Kevin A. Ranson's Blog, page 3

Forget Me Nots – Chapter 1

THE SPOOKY CHRONICLES BY KEVIN A. RANSON

“Pretense and Pizza”

Each year near Halloween, a select number of fifth-grade children were picked to attend a special field trip to Chesterfield Mansion, located in the well-to-do Blakeley Estates area of River City. Built in the 1930s, the brick and wood structure stood all alone for years in the countryside after it was constructed, a thing of classic architecture, Gothic design, and presumably full of cool stuff.

Spooky couldn’t wait to get there.

Loaded in a dingy school bus full of random classmates from all over the county (none of which he really knew) and their overnight bags, “Spooky” Spencer Lawson could barely sit still. He’d been patient waiting with the other kids and chaperones for the bus, listening for his name as headcounts were taken and permission slips collected. All the other kids whispered about the solid milk chocolate pumpkins they had heard about from older brothers and sisters, potential rewards for a mansion-wide scavenger hunt that ended at midnight. With no siblings of his own to speak of, Spooky’s father had told him the tale.

Spooky wasn’t in it for the promise of candy. Kids in River City already talked about how the Chesterfield Mansion was haunted, how no one was ever allowed to see inside except on these specific field trips, and that children supposedly disappeared during each such occasion (no one could ever show evidence that any child had ever actually gone missing, of course). Nonetheless, Spooky liked to think of the mansion’s current owner, William A. Chesterfield III, as a kind of local H.P. Lovecraft, a slightly insane recluse secretly practicing the dark arts to appease the elder gods and grow his fortunes. Personally, he preferred the intimate horrors of Edgar Allan Poe, but the idea that just behind a portal to another world might lurk massive, spineless creatures of unfathomable power driven to consume all of humanity was irresistible.

After a short drive from the school where everyone initially met up, the bus arrived at the mansion gates just after sunset. A long driveway from the main road led up to the main entrance. The bus stopped and the children crowded out with their luggage. Wide eyes looked up at the foreboding residence in worry; Spooky, in contrast, couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Even a thunderstorm was rolling in with the setting sun, and the weather forecast suggested to Spooky that the ambiance was perfect for the evening’s exploration.

The main entrance to the mansion was a three-story square structure with an arched roof, presumably housing an attic space. Massive columns lined the front steps and awning of the entryway. The main double doors were each carved out of dark wood and adorned with brass knockers, like something Ebenezer Scrooge would have. At the top corners on either side of the roof cap were actual stone gargoyles, the kind Spooky imagined flew off to patrol the grounds after midnight.

As the initial effect on the other kids wore off, the main doors opened to a traditionally dressed wait staff ushering the children and chaperones inside before the rain started. The foyer was enormous, with a polished wooden floor and a grand staircase going up the right side to the second floor with an overlooking balcony. Entryways on the left and right of the foyer led to other wings of the mansion, while a passageway to the left of the staircase pushed deeper into the main house. Every wall and every corner had something creepy and old either carved into it or hanging off of it. Above the middle of the room was a brightly lit, opera phantom-worthy chandelier.

For a moment, the silent effect of awe that the entrance outside had on the children returned, right up until one of the maids said, “Pizza is being served in the North hall,” indicating the left entryway. Within moments, the foyer was emptied of children, all except for Spooky. Still taking in the sight of it all, one of the chaperones, Mrs. Price, came up to him.

“Spencer, we’ll come back after dinner…”

“I’m not hungry,” Spooky dismissed her as he continued to look around.

Mrs. Price looked cross. “I think your father would prefer you ate something before stuffing yourself with candy later.”

Spooky turned to the chaperone. “Not really. My excuse is with my permission slip.”

“Your what?” Mrs. Price looked confused and opened a portfolio with all of her paperwork. “What excuse?”

“Huh?” Spooky checked his pocket and found a folded piece of paper. “Oh. Oops! Sorry. Here.” He handed the paper to Mrs. Price who proceeded to unfold it and began to read. The expression on her face contorted with confusion.

