day of chess club.

Tonight, after soccer, she cried for about fifteen minutes, not sure why she was crying.

And then went to bed a half an hour early.

Because that's why we dream about the alternate universe where video games are the most action we get all day and the rest of the world is made of sleep.  That's not the world we live in, and we miss it.

So, on that note, and with a trip to Folsom Octoberfest looming in my Friday night future, I think it's time for me to go to bed.

But I've got six more things to do first….

South Fast

So, it all started about a month ago.

The house to our left has been vacant for a while, but it was bought by a real estate company and they've been trying to flip it.  Unsuccessfully I might add--because our entire neighborhood has let our yards die in the drought, and our block looks like the last stop of the zombie apocalypse--which might explain the other thing that happened.

See, on our other side, a lovely, ailing elderly woman has lived for the past forty years. She finally passed away over the summer…

And that was the problem.

Apparently, her children didn't know what to do with the house.  It sat, vacant, and obviously vacant, for nearly two months.

And one night, about two weeks ago, somebody drove by and dumped a bunch of mattresses on the front yard.  That's it-- bare, ugly mattresses, no blankets, no nothing--and a chest of drawers with all the actual drawers taken out.

I sat, wondering if I should call someone to clear that shit out, and two nights later, we heard people move in.

Now, remember, I work extremely odd hours--so when I say "Night" I mean twelve-thirty a.m.  And there were kids running in and out, small ones, and adults, swearing loudly-- as in, "Get the fuck out of my way you little fuckin' shit!" kind of swearing, not just as they were moving in, but during all hours of the day after that.

There didn't seem to be any "moving"-- as in furniture, etc--but there DID seem to be a lot going into the garage from a beat up brown sedan without a back window.

And swearing at the kids.

And people at odd hours.

And the back house window-- the one that looks into our bedroom--has been tinted blood red.

And then, one of the men whom I've seen repeatedly, a skinny gangster with pale pale skin, black hair, a black mustache and zero body fat, took great care in locking a black bicycle to a post on the front porch.

The garage is obviously up and running-- and this guy seems to stay here--so why the black bike?

And why the people, different people, mind you, going into the house at all hours when the bike is out front? And why do they all gather to one place to smoke-- outside the house?

And I swear, two nights ago, I heard the sound of violent vomiting out front, and a fire truck pulled up-- no siren--and stayed there for quite a while.

Their garbage has a lot of large plastic containers in it, and a lot of old chemical containers.

And I keep waiting for a smell--a definitive smell of any sort--but all I'm getting is itchy eyes and the entire family is suffering what feels to be an allergy attack. Is it?

God, I hope so. I really really hope so.

But the fact is, suddenly our kind of tetchy neighborhood is looking downright scummy, and no amount of internet surfing can bring me any comfort. And what seemed to be a doable situation-- i.e., swimming along in an upside down loan because it kept a roof over our heads-- is suddenly a terrifying situation.

The house next door has turned into an episode of COPS, or Miami Vice, or the six-o'clock news and we are left floundering for ways to protect our family. Do we gather our shit and get the hell out, defaulting on our loan and trashing our credit and any plans we had to send our younger two kids to college with any security at all?

Do we hang in here, hope it's allergies, and seriously pray the house next door doesn't explode while we're all sleeping in our beds?

Do we put a time limit on it? Say, if these guys don't show signs of getting the hell out in a month, then we try to get out before the meth poisoning is too bad?

I mean, I'm a writer. I have a writer's imagination. I could be wrong, right?  I was walking the dogs yesterday morning, and the morning's group of smokers was hanging out in the corner of the driveway--a woman, a man, and a little girl.  The little girl had her backpack, and was smiling at the dogs, and when she and her mother both said, "Aw, cute dog!" I smiled back and waved and kept walking.  Why would somebody bring a kid to a meth buy, right?

But it was 9:30, and she was plenty old enough to be in school, and she wasn't.

And I'm worried. I mean, with any luck, I'll wake up tomorrow and these people will have moved, or I'll figure out that they're just moving in and I didn't see it, and what sounds to be a blender in the garage doesn't have anything to do with meth manufacture in spite of what the websites say.

But what about without luck?

Because the alternatives are terrifying, and remember? I'm a writer--I can imagine a lot of bad shit.

But someone on FB had a suggestion-- they suggested this be used in a book.

Just remember-- when this situation pops up in a book of mine? This is one situation you know I've been researching--mostly because I'm looking for a way out.

