S.M. Johnson's Blog, page 29

Thursday Morning Coffee... QAF FanFiction? Egads!

Okay, like a million other straight women over 30, I TOTALLY fell in love with Queer as Folk. And being quite enamored of the series, (addicted, even) and reading tons and tons of Fan Fiction, I could not stop myself from writing just a teeny-tiny bit. I think I allowed myself to write 4 or 5 FanFic shorts based on QAF characters of the Showtime drama created by Cowlip productions, and then I forced myself to stop because I figured my time would be better spent creating my own characters of awesomeness. 


And just so you know I'm not alone in my insanity, there's FanArt, too:


But I will gift the story here, for Thursday Morning Coffee, because my blog is centered around fiction at the moment and I'm too lazy to showcase someone else's fiction this week. So just give me a little break - this is old, was written quickly, and is just supposed to be a cute, sweet read for QAF fans.
So it's my fiction... but I don't own rights to the characters or story line, and would never presume to such ownership. Think that's enough disclaimer? Not yet.
Content disclaimer: This story contains romantic interaction (though not explicit sex) between gay male characters. If this offends you - please don't read it!
Aftermath – Everything by SM
[Set beginning of Season 2, rated R for language. Music quotes from Lifehouse album No Name Face, song title "Everything." Standard disclaimer: I don't own Brian or Justin or Queer as Folk, Cowlip does.]
Find me here, Speak to meI want to feel you, I need to hear you
            He got what he wanted, what he'd always wanted from the first night – his heart's desire was to be here, to be wanted and welcome. To belong in this amazing place, the home of this amazing man.
            You are the light that is leading me            To the place where I find peace again
            He was so jacked to be here, couldn't stop smiling despite the irritated looks Brian threw him while he prowled the loft jerking open a drawer and emptying it – "You can put stuff in there,"  yanking open the closet doors, "hang things here. And just try to remember I'm a minimalist, and don't bring too much crap over."  Justin followed him putting socks and underwear in the drawer, then stopping to hang his clothes. "What about my art stuff?"Brian looked exasperated and stalked to the kitchen, pulling open a cupboard door and moving his juicer to the top of the fridge. Minimalist, to be sure, devoting a whole cupboard to a juicer. Brain was such a snob."There," Brian said, tossing in a sketch pad and pencils that had been sitting on the counter. "Art stuff.  Happy?""Thank you," Justin said.  If he didn't know Brian, Justin would think from this indignant display that Brian didn't want him here. But Brian never did anything he didn't want to do. Brian didn't do "obligation" or "responsibility.""All right. You settled now?"  Justin nodded and slumped on the sofa. He still got tired way too easy. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He was safe. Hobbs couldn't get to him behind the sliding iron door of Brian's loft. No one could.
You are the strength that keeps me walkingYou are the hope that keeps me trustingYou are the life to my soul, you are my purpose.You are everything.
He felt Brian's presence behind him, standing at the back of the couch a moment before Brian's hands ruffled through his hair, strong fingers lightly massaging his skull, gently tracing the scar. Justin flinched and jerked his head away."Does it hurt?" Brian asked."Not in the way you mean."  It hurt in the way everyone looked at him, pitied him, poor little Justin. Hurt in the way they watched him so carefully, like he might freak out or fall apart. He wasn't going to. He was fine, perfect. Brilliant, in fact. He was right where he wanted to be. Brian wouldn't treat him like a fragile thing, Brian would treat him like a pain in the ass. Brian's hands reached out, framed Justin's face and tilted his head back so Justin was looking at Brian upside down. Brian bent to drop a light kiss on Justin's mouth, then pulled away and searched Justin's eyes for... something.Dread coiled inside Justin and he begged in his head don't, don't be different now, not you.Brian's expression settled and he looked satisfied.  "What?" Justin couldn't stop himself from asking."You're all right.""I told you."Brian ran his fingers into Justin's hair again, then slid his hands down each side of Justin's neck, to his shoulders, smoothed down to his chest. He tapped a rhythm with both hands on Justin's breastbone."Now what?" Brian asked. "Should we eat?"Justin was surprised. "Is there food here?""Of course not."
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?Would you tell me how it could be any better than this?
A half an hour later they were at the diner."Sunshine!" Deb exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him. "Oh baby, you've lost weight.  Well, I'll fix that," and off she went to the kitchen.Justin watched her go, a laugh bubbling from his lips, his heart warm and full. Debbie was at least normal – she treated all her "boys" like children.  Brian, still standing behind Justin, grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him to a booth.  Justin slid in and Brian sat across from him. "Deb," Brian called out, "Can I order something, too?  I'm feeling awfully weak...""Oh, Brian," she waved him off. "Haven't I always looked after you?"Michael was the first of the gang to show up, barely five minutes later. The fawning started the moment Michael slid into the booth next to Brian, big brown eyes almost liquid as he asked, "Justin, how are you feeling?" Michael's voice, his whole face, really, dripped with concern. He even reached for Justin's hand.Justin pulled his hand back, out of reach. "Michael, I'm fine," he said. "Really." And tried to laugh, rolling his eyes."Well, forgive me for asking," Michael said, and Justin could tell he was offended. "You know, you were almost dead.""Everyone keeps reminding me," Justin said, and felt relief wash over him as Emmett and Ted appeared at the table.Ted greeted them with one of his sarcastic statements. "I hear this is the place for fine dining and even finer company.""Scoot," Brian said, and nudged Michael out of the booth. He slid in beside Justin. First Michael and then Ted took the bench Brian vacated.  Brian snugged up tight to Justin, and motioned Emmett to the small space left at the outside edge of the bench.Emmett eyed the edge of the seat that Brian was patting. "Is it me or are the booths here at the Liberty Diner shrinking? Deb's got to stop with the vigorous cleaning.""Well, then we'd catch something," Ted said."C'mon, Emmett, "Brian said, "you can fit one cheek.""And the booths are not shrinking," Michael groused. "Just Justin here taking up space.""Which is better than the alternative," Ted said, and smiled at Justin. "I'm glad you're not dead. I've nearly been there."Emmett leaned across Brian to greet Justin. "You look good, Sunshine! Wow, your hair's practically all grown in already.""I know," said Justin, "it grows fast. It'll be like it never even happened."Brian arched an eyebrow at him but didn't refute his words. Instead he slid his right arm around Justin, and let his fingers touch the side of Justin's head, gently, gently. He tipped his own head a bit to the side, like he was asking a question."I'm fine," Justin insisted, and said it so firmly that he even believed it.
You calm the storms, you give me rest.You hold me in your hands, you won't let me fall.
He still believed it later at Woody's, until a couple of guys started arguing – LOUD – and he felt himself shrink a little. When the argument continued, getting louder and louder, he started feeling nervous and found himself staring at them, unable to tear his eyes away. He even backed up a couple of steps without meaning to, until he bumped into Brian who was standing behind him. From his look, Justin knew Brian knew, and Brian's arms came around him and he whispered in Justin's ear, "Let's get out of here." Raising his voice, Brian told the others, "This is boring. I'm taking my child prodigy to Babylon where the music is hot and the guys are hotter."Brian pulled Justin out of Woodys, and of course the rest of the gang grumbled, groused, and followed.Babylon seemed fine as long Brian was touching him or he was touching Brian. It was like Brian was his ground, his touchstone and as long as Brian was within arm's length, the world was right.Of course it was inevitable that Brian would get cruised by someone he couldn't resist. "You okay?" he asked Justin.Justin certainly wasn't going to say no, for God's sake, and he tried not to watch as Brian led the trick onto the dance floor. Thank God Brian never changed, he told himself.
You still my heart and you take my breath awayWould you take me in, would you take me deeper now?
But as Justin stood next to Ted, drinking his kiddie cocktail, which was all Brian would allow him to have tonight, the music got louder and louder until it was a senseless rush in his ears. His heartbeat sped up to match the thumpa-thumpa of the techno beat, and then he could feel it in his ears too, and it made him a little sick. He swayed on his feet, but he wasn't dancing, he was in danger of falling down."Hey, are you okay?" Ted's hand was on his shoulder.Justin tried to focus on Ted's face, to nod, and was horrified to feel his eyes watering. Fuckin' Hobbs.And then Brian was there, his voice soothing, "Hey, hey." His arms curving around Justin's body, holding him close, whispering in his ear. "Everything is all right. I have you. You're safe."Justin could hear Brian's heartbeat and felt his own slow down to match. He took a deep breath that almost was a sob, grateful the music covered it. He clung to Brian. Brian was his everything.
How can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?And would you tell me how could it be any better than this?Because you're all I want, you're all I need... You're everything, everything.
[end]

