Ghost Stories

I don’t like telling people I believe in ghosts for a couple of reasons. Firstly, belief implies faith, which implies a lack of proof – and I’ve seen and experienced enough proof to last several lifetimes. Secondly, the term “ghost” is so vague as to be nearly meaningless. One person thinks it means one thing, another person thinks it means something else, so when you say you believe in ghosts, you really have no idea what you’re telling the listener (or reader). What I will tell you is that I have experienced phenomena that often fall under the heading of ghost. I do not “believe” in them any more than I believe in grass, or cars or trees. They are simply facts of life. You don’t waste energy believing in the existance of grass, do you? So why would I waste my energy believing in ghosts (or whatever-they-ares)?

My mother, on the other hand, she believed in ghosts. My mother was a “ghost repellent.” She deeply regretted it, too. She believed me when I said that I saw and experienced things, but never saw them herself. For example, once when an actual “haunting episode” (for lack of a better term) was in progress in my current home, I went to her house (she lived right next door), brought her over to my house to show it to her, and while she was there, it disappeared. As soon as she left, it resumed at full force. She always wished she could see and experience what I was seeing, but she never could. Even I couldn’t see the ghosts when she was around. But she wasn’t an angry disbeliever. She wanted to see. Never did.

Many, I’d even go so far as to say most, of the things that get called “ghosts” are simply what I refer to as tape recordings. As many people have pointed out, we are all made of energy. It does not disappear, you cannot destroy it, so where does it go when we die? I has to go somewhere. When a traumatic event happens in a location, that energy can often imprint like a tape recording on the environment which then plays back occasionally. Those are no more sentient than characters on a DVD. They can manifest as hot or cold spots, a scent of perfume or decay, a feeling of dread, or a visual or auditory playback of the event. The whole “lost soul” kind of ghosts that you see in movies are actually incredibly rare. But there are a lot of different causes for a range of phenomena that all get lumped in to the category of “ghost.” The word is so nebulous (like a ghost, you might even say), sometimes I just gloss it over by telling people I don’t believe in ghosts, not because they don’t exist, but because the term is too vague.

I’ve seen, touched, spoken to, been spoken to by, fed, banished, smelled, been terrified by, been comforted by, and laughed with different “ghosts” over the years. Some of them were malignant, some neutral, some good. Some sentient, most not.

The house I live in now is “haunted” by at least two entities, one of which is a cat I call “Spook” who just hangs around and does normal cat stuff and is completely unaware of me or my living, corporeal cats. Both I and several of my cats have seen him, though. He’s quite harmless. The other “whatever-it-is” in my house is malignant, but usually dormant. I’ve seen some nasty flare-ups on occasion such as burning smells, objects moving when no one touched them, choking one of my friends, and a hot rather than a cold spot. I don’t believe that it was ever human, so I don’t like using the term “ghost,” but it gets lumped into that category by the careless. I believe it was invited in by a previous tenant.

And yet I have to say that I consider myself a skeptic. If I hear a story of a haunting, I tend to want evidence rather than anecdotes – mostly because I have seen evidence in the past, and therefore know that it IS out there to be seen, and therefore I expect it. I’m willing to see it, mind you, I’m very open-minded about that. But I do rather want something a little bit better than someone’s word. I don’t expect you to believe my stories simply on my word. Why would you? Just because I am telling the truth doesn’t make my word proof. After all, I could have been delusional when I experienced all those things. I don’t think I was, but then, it’s all subjective, right? One man’s ghost is another man’s hallucination. You can only judge based on your own empirical evidence, as can I. In my experience, “ghosts” exist. Your results may vary. And that’s fine.

Merlin?

Baby Cat might have a name. Might. Merlin is a nice name. It might fit him. I’m trying it out on him to see if it fits for more than a few hours.

Well sis and I drove up to Helena yesterday. We hit snow on Elk Park going up, but only rain the rest of the way. I bought a few treasures secondhand store shopping, and we found her testing center.