“’Victus Mortuus’ Syndrome?” she asked.

Spooky nodded.

Mrs. Price started to read aloud. “’This unique condition is limited to the patient and represents no danger to others. Symptoms are categorized as follows: faint or seemingly nonexistent heartbeat, shallow or seemingly nonexistent breath, little or no bleeding from accidental lacerations, cloudy eyes, skin pallor, severe lack of appetite, and dehydration. It is strongly suggested that the patient be allowed (but not limited to) the following concessions: water or fluids whenever requested, excused from any and all meals, excused to go to the restroom at any time, and excused from strenuous activity at any time.’”

Spooky waited for a response, but Mrs. Price continued to stare at him in disbelief.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she said finally.

Shrugging, Spooky replied, “It does say ‘unique.’ Can’t I just stay in here and look around? I promise I won’t touch anything.”

Mrs. Price looked around, noted the wait staff still in the foyer with them (two butler-looking guys and three maids), then handed the paper back to Spooky. “How about this? If you do touch something you’re not supposed to, they have my permission to have you stuffed and put on display in the trophy room.”

Spooky smirked. “Promise?”

From the look of dismay on Mrs. Price’s face, it wasn’t hard to tell she meant it as a threat and certainly didn’t expect the reaction she got. As she walked off toward the pizza party, Spooky noted that the closest Butler Guy was within earshot to hear what Mrs. Price said, but he hadn’t reacted in the slightest.

“Do you guys stuff children on site or ship us off to a taxidermist to have it done professionally?” Spooky asked.

Without missing a beat, he replied, “Mr. Chesterfield doesn’t settle for less than the very best. He would have you shipped off for a proper stuffing.”

Spooky grinned. “Good answer.” Turning to the South wall above the entryway to the South wing, he looked up at three massive portraits of older gentlemen, each in a stately pose with a chair. “So, which one is our host this evening?”

“The third one, sir, on the far right. It was commissioned twelve years ago. A very good likeness, and just as creepy as his predecessors.”

“Does he know you talk about it like that?”

“Mr. Chesterfield doesn’t concern himself with opinions, only results.” A maid stepped up and handed the Butler Guy a bottle of water. “Refreshment, sir?”

Spooky took the bottle and opened it. “Thanks! So, when do we get to meet him?”

“Mr. Chesterfield will appear just before nine to present the rules and begin the hunt. And if you’re very lucky, it will be the only time you meet him this evening.”

. . .

A Quick Set and Wardrobe Change

When you have your thumb in too many pies, you run out of thumbs fast. That’s when you need to take stock of what occupies your time and allot better for the creativity you want to pursue.

Since 2016, I’ve focused on a physical creative space… which (thanks to COVID) turned into a home office. I put a lot of effort into building up MovieCrypt.com and my relationship with the film community, but the drawback has been letting my original writing languish. Writer’s block is a thing, but there’s also getting out of good habits like reading and writing every day, honing your wordsmithery, and doing necessary research.

The other half is marketing oneself, a skill modern writers have to work hard at. How does your work stand out? What’s “your brand?” Does your appearance make you instantly recognizable? Those lucky enough to have marketing done for them needn’t expend on any thought on this, but the rest of us do; the work may speak for itself, but finding enthusiastic eyeballs requires a significant megaphone.

Many creators who venture out into public choose a specific hat or a build a collection of similarly styled headwear. It has the advantage of doing the planning up front before putting on the same convention costume whenever the need calls for it. But, as they say, anything worth doing is worth overdoing.

At the 2010 MegaCon, I tried on a mad hatter top hat, snapped a selfie, and I enjoyed the way it looked, but why stop there? People don’t wear hats as formalwear anymore unless it’s a throwback, and what can be found even online is often cheap throwaway costuming at best. After finding a mad hatter top hat in my size at Miller Hats in Houston, Texas, I decided to go all in on the classic retro goateed villain, looking ready to foreclose on a widow’s farm or tie Taylor Swift to the railroad tracks.

