Tag Archives: new erotica by marilyn jaye lewis

Yes, I’m Happy

Even though, for some indecipherable reason, I woke up feeling really sad this morning — even to the point of suddenly crying at the kitchen table during breakfast. I don’t think the tears had anything to do with listening to old hillbilly music, but I guess you never really know for sure. (I turned off the music, just in case.)

I slept a lot — straight through from something strange, like, 9pm last night to 5am this morning (I usually only need 5 or 6 hours of sleep). And, at some point, I even had a dream that I had already gotten up and gotten breakfast and gone back to bed so there was no reason to get up. (Weird.)

Anyway. Apparently, I was not in a big hurry for today to get here.

However, that said. Things really are okay here. So I don’t know why I was so sad. I’ve basically signed the contract for “Half-Moon Bride” with the new publisher! Yay!

And I made really unexpected progress with the new erotic novella, 1954 Powder Blue Pickup, yesterday — and by “strange” I mean that it went off into this whole unexpected storyline. To the point where, as I was writing it, I was also thinking: Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me, seriously?

But I’m still really happy with it, however, the work I need to tackle on it today will require really intense focusing (a good old 1950s-style gangbang, which was not the unexpected part).  But it will be intense, nonetheless. (So, you know, you probably shouldn’t drop by unannounced today, wanting to just hang out with me…) (As if you ever do!) (I have had TWO visitors since March… two, in six months.) (Yes, I’m aware that there’s been a pandemic that whole time, but, honestly, how long are you going to keep using that as your fall-back line?? None of us here in Crazeysburg have the virus, okay??)

Anyway!!

Early this morning on Instagram, there was a post sent out by Cave Things.  It was a very short video of Nick Cave working at his insanely cluttered desk — but you could only see his hands. And I thought it was amusing that he clearly had on a very nice suit, and he had all his gold rings on, but was working at this ridiculously cluttered desk.

Whereas, I have actually a very tidy desk while I’m working (because everything gets dumped on the floor first thing in the morning, then placed back on the desk in heaps when I’m done working at night.)

Still, I need a very tidy desk, or I can’t think straight. Yet I wear the sloppiest clothes you can imagine. Because I simply cannot feel encumbered by anything while I’m writing — and no jewelry, either. I can’t stand to have rings or even a bracelet on when I’m typing. I am always wearing some sort of really baggy tee shirt, and either baggy cargo shorts in summer, or a pair of baggy men’s lounge pants the rest of the year, and nothing on underneath any of that because I absolutely cannot stand to feel constricted in any way, and I am always barefoot at my desk because I can’t even stand to feel like my feet are constrained while I’m writing. (My flip-flops stay neatly at the side of my desk because I put them back on the absolute minute I stand up from my chair…)

I know! It’s almost like I’m neurotic, or something — right??

And add to that vision of loveliness the unlit, unfiltered cigarette that is always dangling from my mouth now whenever I’m at my desk… and the very real fact that I almost never remember to even comb my hair. Although I do brush my teeth twice a day!! But I usually also forget to wash my hair because I’m always in such a big hurry to get out of the shower and be neurotic about something…

Anyway. I did think that little video of Nick Cave’s hands was really cool!

Okay.

A mini-update regarding the print edition of The Guitar Hero Goes Home. Valerie is still trying to get the cover art to behave. And until that gets fixed, I have not fixed the formatting issue I’m having with the printed text, because I want to upload it all at once. You can still read it just fine, I’m just not 100% happy with the layout (it makes me insane, actually). But the eBook version is completely fine.  So there are no problems with that. (There was one typo that I fixed last week.)

Anyway. It’s frustrating. But ever-onward we go.

And then yesterday, I got an email from the director of my play (Tell My Bones), wherein  he was giving me the link to share in the dropbox that all the various technical director/ producer type people were already sharing in as they do all the necessary work to get the staged reading of my play ready to go.

Well. I was stunned. Literally. Because I had absolutely no clue that all this WORK was already well underway, involving all these professional theater people. I honestly was totally overwhelmed. WTF, right? How long has this been going on? While I’m here at my desk, thoroughly unconstrained by everything imaginable and spending hours and hours and hours and days and days and days writing incredibly intense erotica…

It was a very weird feeling.

