Chrystal Vaughan's Blog, page 7

Let's Start at the Begininning

It occurs to me, after reading my last entry, that I posted Chapter Two of the "Thirty Jesuses: and Other Bedlam Stories" book. Chapter Two doesn't really explain the title of the book, and makes reference to a previous character from Chapter One, Vinnie (Vincent). Perhaps you're interested in Chapter One? If so, here it is! (again, language warning)


Chapter One
Every year around Christmas time, the Jesuses would begin to arrive. On Ward E (what we called the Asshole to Hell) at New Mexico State Mental Institution, we'd have about thirty Jesuses by Christmas Eve. I worked there at NMSMI for 27 years as a registered nurse and let me tell you I saw and heard some crazy shit. That's not a word I use lightly.

I was the batty nurse, the patients would call me Crazy Colleen. I always told my staff that the only thing separating them from the patients were their key rings. I was the only nurse who lasted any length of time on E Ward; most of them were afraid of the patients they were charged to care for. I found a sort of beauty in their madnesses, the way they lived in their own worlds and made it work or not work, according to their own designs. Don't get me wrong. They suffered, oh how they suffered. Every one of them was locked away in prisons of the own minds, their rebellions as pathetic as they were lovely in their grand illusions, tragic and flawed. I did what I could to make their lives easier.
The District is what we called the higher ups in hospital administration. At that time, for example, young women could be lobotomized for sneaking out at night, if their parents wished it so, and the District would authorize the surgery. They'd have the poor unfortunate wretch transferred, scared and shaking, to one of the other wards. A doctor would show up with his ice picks and mallets, and a few moments later, Ward E would have a new patient. We were not huge fans of the district on Ward E, let me tell you. The District would hand down notice, often merely hours in advance, that they would be touring the facility with some bleeding heart types. These were the cash cows, the ones whose rich donations salved their consciences for several months before guilt crept back in. They would tour the facility, clucking their tongues, thinking how fortunate they were that such craziness had not touched their lives, yet quick to come up with stories of a mad aunt or uncle way back in the genealogy. To make the patients feel that they had something in common, you see.
I was often in trouble with the swells, because I treated the patients as if they were humans rather than animals, people who needed help rather than inmates. The District didn't dare get rid of me though; E Ward was where they sent the worst of the worst and I was the only one who could handle them and the staff. Plus, I was stubborn, you see. I liked to stick it out.
Disruptions, like the bleeding heart tours, often upset some of the patients and they'd have to be buckled down to beds in the restraint rooms. The District people and their lackeys would despair the poor things, lashed down and foaming with their madnesses, and beseech me to let them free. My response that their presence was to inform them that they were the reason these people were locked down in the first place was met with stony silences and the cold shoulder. I didn't care. I didn't want these people here upsetting my patients and I made no bones about it.
So, back to the Jesuses. As soon as December began, and the snow flakes would swirl on the wind to be swept away by the cold winter desert, I would begin to prepare for the arrival of numerous messiahs.  They would emerge from sandstorms with the lower half of their faces covered, long wild hair and beards matted with debris. They would come stamping and rubbing their arms, cluttering up my receiving area and tracking mud and god knows what else in with them. Without fail, they would each claim, in some form or another that they were Jesus, son of God, and they required asylum from the Philistines who persecuted them. Some of them were very good, quoting Bible verses that supposedly hadn't been written in Jesus' time yet but well versed in the good book anyway.
The day after Christmas, I would gather these Jesuses together in the common room and line them up along the back wall. Then I would drag a couple of my more damaged patients into the room, and demand a healing. The reactions to my prayer were invariably humorous.
"MaryMotherFullofGrace,Hallowedbythyname,thyKingdomcomethywillbedoneAMEN!" one particularly scruffy specimen intoned in a voice that was surprisingly deep and resonant. Other Jesuses followed suit, invoking the Holy Spirit and the Father and the Son-forgetting for the moment that they were supposed to be the Son.
Several Jesuses just grinned sheepishly at me, and slunk away to gather their things. We called these the modern day hoboes. These guys would travel the country, bouncing from institution to institution with a well-worn patter of crazy to see them through. In the winter months, they headed for warm climates like Texas and the South. In summer months, they sought balmy weather like Wyoming and Montana, where the food was good and the people were sparse. But for some reason, rain, sun, snow, or shine, a large population of hobo Jesuses would come to me, knowing I wouldn't kick them out in the cold. They could count on three hots and a cot, and company during lonely holidays. And always, there would be entertainment.
On this day, when the false Jesuses were weeded out and the hobo Jesuses had departed, I turned to my regular patients and thanked them for their help in getting rid of the imposters. See, the truly mentally ill don't like people who play games at being mentally ill. It's like an insult or something. I divided the group into two sections, and placed half of them on the left of the common room, and half on the right. With the help of Vincent, a very large black man with schizophrenia and a penchant for crushing skulls, and Margie, a hefty lady and former nurse with a shock of bright carrot colored hair and bi-polar disorder which caused her to drown her infant patients, we took all the chairs and turned them over so that their legs stuck up in the air and formed a long double line down the center of the room. Positioning my troops on either side of these makeshift barracks, I handed out several bags of marshmallows down the ranks and ordered my soldiers to arm themselves.
Grinning like fools, even the most disturbed and dangerous patients grabbed handfuls of the fluffy white treats. Several troops ate their ammunition but that was ok. Fun was what I was after, to lighten the mood after the false messiahs had turned the day sour.
"ON MY COUNT!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, a little unhinged myself. "ONE...TWO...THREE! FIRE!!!!!!"
They let loose with a volley of marshmallows back and forth across the upturned chairs. Drifts of sugary confections gathered in the legs and crannies of the chairs, and several patients got down on their bellies, crawling commando-style across the floor, to retrieve these fallen treats only to pop back up with several in their mouths and several more to fling at the "enemy" on the other side. Curtis Eldridge, a young man who was there for killing his parents after they'd kept him tied to his bed until the day they forgot, was singing jingles to commercials at the top of his lungs in a surprisingly wonderful alto voice. Vinny and Marge were feeding each other marshmallows and then spitting them back at each other, using their hands to clap distended cheeks and force the sugary projectiles out at top speed.
I watched with a sense of satisfaction. These damaged people, who came to me broken and unable in many cases to communicate with any "normal" people always seemed to do best when under my care. I loved them all, the crazy bastards, and many years after they came, stayed or went, and even died under my watch, I can still hear them laughing and singing and waltzing around the room, slipping on marshmallows and crawling on the floor like children, without a care in the world or a Jesus in sight.