One of the things I picked up was a book, ironically, on de-cluttering. I’ve read it through twice now, and there are some very useful suggestions and tips and so forth. I’ve already boxed up some things from my living room and am quite proud of myself, though of course sis is not. “It’s a small box,” she points out. “It’s a start,” I retaliate. The box in question is the one my sewing machine came in. It may not be a packing crate for a stove, but I wouldn’t call it a small box. Mid-sized, I’d say. She won’t be happy until my house looks Japanese, I think. Which is never gonna happen, so farg that. Baby steps, take it slow, Rome wasn’t de-cluttered in a day, don’t push yourself, these phrases have no meaning to her. Gut it all and don’t look back is her philosophy, and it’s useless.

Today is her birthday. I got up early and went out and bought her a cupcake (tomorrow being Friday, we’ll have a party with cake and ice cream then) before she got up, and put a candle in it. She didn’t come downstairs until noon, and didn’t eat the cupcake. She keeps asking me if I have a stapler. I’m going to buy her a stapler today for her birthday. Lol. Then, I was thinking in addition to the gag gift, I’d donate some money (or a shopping spree) to the local food bank in her name. Because since she’s traveling, she doesn’t want to accumulate much stuff.

But I’m excited about this de-cluttering thing. The book I found is called “Clutter’s Last Stand” and came out in like 1984. So some of the info is antiquated, like the entire section on what to do with your photos. “Scan them into your computer” is not mentioned, because people pretty much didn’t have the quality of computer to be storing photos, or the scanners in their homes to be doing mass photo storage on their home computers…. definitely an older book. But junk is junk, and getting rid of junk hasn’t changed all that much in the last 30-odd years, so hey – useful information anyway. Like I said, I’ve already read through it twice. The second time I went through it with a pencil and made notes, highlighted important parts, filled in the little questionaires that target your trouble spots, etc. Then I got a box and started DOing. It was exhilirating. I plan to do more, it’s awesome.

And it’s similar to blogging, in its own way. Blogging is like getting the cluttered thoughts out of my head and down on “paper” (or screen, if you prefer) where they don’t bother me in the middle of the night. Even innocuous and inconsequential thoughts, they still make a mess and a clutter in the old brain-pan.

Merlin. It’s a good cat name. We’ll see if it sticks, or if it’s just more clutter.

Road trip… postponed

Was supposed to take a road trip up to Helena today – in a few minutes, actually. We can either go later today, or tomorrow instead, because I have a doctor’s appointment at two o’clock. Aah, my sister has agreed we shall go at three o’clock. This is acceptable. We shall leave at three (well, soon after three) and be up there by four-ish. We can find the location of her testing center (the official reason we’re going there), maybe hit a secondhand store before five if sis is not too grumpy, then back on the road home by, oh, six or seven. Should work out just fine. No time for visiting, though. Sorry, Harmony.

I hope it’s still raining when I get back from my doc’s appt. I love driving in the rain. Just a few minutes ago we got a HUGE lighting strike not far from here, the thunderclap rattled my big picture window most forcefully. Very impressive.

I’m skipping the Kiwanis luncheon today… either that or I must go right this minute, and I’m not dressed yet. Also, I’m blogging. So ppphhhbbbbbttttt to that idea. Besides, I just had breakfast, I’m not hungry.

Kitten is blending in well with all the other cats. I spent last night sleeping in my recliner in the living room so that I could let the kitten spend the night downstairs too. Didn’t want to leave him down here with the big cats all alone, of course, but wanted to try him out overnight with them. Sleeping in my recliner is no big deal for me, I do that half the time anyway. My bed upstairs is the kind that adjusts into a sitting position – I sleep sitting up no matter where I sleep. I cannot sleep on a flat bed, I have a bad back. So the kitten spent the night on my chest. Henry came and laid down on my lap a few times during the night, hissed at the kitten once or twice, but only took a whack at him once. It’s the first sign of any violence from any of the cats, actually. They’ve all been remarkably well-behaved around Baby.