My first appearance after secret image shares of my hat sizing was the Houston Film Critics Society 16th Annual Film Awards presentation at MATCH Houston… and it made quite the impression. By the time the Oddities & Curiosities Expo rolled into H-town two months later, I had already made significant upgrades. One lady in line at the concession stand stopped me and said, “You look like you stepped out of Anne Rice novel.”

Nailed it.

There was one irresistible thing at the expo: a booth called Holliday Tintype doing old-fashioned tintype photography made by creating a direct positive onto a thin sheet of metal (aluminum in this day and age). Could there be a better way to create a new author’s photo showcasing my new look? I don’t think so!

Sifting through some fresh shots of my nearly complete writing space, I uploaded a new header image, made some edits and tweaks, and here we are at the relaunch. With plans to expand my writing offerings, I’ll need to pull back everything but film critique to my ThinkingSkull.com website to better maintain it, which means a few of my story sites will eventually become placeholders. The best of those works will be imported here and given a fine going-over.

Time to stop whispering from the sidelines and begin keening from the catacombs.

. . .

The Matriarch Book 4 — In Progress

After my 2016 health scare, this project went on unintentional hiatus… but I never stopped thinking about it. I used this year’s 2020 NaNoWriMo to kick myself into completing the first draft so I could get to the fun stuff: editing! If you want to follow my progress, I’ll continue updates on my NaNoWriMo page.

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If you’re no familiar with my series The Matriarch Vampires, have a look and give it a read.

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Divided States of America

No matter who wins when the final count is presented, a number of things have become very clear.

There are too many folks who prefer a deadly pandemic over affordable health care.

There are too many folks who accept a nepotistic dictatorship over democracy.

Too many folks are okay with persecuting immigrants in a country made up of them.

Too many folks signed off on giving a failed businessman four more years to soak the taxpayers electing him for millions more of their dollars to cover debt transferred to his personal properties as profit, all while still dodging thousands of waiting lawsuits and paying nothing in taxes himself.

It couldn’t all be voter suppression, voter intimidation, conspiracy theories, or a lack of participation. Too many folks chose to cast their vote for someone who helps no one but himself and the richest Americans.

Either Kool-Aid truly has a “snake oil” flavor — just add quiet desperation — or everything’s fine as long as “our guy” hates who we hate.

#DividedStatesofAmerica

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Smile! Today is Better Than Yesterday. #ElectionResults2018?

Good morning, America.

So: what happened yesterday with the #ElectionResults2018?

You’re going to hear “there was no blue wave.” You’re going to hear election results “vindicate” the bullying, partisanship, and nationalist hate you’ve experienced for almost two years.

Here’s the truth: all the peacock strutting in the world can’t get back what the current GOP just lost… and it was a lot, nationally and locally.

The democratic republic worked as it should.

Checks and balances have been reestablished as House committees that refused to provide oversight have new leadership. Over 100 women won elections yesterday, so there’s new and younger idealistic representation in place.

It took everything the GOP admin had to hold onto the Senate when they saw the House was lost.

Corporate Cruz had to kiss Donnie’s ring to barely beat Beto’s grass-roots campaign in Texas.

Kim Davis was ousted by the man she wouldn’t give a marriage license to.

Oh, and a Nevada brothel owner and reality TV star who *died* last month has won a heavily GOP state legislative district.

Smile! Today is better than yesterday.

Bob Mueller is waiting to press send.

And if you need to be reminded what “presidential” actually sounds like:

Take Your Power Seriously. Keep Each Other Safe. Be Indomitable.

“Take your power seriously. Keep each other safe. Be indomitable.”

Above is the ten-word signature line used by a character I write for, a young woman who was put into an impossible predicament and tasked to claw her way out, eventually turning her situation fully to her advantage. She was inspired by many women I’ve known in my life including those who folks knew not to cross: matriarchs who understood how and when to use their power.