Bloody Mondays - Famous Monsters Speak

Happy Bloody Monday!



Personal notes and BIG NEWS! And by that I mean BIG BIG NEWS!

The publisher of my DeVante trilogy, Rebel Satori Press (whom I love truly madly deeply), has responded to my request to reduce the price of my ebooks! These books are my babies, my writer's heart and soul, blood, sweat, and tears - so I want ya'all to read them! Heck, I want everybody to read them.

The price change has happened at Smashwords and Amazon should go into effect for Nook and iTunes shortly, as well as other online ebook retailers.

Also - I am willing to give away 1 ebook copy of either DeVante's Children, DeVante's Coven, or DeVante's Curse per week - all you have to do to enter is nominate a vampire for Bloody Monday - if I choose your nominee, you win, it's that easy! I'll send you a coupon code for the book of your choice, and you can download it in any e-format from Smashwords. If you've already read all 3, I have some other title options for freebies, as well.

Short blog today, as I am battling some carpel issues - Aaaargh! Typing doesn't seem to be a real problem, but mousing hurts, and iPhoning (my new word of the day) hurts like a summbitch. Getting it checked out this week, but I heard that's no real picnic, either - something to do with electrical shocks? Egads! I'll let ya'll know how that goes. Now... on to our regularly scheduled programming - Bloody Monday!


In my brand new Bloody Monday blog post, I mentioned that Love at First Bite was actually the 2nd vampire to bite my imagination.

The first was an audio track from an LP Album called, Famous Monsters Speak (1963). Talk about old, hmm? There are tracks for Frankenstein and Dracula on that baby. I'm pretty sure I never even listened to Frankenstein - but man, I sure fell hard for Dracula.

After writing that blog, I went searching for the audio track. It actually took me quite a while to find it - mostly because I was like 9 when I checked the album out of the public library, and I had NO IDEA what the heck the title was.

But I found it! Yay for the digital world we live in.

I found a free download that forced me to complete something like 8 surveys, put a lot of junk on my computer, and ultimately didn't give the the audio file. Grr.

I found another free download, but it was an old blog, and had been removed for copyright issues. (Okay, I can see how that could happen).

And then... I found it on iTunes. Yep. I know, I know, I should have looked there first. So I have been able to BLISS out and relive the vampire that sparked my lifelong fascination with such creatures. I see that it's also available on CD from Amazon.

Here's a link to an audio sample

You can hear the writer who found Dracula desperately typing his story - hoping to get it done before Dracula comes for him, because Dracula has said, "And one night, when the moon is full, when the wolf howls, I will come for you, and you will be one of us."

Love how in the beginning you can hear the man's footsteps as he goes down into the basement of the British Museum and finds Dracula's crypt. And Dracula says, "Who is there? Who comes to the crypt of the vampire Dracula?" (Pronounced Dra-coo-la). The vampire talks to the mortal, tells him about the creatures of the night that are a vampires friends and/or pets, demonstrates his vampire powers, takes the man out onto the street and makes him witness a hunt (hmm - reminds one of DeVante and Daniel, perhaps? Or more to the truth of the matter, DeVante and Daniel must be reminiscent of THIS). Funny the things you carry forward from childhood.