Lots of Irons in the Fire

I have been writing, writing, writing! My cover illustrator wants to strangle me, I'm sure. My editor is constantly pushing for more chapters, which is good because it keeps me on track. And my proofreader is a new addition to the team but SO helpful!

Currently, here is the list of projects I'm working on:

Book #2 in the Sideshow series, which will be called Straw Houses. Due for publishing by next fall; currently on Chapter 7.

Misunderstood Monsters, a tale about a clever girl who unravels the mystery of her father's death, appropriate for ages 8 and up. My youngest daughter is so distraught that my books are too graphic for her to read that I decided to start writing something she could read and it is a lot of fun!

Dead in the Water, a YA novel about love, romance, and the ghost of a dead boy. That is due for publication in January, 2014. I need to hurry on that one! I have a little ways to go, as it's only 20,000 words right now.

The Thirty Jesuses (and Other Bedlam Stories), a novel about a mental asylum as told from the point of view of a nurse who worked in one for over 25 years. These stories are based on some that a couple of friends have told me that worked in the mental health field. Some of the stories are very sad, and others are frightening. All of these stories have been changed from the originals, and of course none of the names or locations are remotely close to the names of the patients (which I do not know) or the nurses who worked in these places (all of that is changed). What remains is some of the humorous, poignant, and frightening experiences they endured as they performed these often thankless jobs and I hope I'm doing them credit, while capturing their voices accurately.

Here is an excerpt from The Thirty Jesuses (warning! There is some bad language in this excerpt!):