General Weirdness

*sigh*  You know that feeling that someone is never going to get you and yours? Ever. Like when I got into the hot tub at the health club with the woman who said, "Oh, no-- my whole family was so glad when the kids outgrew animated movies. I never have to see another Pixar picture again!"

I knew right then we could never been friends.

Have you ever felt that way about your own family?

Chicken got her birthday cards from both sets of grandparents--and my stepmom already told me about hers.  It was one of those social things where I laughed, but inside I was thinking, "Uh… I don't get it."

The card said, "Well, now that you're 21 there's more than one way to get free drinks for your birthday."  And then you opened the card and there were two pink balloons taped to the other side. After seeing the picture Chicken sent me, I think--and don't quote me on this--that the implication was either A. That Chicken could stuff them in her bra so she'd have cleavage, or B. That she should practice blowing things for beer.

If anyone has a meme that could quite convey the level of stunned horror that smacked me in the face when she sent me a picture of said card, I would be forever grateful.

"It's better than the one that dissed people with small dogs," she said apologetically. "Because that one was trying to actively slam you, but otherwise…"

"It's horrifying," I said, still flailing.

"God yes," she responded. "So glad it's not just me."

No-- not just her.

At the same dinner, it came about that a younger friend of the family had invited my sister to her "naughty lady party".  My stepsister was horrified--because this was like her niece or something and, ew!  And I was sort of horrified by the general concept. I don't do naughty lady parties-- I mean, I've been invited to one in my whole life, and the level of discomfort was like… well, think of an extra-large ribbed tampon on a light day.

Yeah. But the mental chafing was worse.

And while I'm pretty frank about sex (obvs) I think there is a really wide, indelible line between talking generalities and then getting specific about your own sex life with a group of people and visual aids.  I mean, I can raise my eyebrows and insinuate "sumpn sumpn" all I want, but that doesn't change the fact that nobody actually wants to envision me and Mate doing "anythn anythn" in the flesh, because, uhm, EW.  I mean, that's my one hard and fast rule-- I don't write anybody I know in real life having on page sex. (Much to Darrin's disappointment--I know, he told me himself, bless him!)

So given all this, after my sister said, "Yeah, no-- I couldn't go. Just too weird,"  I concurred, with, "Yeah-- naughty lady parties, just not my thing."

And my stepmom said, "Really? It's not your thing? I find that hard to believe."

-.-  And, again, if someone could come up with a meme for this, I'd be much obliged.

Because I think the implication was, because I write porn, I want to share my sex life in explicit detail with friend and stranger alike.

Please don't dissect the many ways that could be offensive. I'm trying to keep my optimism.

But once again, in the situation in which the people who love me longest and best know me the least--and my children as well.

*sigh*  I have yet to be able to capture that dynamic on page.  People always want a bad guy for those interactions. They always want to say, "racist, sexist, misogynistic, shaming…"

Whatever. The fact is, my parents sent my daughter a birthday card and a gift--how bad could they be? They came to dinner with Mate and I, so we could do birthday week, and they invited my sister when I--being the overcommitted flake that I am-- forgot, and that was really kind.  They are genuinely interested in my children--even if they don't understand them.

Love--and understanding and generation gaps and communication--they're all such prickly enterprises. I know my parents get frustrated because my children and I are so close I didn't leave a lot of room for other relatives. I don't know what to tell them-- I know when I was nineteen, I couldn't wait to get out of the house, out on my own (with Mate of course) and into a future where people assumed I was competent and not somehow defective. And now that I have grown children whom I assume are competent and not somehow defective, and with whom I communicate daily, I am baffled that they are not trying to run the fuck away from me much like I ran away from my parents.  Mate and I are frequently heard to say, "Really? You want to hang with us? Why on earth… never mind… come on, we're going for ice cream."

Once, my parents wanted a moment of privacy and told us all to leave them alone in a park in the worst neighborhood in downtown Sacramento. It took them ten minutes for the lightbulb to go on and come find us, and by then I'd already seen the flasher show his junk to the drug addict who propositioned me while the homeless guy barfed on the tree. I was thirteen.

Chicken--at 21--texts me when she sees this stuff, so I can assure her that she will only be marginally scarred for life.

Big T saves the story for me, so he can tell it in person.

And I, in turn, try not to insinuate that my children should stuff their bras or their jocks or practice blow jobs to get lucky in bars.

I guess every generation has it's own variations on traditions--and it's own approach to life, right? And if your own parents don't embarrass the crap out of you, who will?