Of course, I woke up with a big wet spot on my belly. I think the kitten didn’t want to leave me long enough to visit the litter box, although I set one up for him last night and showed him where it was, and even left the light on in that room so he could find it more easily. Got peed on anyway. Oh well, that’s what having babies is like. No harm done, it’s just pee. Got up, changed my nightshirt, went back to bed. This is not my first kitten.

Last evening Jack and the kitten were on my lap and Jack actually reached out and started grooming him. So I mean everything’s gonna be okay in the long run. Henry may still be a bit fussy, but if Jack can accept the New Kid, it’ll all work out fine. Now he just needs a name, the little bugger. I can’t keep calling him “Nuisance” all the time.

I lost the Mid-Week Blues Buster. I have to admit, I’m actually kinda shocked. The winning piece was kinda blah in my opinion. I know my ego’s all wrapped up in it and all, but still – wtf? THAT won over mine? I’m signed up to be the judge of this week’s contest, so I won’t be writing one this time. Maybe I should, just for the practice – no, scratch that. If I write one, I’ll be comparing all the entries to my own, and that’s no way to be a judge. No writing for the MWBB this week. I can certainly write for something else though. Must come up with something to write. Ugh. I hate writing. This here, this writing this blog thing here, is a chore. I do not write for fun. But then, that’s why I’m blogging. To get me back in practice. Don’t wanna: gotsta.

Baby…

I have a new kitten. He’s beyond adorable, though he doesn’t have a name yet. It’s why I’ve missed blogging here yesterday. Not a lot of time spent away from him, actually. His mother died, I’m told, as well as one of his littermates, and although I’m assured he is nine weeks old, he’s very small, and nuzzles and snuggles my shirt looking for a nipple. He’s not going to find mine, but that doesn’t stop him from searching. My shirt is not currently lactating, and it breaks my heart for the poor little guy “still looking for mommy” when as far as I know, even if he hadn’t been adopted, he still wouldn’t have her.

I am also told that one of his parents is a Munchkin cat. For those of you who don’t know, Munchkins are a spontaneous mutation breed (not designed by humans) of short-legged cats who are normal in every other respect. Kinda like a corgi or daschund of cats. So far, he looks pretty normal, I suppose the theory is that the cat will grow and his legs won’t. Of course, there are three varieties of Munchkin: regular, short-legged, and “rug-huggers.” The rug-huggers are the famous ones, but not everyone can be a star. We shall see what happens as he grows up.

My new baby being 'bunctious

My new baby being his ‘bunctious, blue-eyed, beautiful self.

Right now he’s a perfectly normal-looking kitten, utterly adorable and pestiferous in every way. White with grey Siamese markings and blue eyes, hopefully the blue eyes will stay, coz they’re beautiful, but he is young. Time will tell.

He needs a name. Right now I’ve been alternating between “Baby,” “Nuisance,” and “Bunctious” (short for Rambunctious, of course), depending on the mood and how cute he’s being at the moment…

Yes, I’m waxing on and on about my cat. But I’m a new mommy, what do you expect? But the important thing about this blog is that I’m actually writing in it, not necessarily what I’m writing, just that I’m writing. To get me back in the habit, you know.

My sister just now said that she thinks I should name him Simon. I don’t think she knew that my favourite rock star is named Simon… naming my cat after my favourite rock star would make me look like a rather pathetic fangirl, I think. Which is not to say that I’ve ruled the possibility out, just making an observation. I’ve been a very devoted Duran Duran fan since I was about thirteen, and their lead singer is named Simon leBon. His birthday’s coming up in a few days, must remember to do up a cake for him…. (what? I told you I was a pathetic fangirl, didn’t I?)