In fact, listening to this 21 minute track, I know exactly why certain characteristics of DeVante had to be just so - the possibility of kindness mixed with the ability to be cruel - perhaps that is the romanticism of the vampire.

The vampire says, "If you are my friend, nothing can harm you, but if you are my enemy, nothing can save you."

Oh, the chills.

The iTunes version is pretty cheap, and for the memories, it was worth it.

Funny - I was browsing around looking for this stuff, and read a comment on a blog from one person who said, "My mom bought me this when I was a preschooler, and I remember clutching it in my hands all the way home, so excited to listen to it."

Somewhere else I read: "Not recommended for young children."

Totally cracks me up. I must have been 8 or 9, and the album would have been almost 15 years old ITSELF - when I checked it out from the library. And I didn't check it out just once - I checked it out many, many times. I feel in love with that vampire, no doubt.

Have a great Monday! Leave a comment telling me of your earliest vampire memory, or the first vampire that really nailed your imagination.

A Year of Sundays - ch 8 pt 1

Chapter 8 – Sunday June 19
Part 1 of 2
I kept telling myself that I'd been too busy to get a chance to read any of Mom's journals. But somehow I'd managed to read three or four books since Mom died, so the truth was probably more that I was simply putting it off.
They were in a box under my bed, and sometimes when I woke during the night I could think of nothing else. Like they were calling to me. "Jessie… we're waiting for you…" Which was funny, in a way, because I could think of nothing my mom would hate more than all us kids nosing into her private business – and what could possibly be more private than a journal?
On the other hand – she'd had plenty of time to destroy them if she'd wanted to. A fireplace in which to burn them even. I picked one out of the box one evening, planning to dive right in, but just holding it gave me guilt – had me peering over my shoulder into dark corners, nerves on edge, listening for the familiar stern mom-voice, "Jessie – what are you doing poking around in my things?"
I wanted to read them because there was stuff I wanted to know about. I mean, I could be holding an entire family history in my hands, but if I kept avoiding them no one would ever know.
But I was going to browse through at least one journal. Today.
Before meeting my siblings for Sacred Sunday.
I reached into the box.
Mom wrote in cursive, in long loose spiraling loops, that took a few seconds to get used to, the physical look of the writing style giving the writing its own brand of romanticism.
Melanie always had an extra-special spark. I never thought mothers were supposed to notice such things, but I did. It was hard not to notice. Strangers often approached the family specifically to admire her, touch her hair, and give her trinkets just to see her smile.
The other children couldn't help but noticed the special attention, of course they did, and while I think Elizabeth was jealous sometimes, Jessamine was always willing to join in the fawning admiration, her eyes big and round, her agreeable nods sincere. Jessie lived inside Mellie's beauty, as surely as Mellie lived it. And Mellie, bless her sweet little heart, was always generous with her sisters, the older and the younger.
If she was given a beautiful ribbon for her hair, she would bestow it upon her older sister, Elizabeth, almost immediately. "You have the most beautiful hair, Lizzie, and this ribbon suits you."
A dainty bracelet she would give to Jessamine with kind words. "You're so pretty, sissy, delicate like this bracelet. It would look better on you than on me, and it's so much more your color."
Josie, of course, hadn't been born yet. Wasn't born actually until long after Mellie was lost, and by that time she was so clearly the spoiled baby she might never have noticed, anyway.
If Melanie had spark, Elizabeth was always our serious child. Well, Silas, of course, turned into our serious child, but initially it was Elizabeth. She watched over everyone with eyes as solemn as her sense of responsibility about being the oldest girl. Sometimes I thought she watched over her sisters more carefully than I did. And yet, however serious, she never complained, never seemed burdened. Just centered and content. She was a slow-to-smile child, pious beyond her few years, and a faithful follower of Christ by first grade. And that never changed.

I worried for Elizabeth, and hovered over her while Melanie was gone –Lizzie prayed so hard I thought she might faint from her very devoutness, or from the intensity of her prayerful pleadings. Her young and earnest faith got on my nerves, actually, but since I was too much of a mess to pray, perhaps it was lucky that in Elizabeth's mess, praying was all she could do. She made up for what I was incapable of, evened things out, maybe.

And Mellie came back to us. Thank you, thank you, thank you God and Lizzie – for sending my girl home.

I wish I could say she returned none the worse for wear. Oh, how I wish that – I have always wished it to be so.

But now I feel the water in my eyes, feel my throat tightening, and I know I can't write anymore about that.
"Mo-om, I'm bored. Can we do something?" The almost-shout, almost whine floated into my office from the living room, where the TV was blaring.

"What?" I called back.

"What?" Annabelle yelled. "What?"

"Like what?" I asked, feeling exasperated.

My office door pushed open. Annabelle stood in the door way and glared at me. "What? I can't hear you over the TV, you know."

Seriously? 


"You were yelling. I was answering. I didn't turn the TV on."

"Oh, yeah. I'm bored. Can we do something today?"

"It's Sunday," I reminded her. She rolled her eyes. She's nine – where does this teenage style of behavior come from, anyway?

"I know what day it is."

"Are you coming to grandma's?" I asked her.

"I don't know. Is dad going?"

"Probably." I said. Often Annabelle and Sam were content to stay home and order pizza.

"But I want to do something before that," she said, and she put on the pout and puppy dog eyes.

I was starting to feel exasperated. "Like what, Annabelle? Give me an idea."

"Caleb gave me a kite at school the other day. Can we go fly it?"

I looked out the window to see the treetops whipping in the wind. What the heck.

"All right. You grab the kite, I'll grab sweatshirts, and we'll go."