Chapter Two
“Frisky" was one of my first patients on Ward E, way back in the 1960s. Frisky was considered at that time to be “shell shocked” from the war. His real name was Christopher Hall, a young boy from the farm who returned home after his draft time was up in the military. Only his body returned from the battlefront; his mind remained there in the jungle. While he appeared perfectly normal, with regular features and no distinguishing characteristics, he had himself a good case of the PTSD. Most nights, if he wasn't medicated quite heavily, he'd wake up screaming and then the whole ward would be up clamoring with fear and excitement.
He spent the rest of his time on earth with us on the Ward, looking for his, “black box." No one, including his family and friends, knew what the black box was, and no one ever learned what was in that box. Christopher was such a happy young man most of the time, always smiling. Gentle and kind until evening time... he then became Frisky the demon. His sweet nature went out the door and that beautiful smile turned into the most horrid ugly grin like he could cut you up and eat you if you didn’t turn over that damn black box that you stole from him. The only way I could deal with Frisky was to make sure he got his pills every three hours. Otherwise I'd close a door and find him behind it, grinning at me with that devil look. Most patients didn't bug me much, but Frisky was hard to take. Now, most nurses stayed in the office unless there was a problem or if they needed sedate someone. They'd stay in there until their shift was over, all day, and the only human contact these patients would have was that of other patients and perhaps the occasional doctor. Well, and me. The other nurses were terrified of most of the patients, and with good cause I have to say. Many of them were violent offenders of the worst kind, but all of them were there for another, deeper reason too. Frisky had only killed in Vietnam but it had sure messed him up good. Most nurses threatened him with the old room if he didn't quit scaring them, popping up in the medicine window regularly and flashing that wicked grin at them, whispering, "Where's my back box, bitch?"
Ward E of the New Mexico State Mental Institution was set up in a way that ensured the nurse's safety so they didn't have a whole lot to worry about if they stayed in the cramped office. See how it worked was like this: patients entered through a double blind entry, where on hallway led to a different hallway and both were blocked off by heavy doors that could only be opened with a key. Once you got past the second door, you went around another hallway into the general population. Each doorway had bullet proof glass and a little teeny sliding speakeasy door underneath the window. So the nurse's station was situated in such a way that a nurse could talk to the incoming or the ones already in there just by going from one side of the room to the other. That way the nurses could talk to either the patient in between the two doorways, waiting to be let into general population, or she could talk to the patients in the general population through the other door. Most nurses did just that, and rarely came in contact with any of the patients. Should a patient require restraint, the nurses would call for orderlies to come help, usually four on duty at any given shift. Only then would the nurses dart in with their ampules of medicine or tranquilizers so that the orderlies could take them to one of the four new restraint rooms that were built right off of that last hallway. This way the nurses only had to go through one door and very little of the general population area to check on these poor unfortunate bastards strapped down to beds or tied to the walls.
But the really scary part of Ward E was the old ward. It was before the double blind entry in a section of the building that was now blocked off. But I had to go through there on my tour of the building when I was hired. I can tell you that those rooms were made of rocks, just rock walls, and there were long rusty chains hanging at various intervals along the wall. A low bench ran the length of these rooms, bolted to the ground and not all of the rust colored stains on the concrete floor were from the chains. Walking through those rooms made every cell in my body freeze until it felt like I had battery acid flowing through my veins. I felt as though I would never be warm again.  It was like the screams of all those poor souls who had been tortured there were trapped in those rooms, left like the images that remain on your eyelids after a strobe light, bouncing off those bloodstained rock walls for all eternity and now bouncing off of my skin only to bounce back again, and again, and again.
Ol' Randy Jenkins had given me the tour personally, down from Salem like a hero on a white stallion or some such nonsense.
"Some of the nurses like to show these rooms to the new patients, you see, so that later if they become unruly, you can use them as a threat when taking away privileges no longer works. It's quite effective; as you can see, these rooms are somewhat unsettling. Patients who spend an hour in here are often quite tractable for long periods of time," he told me in his best smarmy know-it-all voice. Like he was here enough to know what went on. I could tell I wasn't going to like him from that moment on.
I vowed to myself that I would never threaten to put a patient in those horrible rooms. It wouldn't be long before I broke that promise.
Frisky had been pretty quiet up until the moment he decided he was going to hold Margaret Collins, another patient at NMSMI, hostage in return for his damnable black box. I went out on the Ward one evening, about three weeks into my employment and as soon as my feet hit the general population floor, Frisky grabbed Margaret up from the chair she'd been sitting and watching "I Love Lucy" in and held a plastic fork to her throat, screaming, "I WANT MY BLACK FUCKING BOX YOU BITCH!!! GIVE IT TO ME RIGHT NOW OR I'M GONNA KILL THIS CUNT!"
His face was literally red with rage, suffused with blood as the veins in his temple throbbed in time to his heartbeat. Margaret, to her credit, just sat there limply as if she'd done this a million times. She looked kinda bored actually, like she might start doing her nails any moment. Margaret was rumored to be a mob boss's moll, put here to shut her up. I half believed her in that moment.
"Now Frisky," I said, "nobody here has your black box. You need to let Margaret go, so you and I can go look for it, ok?"