My sister’s birthday is coming up in a few days, too. Just before Simon’s in fact. Gotta git her a cake, too. I should ask her what kind of cake she likes. You know, if she’s a chocolate or white cake kinda person. Myself, I love chocolate, but hate chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream. I like actual pieces of milk-  or white- chocolate, but not chocolate-flavoured things. It’s a quirk. I’m nothing if not quirky. But if sis wants a chocolate cake, that’s fine, because then that means I get to buy myself a little tiramisu cake to have quiety on the side.

See how I am? I’m just exactly like that.

~Edit~ She said chocolate. Tiramisu, here I come! Mmmmmmmm…. *grin*

Trad vs Indie Publishing…

Well there’s this big debate going on in my circles lately over this whole “traditional publishing” versus “independent publishing.”

It used to be that there were publishing houses, and there were vanity presses. You either “got discovered” by a publishing house and were a real writer, or you weren’t good enough but still fancied yourself a writer, so you went through a vanity press and called yourself a writer but everybody knew you weren’t really, because you paid someone to publish your books for you instead of the other way around.

But it’s just not that way anymore. Independent publishing accounts for a huge percentage of new publishing out there, and several indie authors I know make more money than the trad authors I know. And they’re selling more books and getting more readers and so forth. And they didn’t have to wait to be discovered, and they didn’t have to get the approval of the “publishing gods” to do it. There’s also now electronic publishing to consider, in the form of Kindle books and other e-formats that can be done right from your desktop if you know how to use the software. These alternatives are affordable, effective, and not shameful or “vanity” options like they were in the old days. They’re legitimate, viable means of selling your product yourself instead of waiting for someone else to think it’s good enough for them to bother trying to sell it for you.

But dayum if it ain’t scary! Well, all of it is. I dropped 5k on an editor, just to get an opinion and a “first edit” runthrough. She told me “this needs work, go away and come back when there’s something for me to edit.” Now granted, she told me this very politely and kindly, but still… the creative process is not moved forward by that kind of feedback, at least mine isn’t. So it was a setback.

This blog is an attempt to re-focus and get back on my feet artistically – to make myself write, even about everyday blah nothings, just to get me back in the habit of writing something besides facebook posts, which really don’t count. To wake my muse back up and poke her with a stick and say “Hey, lady! Remember me? Wake up! Time to get back to work, I don’t care what on.”

So I talked to a lady yesterday online who runs an independent publishing… thing. It’s not a publishing company per se, but they help authors self-publish. Do cover art, layout, editing, and help with things like how to advertise and stuff. And she’s a member of the DFQ group, and she comes highly recommended. So I’m optimistic. Guardedly optimistic, but still. I’m researching that company and gathering information about it and seriously looking into their services for possible use.

Getting Back Into the Swing of Things…

I haven’t been writing for a long time. Like, more than two years. I’d like to be able to say “oh, it’s because of my mother’s death, it really threw me for a loop,” and while that’s true, it did throw me for a loop, I’d stopped writing before she passed. I’d finished my second novel and was sitting around on my thumbs doing nothing artistic at all for at least six months before she died. So it’s something else. But also my mother’s death. So there, nyah. I may not have had an excuse at the time, but I do now. Or at least I’d like to think I do.

Anyway, I gathered up my courage and sent my first novel in to a professional editor a few months back. Thinking, if I can’t get new writing done, maybe I can take this time away and polish old writing, and get it up to speed with an eye toward publishing it in the near future. Well, among other things, some nice, some not-so-nice, the editor used the word “boring” and asked if I’d considered using a ghost writer. These were not easy things to hear about my baby, of course. Not that I’d asked her to sugar-coat anything for me: quite the opposite, and I know my first novel needs a lot of cleaning up. Still, it hurt. I’m a fragile person; lots of writerly types are. I had to take some time off after that to settle down. Like, oh, say, a few months of completely ignoring it.