Kite-flying was lovely. I tried to think how long it had been since Annabelle and I took a kite to the sand beach known as Wisconsin Point. Five years? Longer? We'd never had much luck with kites, but perhaps the fancy ones with tails and dowel crossbeams were duds, because the simple kite Caleb had given Annabelle didn't even want to stay on the ground. In fact, we couldn't keep it on the ground long enough to even unwind the string. It just flung itself into the air like a plastic grocery bag, apparently delighted to fly above the water and make the seagulls scream into the wind.

This kite almost was a plastic grocery bag. It was a U shaped pocket with long ribbon tails, no crossbeams to snap, no plastic nose to dive into the sand. Perfection.

Annabelle ran along the beach, leaping waves and foamy surf, shrieking with glee, her bare feet leaving perfect prints in the wet sand.

"It's pulling me, Mom, watch! Do you think it will lift me up? If it were a bigger kite, I bet it would lift me right into the air, like flying. Maybe we could make one that big – out of a big black garbage bag – wouldn't that be cool, Mom, not just flying a kite, but flying in the air with a kite?"

Her chatter continued, while I trailed behind her indulgently. The wind pulled at my hair, and I wished my own Mom could be here to see this. It wasn't Annabelle's first time with a kite, but it might be the first time that she will remember, the first time that a kite actually cooperated.

Thursday Morning Coffee

I have taken a couple of days off - from writing, even.

And I guard my writing time jealously - I do. I would rather write be writing than just about anything, and sometimes I have to work to engage in life.

Except for this. My friend, who moved away a few years ago, just moved back to town. She has a few days to get organized, and I happened to have a couple of days off from my day job.

Can you say girlfriend unpacking party? (Sounds dirty, doesn't it?) We had so much to catch up on, I can't even tell you. Never ran out of words, that's for sure.

I guess what I want to say is... always be grateful for those friendships that rest quietly and wait to be reawakened, because they are precious.

And now for your free fiction experience...

This is kind of what's called a short-short.

Crumbling Complicated



            "Why do you have to make this complicated?" I ask in complete exasperation.            "Why do you have to pretend it isn't?"            I cringe because I realize you're going to send me spinning into the abyss, but I don't think you can help it, because how do I know what all this has done to you?            I want to scream. Don't change this! Please, please don't. I love you. I love this. It's perfect.              Why can't we just be pleased and comfortable and content with what we have?            And yet… and yet I know that everything changes, that it's the way of people and the way of the world.            "It's not complicated," I say, and it comes out a plea. "We're friends. It's simple."            "You know it's more than that."            "It can't be. And you know that."            I am not so great. Why does everyone think I'm so great? I'm a certified mess, that's what I am.            I sigh, feeling tears come to my eyes. "You're going to break my heart. That's what this is ultimately leading to, isn't it?"            "We'll break each other's. It will give you a lovely sad story to write."            "Fuck off."            "No."            The tears are on my cheeks now. "Okay, you want me to beg? I'll beg. Please don't ask me to choose because I can't choose you. I made my choice a long time ago, for better and worse and forever. I love my life. I can't give you more than I give you now."            "Fine. Goodbye."            And the whole beautiful everything crumbles into dust.
Happy Thursday, darlings.
My new short story, 18 Dead, will be free on Amazon from 12:00 am Friday until 11:59 pm Saturday. It's a nice little read - a story that will stick with you for far longer than the half an hour you'll spend reading it.

Bloody Monday - Dance of the Damned (1989)

Dance of the Damned might be one of the worst vampire movies I've ever seen, if by "worst" you're talking poor video and terrible sound quality.

Seriously, darlings.

And yet... it's one of my favorite vampire stories of all time. The vampire, played by Cyril O'Reilly, as far as I know doesn't even have a name. It's a dark and strange film, characterized by dark and strange characters.

Here's the trailer:



A suicidal stripper (Starr Andreef), a despondent vampire - a fair premise for a vampire story, sure, but not exactly inspiring.

And yet - it's my kind of story, really. The interactions between the two of them, Jodi and the Vampire, make up pretty much the entire film, and the focus is on emotion and dialogue, so in that respect the poor film quality doesn't even matter.

It starts out softly enough:

The Vampire is lingering outside while Jodi the suicidal stripper locks up the club. He startles her, says, "I have money."

She says, "I'm not a hooker. Do you think I'd work my butt off for five hundred bucks a week if I could make it in a night?"

The Vampire says,  "I think you're lonely and it's been a bad night. I wanna talk to you. I haven't talked to anybody in a long time."


But shortly after getting Jodi into his house, the Vampire tells her he's not human, and their relationship starts getting violent.
You can watch the whole movie in 5 - 10 minute increments on YouTube, starting here, with Part 1.
I'm not sure if I should admit to having done this but... I have done this. Twice, actually, because I can't find the film anywhere else.
One of my favorite lines is when the Vampire says, "The night belongs to the day it followed. See? (pulls out tv guide)  The next day starts at five in the morning. Look, if you stay up late Saturday night, fall asleep at 2 am, you don't say you went to bed early Sunday morning, you say you were up late Saturday night. Get your jacket. I'll get mine."
Okay, it sounds totally cheesy, but Jodi kidnapped her son sometime in the past, and isn't allowed to see him anymore. At this point her and the Vampire have developed a sort of mutual compassion for one another, so the Vampire takes Jodi to see her son.
Afterward, she takes him to the beach and turns on a huge searchlight, and the line is, "You gave me my son, now I'll give you yours." (Because earlier in the night he was badgering her to tell him about the daytime sun.)
And this is all cheesy, too, and I can't possibly explain it, but it works.
Even the fangs work for me.


So, has anyone in the world seen this movie besides me? And liked it, I mean?

New Release - 18 Dead

Hello, darlings....

My latest short story, 18 Dead, got the approval of my critique partners, and is now available on Amazon for Kindle!

A killer is a killer is a killer – right?

Landon Montgomery is a forensic psychologist at a state facility for the mentally ill and dangerous, so when Nathan Kincaid kills eighteen classmates at a reunion, Landon knows she'll soon be meeting him. But Landon's not out to save Nathan – her job is to declare him competent to stand trial and send him to the executioner. The only trouble is… there might be something about Nathan Kincaid worth saving.