I recently advocated online that women should not only be willing to use their power but, in situations where knuckleheads aren’t taking subtle hints, they should damn well assert it. It cannot be 100% on the guy to figure out that “let’s go slow” is code for “back off creep” when that reply sounds in any way coy or negotiable, even under the guise of safety. If the advance continues in spite of light protest, the lady needs to be taken seriously with a firm, practiced, and irrefutable “no.”

I was told to burn in Hell for that assertion.

In social media circles, I’m told I’m fearless for speaking my mind with a sharp knack for articulating it. The topic of discussion was that “celebrity” and the article written by his unidentified date, sparking an overdue debate on whether it was just a bad night or sexual misconduct… but also who was to blame. In what should be a clear learning opportunity, a number of folks are saying that the celebrity bears 100% of the responsibility for how the date failed.

Sorry not sorry, but that’s wrong, and there’s a reason I spoke up against it.

My friends and family will tell you I’m far more a feminist than most of them — women included — and many of my right-leaning political buds all call me a trigger-happy social justice warrior to my face. That said, I take a hard-line on the subject of bullying: don’t be a pacifist and learn to throw a damn punch.

Going back to the signature up top, I don’t use the “be indomitable” tagline for myself because, honestly, it means more coming from a woman, especially one in a position of leadership. For the most part, you don’t have to tell the bulk of men to take their power seriously, because those who understand it certainly do and unfortunately will. With the #metoo movement evolving into #timesup, this must be part of the next step for all women everywhere.

Take your power seriously.

Should the celebrity have known better? Yes. Wasn’t the hesitant verbal and body cues enough to convey “no”? It’s been argued that any waffling, hesitation, or indecision should be innately understood — except the power word “no” isn’t the word being used and the person not using it isn’t leaving when the unwelcome behavior continues.

Poor assumptions are too often made if the guy rationalizes she’s here and she’s staying, but instead of asking for direct confirmation and/or communicating, fear of judgement rears its ugly head. Instead of a deterrent, the reluctance is instead viewed as a challenge: what should I try next that she *will* go for? This is assuming that the guy isn’t plotting to murder anyone — a safe assumption for a celebrity if not the overwhelming majority of men — and he’s trying to show her the kind of date he believes was agreed to… or at least that he thought he was signing up for.

By the time “no” is firmly implied after repeated “maybes,” it may seem like a soft pedal; it doesn’t carry the same weight from gentle push-back to a firm no when there is escalating indecision. In other words, the longer one’s power is surrendered, the less likely it is to be taken as seriously as it should when it is finally used. To keep a man pacified with soft talk, you’ve empowered him to negotiate your escape if he turns out to be a predator; a good guy will get you immediately even if he’s a little thick.

Keep each other safe.

Relationships are built upon trust creating a partnership. It goes both ways and must be mutually agreed upon; communication is essential to establish any expectation. Friends who can be called at a moment’s notice are always a good idea, but ensuring there are plenty of others around not only provides additional safety but make a sudden but necessary departure much easier.

It doesn’t take much web searching to find situations where a group of women allow one to spiral off into her own “adventure” without a safety net — only for her to disappear forever. When you’re in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, no one should be going home with anyone else, and at the very least someone should know where you are and are able to reach you. If you have any doubts, don’t go there.

Be indomitable.

This is where taking power comes in: stop reacting. If you aren’t acting, you’re reacting. If he plans the date, pays for the date, and makes all the decisions — especially without any input from her — he not only has the power, she has surrendered hers to him. If she isn’t leaving the date and has not asserted herself, then the playing field is still open; he still thinks she’s interested because, while the hesitation may be escalating, the resistance isn’t firm: there’s still a chance!

This isn’t just for the one lady, by the way; it’s also for the next girl, setting the expectation that pressuring is coercion and not courtship. While every guy should understand what permission is and that hesitation means stop regardless of words, it’s also true every guy is not a predator waiting to happen. If you’re uncomfortable and he isn’t taking a hint, say so, and do it sooner than later.