So now it’s a few months later, and I’m actually feeling the itches of creativity scratching around inside my skull. Awesome. On the DFQ group over on FB there’s a guy who, on his blog, hosts a flash-fiction contest once a week, called the Mid-Week Blues-Buster. How it works is there’s a song prompt to put the idea in your head, then you write a piece of flash fiction inspired by that song. You don’t have to reference the song at all, it’s just there to inspire. I was asked initially if I would judge one of these competitions, and I tentatively agreed to. Then I decided to take a look at a past one and see how they went. Fine, no problem, sign me up. Then I listened to this week’s prompt.

And I got a story idea.

Now, I am not a competitive person. I mean, I’m not even big on playing board games. This particular competition, all you win is bragging rights, but still, there’s a winner, and so there are losers, and that’s never fun. At least, in my worldview, that’s never fun. But I have this story idea sitting here in my brain, and what else am I gonna use it for?

So the rule is 500 words, but it’s a slushy 500. That means it can be as short as 300 words or as long as 700 words. The story I wrote I was able to narrow down to 690 words. Kinda on the long side, but within the limits, and after all, it’s my first attempt. So this is what I posted:

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Hello, World!

When I first started learning about how to build websites, I learned that the proper first message for a test of a new program or web page or whever-you’re-building is always “Hello, world,” so that is what I’m calling my first blog post. Makes sense to me. Not that I’m a programmer or anything, but still, there are traditions to be upheld, and I love traditions. They link the past to the present, and carry it into the future, which is just elegant and beautiful.

So here I am, trying it out. Not that this is my first-ever blog or anything. I have several others on other sites whose names I can’t remember now, but I haven’t posted on them in forever. I probably won’t post on this one prolifically either, but since I know people on this system, if this is where they are to be found, it’s a reasonable place for me to be. So here I am. We’ll see how it evolves. Or not.

Dang, I’m so used to doing two HRTs for a new paragraph, and this editor doesn’t need them! Wow, boy howdy does it ever not need them. One is plenty sufficient, it would appear. Okay, I’ll try to learn that, but my Word Perfect still requires two, so it’s not a habit I’ll likely be breaking any time soon. Yes, I use Word Perfect. I’ve been using WP since the screen was blue, and I have every intention of continuing to use it as long as a computer will run it. I don’t like the word-processing software that Microsoft makes, it’s clumsy and awkward, even if it IS the industry standard, it’s not very good. And WP will save in .rtf files if I tell it to, so that’s okay.

So, what really brings me here? A lovely lady named The Dark Fairy Queen (I hope you realize that’s a screen name, of course) started a facebook group called The Dark Fairy Queen and Her Brilliant Minions. I’m a Brilliant Minion. It’s a writers’ group, specializing in anybody else artistic who wants to hang out with us, be silly, have fun, and support each other. It’s generally awesome, and I’ve developed some fantastic friends there. Apparently, a lot of them (or at least one) have accounts here on Word Press, so to network with them, I have gotten an account here too. Not that I couldn’t network with them on facebook, but hey – sometimes you want to pretend you’re a grown-up with, like, a real life and stuff, instead of just a pathetic loser who spends too much time on fb and that’s the only place you have any actual friends. Besides, it’s not true.

So this will be a writer’s blog. By me. Coz of what I’m a writer. At least, sometimes I’m a writer. I try to be a writer. I want to be a writer. I have written two novels and many short stories and have loads of ideas for more stories. Actually, I lied to you just a little bit. I don’t actually want to be a writer. I just want the stories to leave me alone, and they only do that when I write them down. So in order to get them out of my head, I have to put them somewhere else, and the process of doing that gets called writing, and that’s what I do kinda for like therapy more than for pleasure. Sometimes it’s pleasurable. Sometimes I just do it because I HAVE to. I never sat down as a kid and said “Hey, you know what? I know what I wanna be when I grow up: A writer!” and worked towards that goal. I don’t want to be a writer, I just accidentally became one. Blame my muse. She wouldn’t leave me alone. She harrangued me like the dead guy did to Whoopie Goldberg in the movie “Ghost”. Very annoying.

And that’s why I write. In self-defense. To keep the characters at bay.