I was planning to help him look for it with good old Mr. Shot of Valium in his Bum as soon as he let Margaret go. But he wasn't having none of it.
"I'LL PUT THIS FORK THROUGH HER FUCKING THROAT I SWEAR TO GOD!" His head dropped down to her shoulder, his eyes rolled around wildly in their sockets, and out came that horrible grin, the one that chilled me to my marrow.
Vinnie, thinking he was helping, called out from somewhere behind me, "I got your black box right here honey!" I hollered at him to shut up.
I knew that Frisky was real superstitious. He always made me look under the bed before lights out to make sure no "gooks" were hiding under there. I would use a broom and sweep under the bed, making sure nothing could cling to the mattress and reach up to get him when the lights were off. And I knew that he felt the ghosts of all those people he'd killed in Vietnam, because you could hear him screaming about them in his sleep. Many of our patients screamed or cried out in their sleep. It's like their demons were louder when they were unconscious.
So I broke my own first rule with Frisky that day, and I said, "Frisky, if you don't let Margaret go, I'm going to let Tom and the other orderlies drag you into the old restraint room, chain you up, and leave you in there all night long. You want me to do that?"
It might not have been ethical but it worked like a charm. Frisky dropped the plastic fork with alacrity and dropped Margaret like a sack of potatoes. She picked herself up and went back to her seat. The old bird even had the presence of mind to grab the clicker and turn that sucker up a notch.
It didn't really end well for poor Frisky. He did end up in a restraint room, though one of the new ones and not the old haunted one. He was pretty drugged up from that point on and I never had anymore trouble with him. I wish I could say that I never used that old restraint room as a threat again too but, well, I'm trying to tell my story along with theirs and won't do any good to start telling lies now.

I Have Awesome Friends

My college friend Laura sent me an awesome package! I just love her! Check this out:



 
She knows me so well. Thanks Laura! HUGS!!!

String Theory: Strong Fiber

The first yarn I ever spun on my wheel was alpaca fiber. It was lumpy, bumpy, uneven, and kind of awful to my critical eye. I couldn't imagine it would ever be useful for anything.

But now I realize how much I appreciate all I learned spinning that yarn and how pretty it really is. Its various textures and uneven thicknesses make a unique and lovely fabric in the end.

It's only fitting I used it to knit another first: a pair of mittens for Madyson. I decided to use a few helpful ideas from others, and then tried adding my own knowledge, and relied on a bit of luck too. I think they turned out pretty great, but then they were made with what turned out to be pretty great yarn.

Strong fiber is often deceiving in appearance, don't you think?

Strong Fiber

The first yarn I ever spun on my wheel was alpaca fiber. It was lumpy, bumpy, uneven, and kind of awful to my critical eye. I couldn't imagine it wod ever be useful for anything.

But now I realize how much I appreciate all I learned spinning that yarn and how pretty it really is. It's various textures and uneven thicknesses make a unique and lovely fabric.

It's only fitting I used it to knit another first: a pair of mittens for Madyson. I decided to use a few helpful ideas from others, and then adding my own knowledge, and a bit of luck. I think they turned out pretty great, but then they were made with what turned out to be pretty great yarn.

Strong fiber is often deceiving in appearance, don't you think?

Not As Advertised, But Still Neat

The yarn I told Vanessa to pick for her entrelac scarf does not have the exact long strand dye method needed to make perfect blocks of color, like the scarf in the photograph on the pattern. I researched prior to starting and learned Noro or Lion Brand Amazing were the best yarns for that desired effect. Perhaps Mauna Loa is the exception to the long strand dye technique?
Nonetheless, it does look, well, amazing:
Here it is as worked so far, a little crumpled looking because it hasn't been blocked and steamed yet. That's the very last step when all the knitting is finished.

Here I've got it lightly dry blocked so you can see the variegation better.
These pictures don't do it justice; the yarn is lovely.
Also, today my book sales went up some. Yay! I'm inviting everyone who  has read it to leave a short review on Anazon and/or Goodreads; if they have read the book, they'll notice my email address is in the author notes. If they review it and email me their address, I'll send a limited edition Sideshow bookmark. Only 20 available so get to reading!