The fear of hurting men’s feelings — or worse angering them — has long been put upon women as if they’ve done something wrong and it’s their fault if anything happens, and that’s simply bullshit. Keep in mind that all this works both ways, too, but this must become the norm.

“Oh, Kev.”

There will be those who will belittle and “Oh Kev” me, tell me I don’t understand or that I couldn’t, and how everything is different because (fill in the blank). But keep in mind that, as a man, I have a unique insight that women do not; why do you think fathers threaten suitors to their daughters? Because men know how men think, because men are goal-oriented and wrongly have empathy beaten “encouraged” out of them from an early age, and they respond very well to assertive authority — ask anyone who’s been through boot camp.

If you have thoughts otherwise, send me a message down here in Hell.

Take your power seriously. Keep each other safe. Be indomitable.

After Knocking On Death’s Door, I Redecorated His Office

Am I the only one who sees the irony in being a Grim Reaper cosplayer before and after almost becoming his most recent acquisition? No wait; don’t answer… there’s more! There’s nothing quite like a near-life experience to remind you of priorities and those I’ll-get-to-them-eventually plans. I came quite close to death a year ago, so now I’m getting closer to Death as a way to celebrate my extension.

I joined a gym, healed up, and have kept it going; youthful energy is a good thing. I’ve earned my way up to a better day job, rebuilt my workshop as well as upgraded my crypt for you-know-who, and pushed forward in all the things I want to accomplish. I need to get four books out the door before Christmas 2017 — my fourth Matriarch book, two new Spooky books and a novel-sized Spooky anthology — plus launch a few other ideas I’ve had… including (fingers crossed) a regular web show featuring Grim D. about movies and general pop culture with a Halloween twist.

For today, however, I’ll continue to catch up on my reading… including this book Grim left for me as a gift.

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Filed under: Cemetery, Cosplaying, Creativity, Existentialism Tagged: books, cosplay, Grim Reaper, Matriarch, spooky

Local Color and Vampire Inspiration: The Big Easy

I’ve talked previously about the inspirations for my vampire novel series, The Matriarch Vampires. The central West Virginia locations, Glenville State College, and the character nods. After shelving the original first drafts of the book two decades earlier, why did I feel it was time to dust them off and finally finish the story?

One of those reasons was certainly Jonathan Weiss.

[image error]My wife and I enjoy walking through old cemeteries and taking local ghost tours. There are many haunted places around the U.S., often in old cities like Birmingham, Alabama, Savannah, Georgia, and St. Augustine, Florida. Back in 2010, we traveled to New Orleans and took such a tour, and our guide to the city at night was none other than Jonathan. He looked the way I imagine a time traveler might, combining a classic appearance with a modern sensibility, a person whom has long since reconciled the old and new ways with a natural ease, elegance, and an eagerness to share his experience.

Not having given much serious thought about fiction writing for twenty odd years, Mr. Weiss captured my attention and filled my imagination with stories and embellishments as we toured the French Quarter and Bourbon Street, recounting local legends with intriguing details and playing to the crowd… and yes, much was said about vampires. He and other occupants felt like a necessary part of the city, a piece of its soul that would be lost forever if abruptly cut out.

Yet, as I understand it, that’s exactly what some are trying to do.



This kind of thing has happened on and off again in various places, most notably on St. Augustine, Florida’s famous St. George Street. In the name of security but more often over local businesses trying to push out so-called competition, laws are proposed to push the local street performers and tour guides out of the area with prohibitive licensing designed to “clean up the streets.” Now, again for “the umpteenth time” as my elders used to say, these sort of measures are being brought to bear on Bourbon Street.

[image error]Violence occurs everywhere, and to be frank, tourists tend to forget that everywhere isn’t Disneyland when they drink themselves silly and wander out into a strange city. If such security concerns are truly paramount, those plans should include the street guides and performers — hell, they should be PAID to be the eyes and ears of the city, not banned from it. Who better to see when things are not as they should be and help protect visitors to the city who’ve become the lifeblood of incoming revenue?