Okay, it looks like a pretty day here today, but it’s heading down into the low 40s Fahrenheit tonight and for the next few nights, so the houseplants are coming indoors for the season and I have to once again create that literary barrier between the palm tree and the cats.

Literary barrier awaiting the houseplants!

Meaning, that I have to stack books as precariously as possible all around the palm tree so that the cats get scared away from trying to eat the palm leaves and thus absolutely ruining the poor tree.

It just feels like it’s too early to be doing all this, but I guess it is what it is this year. And on we go.

Okay. I’m going to get started here today. Have a nice Friday wherever you are in the world!! And enjoy whatever you’re wearing and enjoy whatever you’re doing!! I will endeavor to get my mood on a more even keel and try to have a good day here, as well. Meanwhile, I leave you with this morning’s breakfast-listening sad hillbilly music! Stonewall Jackson’s huge Country hit from 1962, “Leona.” (I  just fucking LOVE the piano on this song — if it doesn’t make you want to drink and smoke, I don’t know what will.) So, then. All righty, thanks for visiting, gang!! I love you guys. See ya.

Leona

Leona, Leona,
You tell him you’re through
You tell him, Leona, about me and you
You tell him we’re married with a baby of two
You tell him, Leona,
You tell him you’re through.

You laughed as I pleaded, and walked out the door
To meet him, to kiss him, to shame me once more
I knew where to find you
Just follow the sign:
Dancing and dining, cocktails and wine

The sidewalk was crowded in front of the bar
I heard the sirens of the black police car
Two bodies lay crumpled, a woman, a man
His wife stood there by you,
A gun in her hand

Leona, Leona,
It’s over and through
The baby is crying and calling for you
For me there’s no difference
I knew for so long
That some day you’d leave me
And now you are gone

© 1962 Cindy Walker

As Much As I’d Love To Tarry Here…

And talk about the fall weather arriving, and all the strange dreams I had last night, and how happy I am with how the erotic novella (!!) 1954 Powder Blue Pickup is going, etc…

The reality is that, for some reason, I was wide awake between 2am to 3am today, and I was determined not to get out of bed and start my day at that ridiculous hour because the ridiculous hour that I normally start my day at is ridiculous enough, thank you, so I forced myself to go back to sleep, and then….

Four hours later!! Fuck! You know, I never wake-up when the sun is already up.  It was almost 7am when I got out of bed today and, for me, that feels like my day is half-over.

So, I am trying to cut corners here and get emails dashed off, get bills paid, forego yoga, blitz through the blog post and get down to work on the writing for today!

I will go on a quick tangent here and mention that it was a sort of shock to me to realize that all those photos posted here from my trip to Rhinebeck are now almost one year old. I cannot fucking believe that. I don’t want to believe that — not only that the year has flown, but that it wound up being such an insane year, plus it means it’s been a year since I saw Nick Cave — twice in one weekend.

It just doesn’t seem possible.

I’ve written a lot in the past year. A lot. So I can’t say it wasn’t a fruitful year. Still. I just find this unbelievably rapid disappearance of time really unnerving.

And that said, before it becomes next September already, I’m gonna close this and get to work here.

I hope you enjoy your wonderful Wednesday, wherever you are in the world.  I leave you with Hank Locklin, singing his Country & Western hit from 1958, “Send Me the Pillow that You Dream On.” If you don’t know his work, he was just an amazing Country & Western songwriter (and singer — but his songs were just fantastic. Singers in other styles of music covered his hits, too)  Okay. Enjoy and thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

“Send Me The Pillow You Dream On”

Send me the pillow that you dream on
Don’t you know that I still care for you
Send me the pillow that you dream on
So darling I can dream on it too

Each night while I’m sleeping oh so lonely
I’ll share your love in dreams that once were true
Send me the pillow that you dream on
So darling I can dream on it too

Send me the pillow that you dream on
Maybe time will let our dreams come true
Send me the pillow that you dream on
So darling I can dream on it too

I’ve waited so long for you to write me
But just a memory’s all that’s left of you
So send me the pillow that you dream on
So darling I can dream on it too

© 1958 Hank Locklin

Happy Campers in Crazeysburg!!