Check it out and let me know what you think! 18 Dead for Kindle

A Year of Sundays, Chapter 7

[image error] Chapter 7 - June 12
Part 1 of 1
"Are you taking summer classes, Jo-Jo?"
Elizabeth asked the question over a meal of grocery store fried chicken. Need I mention it was my turn to cook? Caleb was with his father, and Melanie had arrived intoxicated. She was already passed out in her old room, here but not here. At least she didn't bring Travis. I wondered if she did anything but drink when Caleb wasn't around. 
Josie sat next to Jeremy who, as usual, was too busy eating to engage in conversation, and Silas was at the head of the table pretending to ignore Jeremy.
 "I don't know. I was thinking about it, but it feels so good not having classes right now."
"Well, I have an appointment with some credit transfer liaison at UMD. I have to take Statistics, God help me, before I can get into my program. I was hoping we could take it together."
Josie shuddered. "No way. I'm done with that one. Sorry, Liz, you're on your own."
"No classes at all?" Silas raised an eyebrow. "So you two are just going to hang out in this little love nest all summer long, no cares or responsibilities?"
"Stop it, Si," I said, at the same time Jeremy said, "Jealous?" so I gave up and just shook my head. This conversation was already out of my control.
"Jealous?" Silas laughed, but it was malicious, not humorous.
I tensed for the biting words that were sure to follow.
"Jealous of what? I've certainly already had you. Or have you forgotten that one of you is gay?"
"I think you miss me, that's all," Jeremy said.
"No. I. Don't. Miss. You." Silas said the words through clenched teeth. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much. And I'm thrilled that the twink I can't get rid of moved into my mother's house with my little sister. That's just what everyone needs."
"I need him," Josie said in a soft voice, sharing a look with Jeremy that I couldn't fathom.
"You hardly know him, Jo-Jo."
"That's not true," she said. "I probably know him better than you. We talk. It's not fair of you to push your pain and anger onto him. Mom's dead. We're all hurting."
That shut Silas up.
I jumped in, hoping to direct the conversation to safer ground.
"What kind of class do you have to take, Liz?"
"Statistics," she groaned. "Otherwise known as torture for math dummies."
"And you can take it at UMD, then transfer the credits?"
"That's the idea. The liaison will help me get registered for the right class."
"Who's the liaison?" Josie asked.
"Something Jones," Elizabeth answered. "Or maybe it's Johnson."
"Dean Johnson?" Josie asked.
"That sounds right. Is Dean his name or his title?"
"First name. Have fun," Jo-Jo laughed. "He's hot, for an old guy."
"Oh, ha-ha, funny," Elizabeth said. "Like that matters to me."
"He's cute enough that it might," Josie said, with a huge grin.
Silas had been glowering at Jeremy this whole time, and now that the conversation tapered off, Jeremy asked, "What?"
"Nothing," Si growled.
"Are you ever going to forgive me?" Jeremy asked.
Silas scowled. "For what?"
"For being young."
"You're being ridiculous," Silas answered, but the scowl smoothed off his face.
"So are you. What can I do to get you back?"
Oops. Too far, too personal. Elizabeth pushed her chair back. "Josie, Jess, why don't you help me with the dishes." 
It was a command, not a question. I almost laughed out loud because we were using paper plates. But I understood what she was going for – giving them some privacy to work out the details of their difficult relationship.
No way. I wasn't missing this.
I left the table with Liz and Josie, but when they actually went through to the kitchen, I didn't. I posted myself in the doorway instead. Not even out of sight, yet still completely out of mind.
"Live a life," Si said. "Get some experience. Go out with someone your own age."  His words were harsh, staccato.
"That would kill you," Jeremy said, his voice matter of fact.
"I'm tougher than you think."
"Why do you think you're not worth it?" Jeremy asked him. "Why are you convinced you're not worth loving?"
That's what I wanted to know, too.
Silas laughed out loud. "It's not that. It's just such a hassle being somebody's boyfriend. Just about anyone in the world would be better at it than me."
"You're learning just fine." Jeremy's voice was still calm.
Yes, I thought, Silas was getting quite an education in fear, loneliness, and avoidance of intimacy. Sure enough.
"It won't work, Jeremy. You can stalk me, leave me a hundred voicemails, live with my sister, and make doe-eyes at me every Sunday, but none of that replaces life experience. Some things you need to learn on your own, and it would be criminal for me to take that away from you."
From my perspective, his eyes said so much more than that.
Want and need like an addict for a drug, call it hurt or call it love, blond hair, bright smile, wet-shine eyes, I'm not yours but you are mine.
Damn. It'd been a while since poetry fell into my brain like that. I was going to have to run for pen and paper, even if it meant I had to risk missing the rest of the conversation.
I found my bag and notebook and jotted down the short verse.
Poetry. I used to be quite a poet, but that particular muse rarely showed itself to me these days. Except this one struck like lightning. There was definitely some kind of electric passion between Silas and Jeremy.
All was normal when I returned to the dining room. Silas had brought the News Tribune to the table and was turning pages. 
Elizabeth served fresh strawberry pie that I'd picked up from Perkins Restaurant. Murmurs and giggles came from Jeremy and Josie's side of the table.
Silas glowered at the newspaper, making it rustle and crinkle as he turned pages.
Josie and Jeremy got louder by degree, until we could make out words... bonfire... parade... float.
Silas must've caught them, too, because he sat up and said, "Making plans for Duluth/Superior PRIDE, are we?"



