Benedict Martin's Blog, page 3

Good-bye Little Lady Dog

Mickie the Miniature Pinscher died yesterday.

She was twelve years old. Or at least, I think she was twelve years old. The lady we bought her from wasn’t exactly normal. In retrospect we should have reported her, but as they say, hindsight and all that. What I can say is Mickie was a beloved member of our family for ten years, and knowing she’s no longer around has left the house feeling… empty. Which is funny, considering she spent the majority of her time asleep under a jacket.

She was a killer when she was younger, regularly dispatching rats, one of them being nearly as long as she was. She also hunted beetles, and provided they weren’t out of reach, candies. I’d never met a dog with a sweet tooth before. Chocolate, sure, but not hard candies. She even liked throat lozenges, hoarding them in her nest like a miniature dragon. And when she breathed on you, oh my gosh, it was an unholy mix of menthol and dog breath.

Mickie did well lasting as long as she did. Five years ago she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Her tummy was filled with lumps, and the vet told us to expect her to live another year or so, so hitting the big one-two wasn’t bad.

I’ll miss her. She had some strange habits, but most little dogs are odd. Big ones, too. I’m still not certain if George the boxer has noticed her absence. He suffered a stroke a couple of years, so his priorities are a little skewed.

I know my kids are upset. For whatever reason, Mickie decided to leave us while they were away visiting their auntie, so they haven’t had time to really adjust to a Mickiless house. But we have loads of pictures, and even more memories.

I’m sad you had to go, Little Mick, but I’m thankful for all the joy you brought our family.

You will be missed.

 

Me Did It!

I’ve been putting off formatting my books for CreateSpace for ages now. Mostly because I knew it would be a pain in the ass. And you know what? I wasn’t wrong. There’s something about me and formatting that doesn’t click. I’d like to say I have a learning disability, but if I look at it objectively, it’s impatience what does me in. That and a desire to smash things. Namely the keyboard.

(This gif makes me laugh. Just what is that keyboard made out of, anyway? Granite? And I think he could cut back on the blood thinners.)

But I succeeded! Now I just have to wait for the cover fairy to work her magic and, boom, I will have physical proof that I am more than a strange recluse who spends his time yelling at the dog, but a genuine, real-life author.

Now if I could just start making some money.

More Fiends from my Sock Drawer: Katie the Book Blogger

It is my experience that to be a book blogger you must a) be named Katie b) profess a love for chocolate and c) have a deep and abiding hatred for people who mix up ‘they’re’ and ‘their’.

Katie the Book Blogger is all of these.

In fact, her hatred for the grammatically challenged has turned her into a serial killer, stabbing them to death and stacking their severed heads in a pile as a grim warning to those who would continue butchering the English language.

I assumed her fellow book bloggers would be horrified by her actions.  Instead they’re quite supportive, even sending her the names and addresses of grammar offenders in the hope she’ll sort them out. 

So the next time you’re on Facebook and you’re commenting on a friend’s photo of their darling dog, remember: too has two ‘o’s in it.  It just might save your life.

Meet the Fiends Living in My Sock Drawer: Mr. Tony Brambles

Never get into a conversation with Mr. Brambles, for talk will inevitably veer towards his disdain for religion. I’ve met outspoken atheists in the past, but none of them compare to Tony. Just the idea that someone else made him is enough to send him shouting, which is strange considering he’s made out of Legos.

Synchronicity?

These images showed up on my twitter feed literally one after the other, in exactly this order, posted by different users. What a striking contrast.

What? A Cartoon and a Book Review?

So I read this book by Geoff Nelder. It’s called Aria and it’s about an alien flu that causes retrograde amnesia. For every week of infection, you lose approximately one year of memory, working steadily backwards until you’re a helpless newborn. In an adult’s body, of course.

I wouldn’t mind a dose of that. Just three weeks worth, though. Then send me back to BC and ‘Poof’, this move to Ottawa never happened.

I wonder if I’d notice? I know I have more gray in my beard than I did prior to moving here, but living in Ontario will do that. My face is more weather-beaten. And there are the scars from the polar bear.

Man, just typing this is making me home-sick…

Back to Geoff Nelder’s book, it’s an excellent read, and I recommend it to science fiction buffs everywhere, and fans of amnesia in general. The writing is top notch, and the characters are not only entertaining, but thoroughly believable. I actually dislike Italians now, thanks to the dastardly Antonio.

Do yourself a favor and download Aria. You”ll love it. And if you find yourself misplacing your keys, just know it’s because the writing is that darn good.

Meet the Fiends in My Sock Drawer: Dead Trevor

For whatever reason, my sock drawer has become a repository for ghosts and other spirits.

One of the creepiest is Trevor.  He’s this seven year old who broke his neck falling out of bed one night and now he hangs around my bedroom with his big box of black crayons, drawing pictures of weeping children and dead trees.

It’s so depressing the other ghosts have taken to avoiding him, even referring to him as Cheerful Charlie in that sneery way only the undead can pull off.

And if that’s not bad enough, he doesn’t know he’s dead, so I have to constantly tip-toe around his condition (or lack thereof) asking him stupid things like how his day at school went when I know perfectly well it’s the weekend.

More Fiends From my Sock Drawer: Sasha the Skidmark Seer

I am, by nature, rather mystical, so when I discovered a psychic had moved into my sock drawer, I decided to seek her out.  I was in for a bit of a shock, though.  Turns out Sasha is a skidmark seer, meaning for $40 she will read the pooey marks on your underwear.

Fortunately, I am what is known as a pooey person, and after handing her a suitably decorated pair, I sat back and waited for her to weave her magic. What she told me left me disappointed.  Not only did she get my occupation wrong, (she said I was unemployed when in fact I am a writer) and get the names of my parents mixed up (my dad’s the one named Jim) but she told me I eat too much cereal as well.

I don’t want to say she turned me into a skeptic, but that morning at least, we both walked away thinking the other was full of shit.

More Fiends in My sock Drawer: Clive in a Bottle

Clive’s father was a haddock fisherman whose spare time was spent building sailing ships in bottles. His hobby was all consuming, and when Clive was born, he managed to convince the mother to put the baby in a bottle as well.

It was a difficult job. It took over three weeks before Clive’s head was big enough that he couldn’t get out again, but when it was all done, Clive’s father was left with a curiosity worthy of any fisherman’s mantle piece.

Unfortunately Clive’s father grew to hate his offspring-in-a-bottle, and one day when I was away camping, he abandoned Clive in my sock drawer before disappearing to an island in the South Pacific.

Clive enjoys processed cheese slices and apple wedges.

Tales From the Sock Drawer: Philip Tumba

Philip Tumba is a member of the Bulgoni Tribe.

Bulgonis are famous for starting life as senior citizens, aging backwards until approximately the age of forty-one, and then spending the rest of their lives aging like everyone else.

Meaning Philip Tumba is either three years old or eighty-five.

(I’m too embarrassed to ask.)