The biggest reason I can imagine to keep them, however, is that they are expected. Like any good Renaissance Faire, players and performers are part of the atmosphere, and in places like Savannah and New Orleans, their absence would not only be noticed but mourned: “Where have the old souls gone?” I call upon Mayor Mitch Landrieu and Councilmember Nadine Ramsey to consider carefully any and all plans made in the name of security to be inclusive rather than obstructive if they wish the continued patronage of myself and other creatives with time and money to spend in The Big Easy.

Don’t remove one’s soul in the name of safety.

* * *

Filed under: Acquaintances, Cemetery, Creativity, Existentialism, Literarian Tagged: Jonathan Weiss, Louisiana, Mitch Landrieu, Nadine Ramsey, new orleans, old souls, performers, safety, security, street guides, The Big Easy

The Street and the Stray

Pat and Shannon are best friends — like their parents before them.

Whenever their parents visited, Pat would play in Shannon’s front yard where they both could be seen. There were two rules: always stay in the yard and don’t approach strange animals from the neighborhood. If anyone asked, Shannon’s parents explained strays had a history of snapping at children even after appearing friendly, and they were fearful of someone getting bit.

Whenever a stray came into the yard, Shannon shooed it away but Pat ran toward it, sometimes following it into the street between two parked vehicles. From the yard, Shannon could see any cars coming, often having to call out to keep Pat from being hit.

Shannon loved having a playmate but didn’t like constantly being the protector. Pat had never been bitten by a dog or hit by a car and didn’t like being yelled at. Pat tried to convince Shannon that the risks were known; Shannon tried to convince Pat that the rules kept them safe.

Should Shannon allow Pat to get hurt? Should Pat stay safe in the yard?

Can you see the point-of-view of a friend? Will you remain friends if you can’t?

Are you Shannon or Pat?

Copyright © 2017 Kevin A. Ranson. All Rights Reserved.

* * *

It felt like a parable kind of day today.

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Filed under: Existentialism, Modern Parables Tagged: Modern Parables, point-of-view, remain friends, street and the stray

The Shepherd Wolf

Every full moon, the wolf would appear to devour another sheep — it was the way of things.

Always at night and always hungry, the wolf would appear to chase the herd until one could run no longer. When it fell behind, the wolf took the weakest sheep into its powerful jaws and disappeared into the night.

While most of the sheep looked away, one did not. It watched, saw how frightened the other sheep were, and offered comfort to others.

But the wolf noticed the sheep that watched, and on the night when the moon became darkest, it came and took it away.

“Why do you watch?” the wolf asked, not yet having devoured the sheep.

“To understand,” it replied. “There must be a secret that can save us all.”

The wolf laughed. “I will reveal my secret, for it cannot save anyone.” With that, the wolf became a sheep.

“You’re one of us,” the sheep gasped.

“One need not be seen as a wolf all of the time, but it is ever what I am inside. You see such things and that is dangerous to me, but you will watch no longer.”

The wolf bit the sheep, and the sheep fell into a deep slumber.

When the sheep awoke, the wolf was gone, and so the sheep wandered back to the herd. No one in the herd had ever survived such an attack, and a few accused the sheep of bargaining with the wolf, for how else could it survive? The sheep denied the accusation but could not speak the whole truth, for it understood it would be shunned.

On the next full moon, the wolf returned. When the herd scattered, the spared sheep did not run.

“Join the hunt,” the wolf commanded, and the sheep became a wolf as well.

The fear from the herd was palpable upon seeing two wolves, and the sheep smelled delicious to the predators, but the new wolf turned and faced the old wolf down.

“Why fight me when there are sheep for the taking?” the old wolf asked.

The new wolf answered, “Because I remember being one of the sheep, and I will watch no longer.”

And it became the way of things.

Copyright © 2016 Kevin A. Ranson. All Rights Reserved.

* * *

It felt like a parable kind of day today.

You can buy an art print of the image here.

Filed under: Creativity, Literarian, Paranormal Tagged: parable, sheep, shepherd, shepherd wolf, the way of things, wolf