Jeremy's grin was huge. "Yeah. I guess it's a pretty great PRIDE for a small community. Labor Day weekend. Josie said the Mayor usually gives a speech. How cool is that?"
"I know the Mayor. It's not a big deal."
"But still!" Jeremy's eyes were shining. "Are you going?"
"It's not for months," Silas said. "I'm sure I can pencil something in..."
"Really?" Jeremy said, bouncing on his chair.
"...to keep me away," Silas finished, with a mean little smile. "Of course I'm not going, nitwit. Who I sleep with is nobody's business."
Jeremy stopped smiling and stuck his tongue out at Silas. He was trying to be silly, but I could see he was disappointed.
"I'll go with you," Josie piped up. "I'll be your fag hag."
Elizabeth groaned. "Josie, you are definitely our little progressive one."
I laughed. "Maybe we'll go, too. Annabelle loves parades more than fireworks."
Silas snorted. "Dad would say you're asking for trouble, maybe it's catchy."
I laughed. "He would. Without a doubt. And mom would be properly horrified as well. Especially if we made the news – hey, if we dress in crazy rainbow stuff, you think we'll be on the news?"
"Silas, pencil me into that appointment, would you?" Elizabeth requested with raised eyebrows. "The whole family's gone gay crazy."
Jeremy was trying hard not to pout.
Josie patted his hand. "I saw an ad for a PRIDE fundraiser on one of the local blogs I follow. Two Fridays from now. You want to go? Maybe you'll find a date."
"You should go, Jeremy," Silas said, staring holes through his newspaper. "Meet some boys your own age."
"Whatever."  Jeremy said. "Yeah, I'll go." He was still pouting, but I suspected he'd get over it pretty quickly. He of all people should know how much Silas loved his closet, and that it would take more than a PRIDE celebration to get him to come out. Silas just wasn't comfortable being gay in front of people. If Jeremy refused to see that, he was either purposefully obtuse or completely delusional.The tide may be turning, but our family has a history of homophobia.
We had a charmed childhood, growing up on the "right" side of town, in this large elegant old house, our moneyed parents brushing elbows with a succession of local celebrities, from the Mayor to frozen food bigwig Gino Palucci. We were Meyerhoffs, damnit, confidants of the legendary Congdon family, as famous locally as the Rockefellers and Kennedys are nationally.
Our men were members of the Gitchi Gammi club, our women the Junior League. We sat on the city council and made close personal friends of a senator or two.
Meyerhoff Construction and Design had a name to uphold; a name and reputation synonymous with propriety. Bucking all that was scary stuff, boys and girls. Silas wouldn't go there lightly. And as much as he seemed tolerant of Jeremy, I felt pretty sure he wasn't going to come out publicly on the whim of a twenty-two year old college kid.
That history is what Silas is facing, what he's avoiding, what makes him ashamed to shout to the world all that he is. I wish it weren't so. I wish being the only son of a Meyerhoff was easier for him. We all grew up with certain expectations, Silas more than the rest of us.
The fact that he didn't join the family investment firm was itself a blow to the family, but at least he redeemed himself by getting an education, and by building a company that was, well, into building. His company was successful and growing. 
Silas, however, might be stagnating.
I applauded Jeremy's efforts to get Silas to come out, but Silas worked long and hard all his adult life to reach the level of success he now enjoyed. And for so long as he believed he had a lot to lose, he wasn't ever going to be gay anywhere except in a different city or behind closed doors.

Thursday Morning Coffee (on Friday) - The Canvas of Myself

I suck at remembering to post on Thursdays.
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But in my defense - I finished a short story, 18 Dead, yesterday and sent it off to my crit partner. Now I anxiously await her response. If it's favorable, a new read will be available by the end of the weekend. I really fell in love with this short story. It's about 7,000 words long, and hopefully I've made every one of them count.

And then visited with my 3 year old grandchild (could almost choke on that word) and her mum, whom I haven't seen in at least three months. I let the little one eat too much vanilla frosting though, and so was perhaps responsible for the ensuing temper tantrum. Epitome of the over-indulgent silly grandma who lacks common sense. Doh. Will attempt to reintroduce the word "No" into my grandma vocabulary.

Anyway, here's a sweet little, well, I don't know what it is - a personal essay, I guess. I know the new and "improved" blog promises fiction for Thursday Morning Coffee. Will you accept personal musings, instead? On Friday?

Thanks, darlings!



The canvas of myself
The first was born of pain. Long had we planned to experience this first together, clutching hands and persevering, we two. Instead it was me alone, clutching spite and bitterness to my breast and nothing at all in my hands. For this moment I was the brave one, to counter all the times I held back and was afraid. And she would be the one left with bitterness. I didn't know that all the moments before this one, the moments I thought were perfect and beautiful, were already stained with jealous hate. And while the sweet burn cleansed and soothed my rage, he drew a pansy, when I'd wanted a Johnny-jump-up.
Years of loneliness pass and I emerge, aching to feel the burn, to mark myself with pure joy.  I am a person whole within myself. Art and tolerance and ink pens… overwhelmed with the love of the women who drew me out and then sustained me while I grieved. And so full of myself and my invincibility that of course it had to go badly. The drawing was poor and the execution worse and my symbol of happiness disintegrated into a pus-filled wound rendered unrecognizable by antibiotics, ointments, and vile bleeding color.
Then…
A new person comes into my life.  All my joy rushes forward, too fast, too fast, threatening to overwhelm. "You can't settle for that," he says, and knows where to go. "We'll clutch hearts, it'll be okay." And it was better than okay, it was all I had wanted to express – no longer a broken symbol of bad decisions – but a work of art, the feather pen and inkwell so unexpectedly beautiful it brought tears to my eyes.  This is not only mine, but perfect.
Again…
Impulse, a city I never expected to visit and a moment of dreams come true.  I want to freeze this time in my life, immortalize true love, a treasured child, and trusted friends.  I choose a simple flower, hand drawn and imperfect.  Not a pansy – oh no, never that – this is black and red and stark. Too stark? Maybe. But later I know where to go, and the skin artist does what he does so well and uses the black and red as a foundation, and he adds two shades of green, two shades of pink, and there is depth, a subtle passion, and I have another work of art.
Stop…
Being impulsive, he says. "Give me blank canvas next time and let me do what I do." And there is this girl, and I am so in love with her that I am exploding with happiness. My the canvas of myself feels incomplete, and I visit my friend who knows ink. "This is what I want," I say, and give him stolen images. He takes a ball point pen and draws on my back. I don't think he even looked at the images, because this is not what I imagined. It's bigger. But I am not the artist, so I sit down, shut up, and accept the burn. One tiny symbol I need, otherwise I close my eyes and trust. And it is perfect.
And I will finally admit that I cannot control the ones I love through will alone, nor through kindness, nor through my blessed imagination. And it doesn't matter, because I know the answer is clutching hearts, not hands.