Entre-Interesting

I've finally started the entrelac scarf for my sister-in-law, Vanessa. I am hoping it will be a great welcome home gift when she and her husband and new baby return to the States from Okinawa. 
Here is the completed base triangles and tier one of this very complex pattern:

So far there is not a lot of variegation to the Mauna Loa yarn but I can see that this will be quite lovely when completed and blocked. More updates to come as I head off for tier two. Again, I could not do this if not for the excellent video tutorial at Very Pink a knits on YouTube. See my previous entrelac post for the links!
In other news, on Friday I will be washing wool with my friend Ginger to prepare it for the carding process. I'll take photos of the entire process and post here, from sheep to yarn. 
And...my first novel Sideshow is currently in its fourth revision edition. I think we worked out all the issues from transferring electronic files to print . I ended up with several proof copies as a result. Congratulations to Sara Daniels and Kevin Kirk for winning the two spare copies. But don't worry ! If you missed it on Facebook, there's a giveaway on Goodreads through mid-November.
So tell me: made any crafts lately? What's on your "to-read" shelf? 

The Greatest Show On Earth!

Chills, thrills, and kills available in the Goodreads Giveaway! Step right up folks for your chance to win! Tell your friends!

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18634731-sideshow


That's also going to be my new ad:
Step right up folks! Chills, thrills, and kills! The SCARIEST most THRILLING show on earth!

I would welcome feedback about the ad. What do you think? Does it grab your attention?

I Like Where This Is Going

Today was a writing day; a lot of writing, all day long. I noticed on my proof copy that they dropped a word in a sentence, and they didn't put the page numbers on the proof copy either. Something to do with transferring the eBook into print format, and possibly an error on my part. In any case, the book was pulled temporarily for fixes and will be back up tomorrow. AND.....here it is!

 Please ignore the horrid floor; you'll recall in a post from long ago that we had to completely gut this house and, well, we haven't quite gotten around to the floors yet. But Emily's cover looks so good in print. It's so glossy! We spent some time collaborating on the next book's cover, as I was able to outline all of my chapters and write the first chapter today. That gives me a pretty good idea where it's going, although the characters sometimes make up their own minds partway through the story. I'm sure the cover we have come up with will work no matter what they do!

In other news, I have decided to install a new weekly rule in Vaughan Maison, and I am calling it simply The Reading Hour (like the Witching Hour, but not). For one hour, every Saturday, we will turn off computers, iPhones, iPods, Nooks, televisions, Xbox's, and any other electronic device. And we will gather in the living room with blankets, pillows, and warm beverages as needed, where we will all read silently for the entire hour. At the end of the hour, we can discuss our various stories, if we would like.

I'll be posting updates about The Reading Hour here, and listing the books we've read. This week's chosen books are:
Caleb: Sideshow, by Chrystal Vaughan
Chrystal: 20th Century Ghosts, by Joe Hill
Emily: The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien
Madyson: Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh, by Robert C. O'Brien

And last but not least! There is a giveaway of my book on Goodreads. Just click here to enter! Good luck!

The Show Must Go On

It's true; I've been hard at work writing the second book in the Sideshow series. As soon as the first book was officially published, I was able to get started on the second one. And it's started off with a bang let me tell you! My characters are speaking loud and clear.

Tomorrow I'm giving a knitting lesson to my friend Ginger, who needs some advanced technique advice. Later this weekend I'm going to start the entrelac scarf for Vanessa. Here's a picture from Pinterest of what it will (hopefully) look like:


And actually, her scarf will look a little different because she chose a different colorway for her yarn. I asked her to select from any of the Amazing Yarns by Lion Brand, and here is the one she picked:

 Here is the colorway:
 So hers will look a bit different but with the same diamond pattern. I have never done entrelac knitting before, but I trust in my pattern and the magic of YouTube. For any knitter who does not know about this yet, I urge you to subscribe to Very Pink Knits. The instructor is very good and the videos are clear. Here is a link to the YouTube Channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/verypinkknits?feature=g-subs-u

Specifically, here is a link to the entrelac scarf tutorial (link for the pattern is in the description):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4GGXzurphk&list=TLO7EQ3o7-s4khgxVAt0hwx1AVIAQJ3PZa

And finally, her blog and website are at verypink.com. I strongly recommend her tutorials and patterns, as I have taught myself a lot of techniques from watching her. Another really great YouTube tutorial series is from Liat Giat. Just do a search for her.

I will post some updates of my progress as I go; I suspect the knitting will be slow right now since the book is on fire (giggle: one of the main characters has pyrokinesis). Until then...what's new with you? Anyone read any good books lately? ;)