Bloody Monday - The Lost Boys (film, 1987)

My apologies for the lateness of Bloody Monday today - vodka and romance took over last evening, and browsing the grocery store with grandma kept me busy for way too much of the morning.


But now I am here! And I'm taking you all with me on another trip down memory lane, because what vampire-lover doesn't love the Lost Boys?


Michael is hot, David is scary, Star is both beautiful and melancholy. The Frog Brothers are comic-book hysterical.


What's not to love, right?


Oooh, and remember Max, the totally creepy head vampire? I don't know about you guys, but Edward Hermann (the actor who played Max) has creeped me out in every role since. And he had that scary dog, Thornn.




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Michael and Sam's mom - Lucy, is so well-meaning but naive that it makes me cringe - the perfect parent for a teen adventure. All this stuff is going on, and she's like, "Oh, you boys are so silly. I'm going on my date now with the owner of the video store, so please don't Don't interrupt with drama." (That's not a movie quote, just my general impression of the character, btw).


Keifer Sutherland makes one of the scariest vampires, ever, doesn't he? And he has the perfect blend of recklessness and arrogance - come on, Michael, drink the wine. You know you want to...


Typically, I'm rooting for the vampires, right? But Lost Boys really ends up kind of ambiguous - because the Frog brothers are so fearsome and nuts, and Sam's so sweet and terrified, and then Star is soooo torn about the whole vampire thing that you know she needs saving - she's just under David's spell and can't seem to think for herself. And so of course Michael falls under her spell... And you want the family saved, but man, the vampires are cool...


Another pic of Michael, because damn, the man looks fine in shades. Even dorky shades.






Here are the Frog Brothers:




















Star and Laddie


















More pics:






















All right, so here are my kick-off questions: In what odd manner did this particular pack of vampires spend their days? 


What's your favorite scene/concept about The Lost Boys?


And, as if you'd forget - what was Grandpa's quote at the end of the movie, and why was it so funny?


Here's the original movie trailer: (voice-over is either Don LaFontaine, who was from my home town, or comedian Pablo Francisco who does impersonations of Don LaFontaine). Anywhoo. Enjoy!

A Year of Sundays, chapter 6

Chapter 6 - June 5


Part 1 of 1
"What the hell is he doing here?"
Now that most of the boxes were gone, Josie and Jeremy were helping me organize and box the silverware from the china cabinet. We were figuring out which might be real silver, and therefore maybe worth money, and which were stainless. Silas came in and addressed his question to the room in general.
"Well, Silas," Josie said slowly and distinctly, as if talking to a child, "Jeremy and I have this thing we've been doing called college. You may remember I mentioned it was ending for the summer and that I needed to move out of my dorm. Strangely enough, Jeremy had a similar housing problem. I didn't want to stay here alone, but there wasn't much alternative. And since Jeremy's applied to grad school at St. Scholastica, I thought he might as well stay here for the summer."
"God help me," Silas said, with an exaggerated sigh. "Is there no getting away from you?"
"Not really," Jeremy said, with a little smile and slow shake of his head.
"You don't even know him," Silas said to Josie.
"What should I know?" she asked. "We've been texting like crazy since we met. I like him. You like him, too, or you wouldn't have brought him to Sunday."
"Yeah, well, things change. There is something very wrong about my boyfriend living in my dead mother's house."
"Ex-boyfriend," Jeremy said.
"Even worse," Silas groaned. "Go home, to your own mother's house. She loves you."
"You love me. You just won't admit it. And I don't want to be in Rochester. Let me tell you what's in Rochester. Hospitals and clinics, that's what. I'd rather be here."
"There's nothing here, either."
"You're here," Jeremy said, softly.
"You're killing me," Silas answered. "Isn't anybody going to help me? Where is Elizabeth when I need her? Jessie, you would go crazy if I dated Josie's friends, so how is it okay for her to make friends with my dates?"
Josie made a disgusted sound. "Silas, you are impossible. I'm going to get pizza."  She stormed through the kitchen and out the back door.
"It wouldn't be okay if your dates were your own age," I said, and laughed. "Oh come on, Silas, it's perfect. Josie doesn't want to stay here alone. For all the reasons we got on Mom about selling it. But I didn't hear you offering Josie a bed at your place."
"I only have one bed at my place."
"So what? You have a couch, don't you?"
"I thought we talked about her staying with Liz."
"Would you want to stay with Liz while she and Eric are fucking like rabbits trying to make a baby?"
He made a face. "That's not even nice."
"Well, it's the truth."
"Your place then, or Melanie's."
"Melanie doesn't have any room to spare. I'd love to have Josie stay with me, but she doesn't want to live in Superior."
"That's a stupid reason."
"Enough." I said, determined to end his complaining. "It's a much better idea than having the place sit empty. She and Jeremy said they'd put in extra time organizing Mom's stuff, and they'd keep the place really clean for when we're ready to put it on the market. Jeremy couldn't have a better reference – you. We know he's all right."
Silas barked a short, sharp laugh. "I met him in a club," he said in a hard, cold voice. "And he was a great fuck. And that's all I fucking know about fucking Jeremy." 
He stormed out the front door.
Jeremy shrugged, said, "He's so full of shit," and went into the living room to watch Silas from the living room window.
I followed. "I'm sorry he's mean to you," I said. "I can't believe he said that."
"Don't worry about it. He'll come around. Ah, Elizabeth is here. Whoa, he's giving her an earful. Oh, and here comes Melanie. Whatever he's trying to say, Melanie just held up her hand and shook her head." 
The door opened and Melanie came in. "Hi, Melanie," Jeremy said.
"Hello, Jeremy. Nice to see you again. There's something wrong with Silas – he's talking a mile a minute out there, and to Elizabeth, of all people. Anybody want to fill me in?"
"I'm staying here with Josie for the summer. He's pissed as hell," Jeremy said.
"Why? Are you two having problems?"
"Nah, just growing pains. He'll be fine." 
Elizabeth came in, but not Silas. "Isn't he coming back?" I asked her.
"I don't know. He's whining like a drama queen about Jeremy and Josie being friends. Oh, what are you doing, Jess?"
I realized I was still holding a handful of flatware "Sorting the silver. Now that we've removed the boxes of china, I figured I'd try to sort out what might be valuable."
"That's a good idea. Where's Jo-Jo?"
"Getting pizza. Or just getting away from Silas."
Silas came in and flopped on the couch, sullen and silent.
"What is wrong with you?" I asked.
"Nothing."
Jeremy approached Silas and touched his head, brushing the hair away from his face. "He's fallen hopelessly in love with me, and it terrifies him," he said, then set himself on Silas's lap.
Silas pushed him to the floor, none too gently. "Shows what you know."
Jeremy smiled and wrapped his fingers around Silas's ankle. "He's not very good at dealing with personal problems."
Silas jerked his leg away and sat straight up on the couch. "Oh really? Is that what you think? Jessie, tell Jeremy how Silas deals with zoning problems."
I sighed. When I worked for Silas, I discovered he's an unbearable perfectionist. "He puts on his very best Armani suit and makes copies of his building permits, and speaks very persuasively to the city council."
Silas nodded, then said, "And tell Jeremy how Silas deals with a customer who wants the impossible."
I grinned, remembering. "He puts on his best Armani suit and talks very reasonably to the client, and eventually says 'do it my way, or find another builder.'"
"Melanie," Silas said, "tell Jeremy how Silas deals with ex-boyfriends who won't leave you alone."
Melanie was game to join in. "He puts on his Armani suit, puts his license to practice law in his briefcase, and makes a house call. And I expect he speaks very persuasively and very reasonably, although I haven't been privy to that part. And there might have been something about broken legs and never working again added in there, for good measure."
"I'm back," Josie called from the kitchen. "With pizza and beer. Come and get it."
Nobody moved. "In a minute, Jo-Jo," I called to her, and asked the others, "How does she buy beer?"  But apparently no one cared how twenty-year-old Josie buys beer, because no one answered.
Silas called, "Josie, come in here and tell Jeremy how Silas deals with problems." Nice. He would get everyone involved, one way or another.
She came into the living room and looked at us quizzically, "What kind of problems? Like when Dad wouldn't let me date? Or like when that stupid asshole was stalking me last year?"
"Any of them. All of them," Silas demanded.
"Direct and to the point, and without any bullshit."
"There," Silas said. "Now you know how I deal with problems."
Jeremy looked at Silas. And he smiled.
"What are you smiling about?" Silas grouched.
"I'm sorry," Jeremy said, looking around at us. "Do you even know him at all? Business problems, fine, I believe you. Being protective? Yeah, I know exactly how Silas can be protective over the people he loves, and how he can cut the bullshit to help you out. But let me tell you how Silas deals with personal problems.  
"He gets moody, and sullen, and crabby. He avoids as much as possible. He drinks too much and talks too little, but when he does talk, the nasty bullshit he spews burns your ears. And when he can't stand it a minute longer, he acts out. He yells, he punches walls, he breaks things, and only then does he finally spit out what the real problem is."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Silas said, but that was all. I thought it was interesting that he didn't deny a thing.
"And you know this after a couple of months?" Elizabeth asked.
"A couple of months?" Jeremy said, surprised. "I've known him for over a year. I've had plenty of opportunity to recognize the pattern."
"So, Psychologist Jeremy," Silas said. "What's my real problem?"
"You can't stay away from me."
"More like I can't get rid of you. When are you going to go away?"
"You know how a parent knows what's best for their children, and therefore ignores a lot of whining and tantrums? Well, I'm ignoring you. When you finally decide to grow up, we'll talk."
"It's like that, is it?"
"Just like that."
Silas scrubbed his face with his hands. And then he laughed.   Jeremy had been sitting on the floor this whole time, and now he got up and settled himself on Silas's lap again. Silas not only let him stay, but looped his arms loosely around Jeremy's body and nuzzled his nose into the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Ahem."  Elizabeth said. "I believe there's pizza in the kitchen."
"Before we eat, let's settle this thing about where Josie will live," I said. "Look what I found." I held up the black velvet bag and shook it so they could hear the clanking of the name discs. "It was in the drawer of the china cabinet."
My siblings shook their heads in wonder.   "So who is Josie going to live with for the summer?" I asked, reaching into the bag. Four coins felt exactly the same. One felt different. I pulled it out, looked at it, and held it up, smiling. "Josie."
"I get to live with myself?" she said. "Well, I was going to do that anyway."
"Exactly," I said. "Now let's eat."
As I walked past Silas and Jeremy on the couch, I heard Silas murmur, "Don't think this changes anything."
Deep breath in, cinnamon and vanilla, and it makes Silas's stomach clench and shiver, and it's like a drug, lifting his mood, making him high. Damn. Damn. Damn. Why does his hair smell like that and why does it hurt so beautifully bittersweet? I'll ruin him. Or he'll ruin me. We'll damage each other, in time, and for what? This moment of holding him in my arms and breathing in his scent?