Yes!! So the very good news is that I did sell “Half-Moon Bride” to the new publishers! I am so excited, gang. As soon as the contract is signed/sealed/delivered, I will give you the details. But I could not be happier.

And then, after really struggling for several hours yesterday over it, it became clear that the new erotic short story, “1954 Powder Blue Pickup,” is indeed going to be a novella.

What I struggled over was the intensity level — having to do with (very) “questionable consent” — and once I realized that it had to happen, that the story was going in that direction almost in spite of me, then it became clear that it would be a novella. (The “short” story is already at 17,000 words. Novellas, technically, run from 17,000 to about 40,000 words.)

Even though most of my stories contain questionable consent scenarios in one way or another because I am almost always writing from a POV of D/s, and even though I have a short story up there in the vault that relies heavily on extremely questionable consent, it’s presented as something that is unfolding in a woman’s mind (which is a paper-thin device, but still…).

And in “1954 Powder Blue Pickup,” it’s not happening in anyone’s mind. Not that it is that terribly intense, I just was not completely sure I was committed to going there. It was the main reason I got bogged down in Pasolini’s Salò and Sade’s book 120 Days of Sodom on Sunday. And even, to a lesser extent, Gaspar Noé’s film Irreversible (meaning just the rape scene and not all the other violence).  For me, it is mostly about the minds that created these expressions and what they needed from the creation of them and how people then become part of what was created by joining their minds to it in one way or another.

I’ve always struggled with knowing or not knowing what the responsibilities are when you create something either non-consensual or of questionable consent, and put it into the world.

Anyway, the struggle is over regarding “1954 Powder Blue Pickup,” because I finally wrote the section that was asking to be written, and it took me about 10 hours yesterday to write 3 pages.  Literally. But it’s done. And then I collapsed in bed around 11pm and was absolutely out like a light until morning.

And so, the weather has really gotten cool — especially at night. And I am now contemplating bringing the house plants back inside now. Fall seems to be coming really quickly this year. So we’ll see. September usually does that thing where it tricks you into thinking it’s Fall, and then it soars back up to the 90s for 10 straight days in a row. Yet, sometimes, it’s just Fall and it stays Fall.

So here is another really, really interesting thing!

Yesterday, from my upstairs window, I saw the cute blond guy getting into the passenger’s side of a car in his driveway, and a blonde woman was getting into the driver’s side and it sort of looked, from 5 houses away, that maybe she was his mom. She had long straight blonde hair — like his– and she seemed to be a little too old to be a sister.

So I watched as the car came right past my open window and stopped at the stop sign and I noticed several things. Yes, that woman was old enough to be his mom. And the car was a brand-new Honda Civic, like mine, except that mine is molten lava-colored, and this one was electric blue.  AND it had dealer plates. And it wasn’t from the Honda dealership here in Muskingum County but from the dealership where I lease my own Honda, in the next county over.

And then I remembered how, every time I go into the show room side of the dealership, there are always tons of sales men but only one sales woman and she has long straight blonde hair!

OMG, right?? Jesus. I have probably sort of “known” that boy’s mom for about 4 years already. So fucking weird. And not just that she is likely his mom, but also that anyone I would ever see anywhere else at all in the world could possibly live on my street in the tiniest village known to man!! How fucking odd.

So that was cool!!

All righty!! I’m finishing up the laundry here. Then I’m gonna get back to “1954 Powder Blue Pickup.” Thanks for visiting, gang. I hope you have a terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning!! Tennessee Ernie Ford’s huge hit from 1955, “Sixteen Tons” — written by Merle Travis in 1947, who was just really an amazing songwriter.  (16 tons refers to coal miners and the  amount of coal they had to mine, and then, back in the old days, the coal-mining towns had stores run by the coal companies that extended the miners tons & tons of credit, so the miners were usually very in debt to the Company store and saw no way out of their bleak lives.)  So, well, I guess enjoy!All righty.  I love you guys. See ya!

“Sixteen Tons”

Some people say a man is made out of mud
A poor man’s made out of muscle and blood
Muscle and blood and skin and bones
A mind that’s weak and a back that’s strong

You load sixteen tons, whattaya get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
St. Peter don’cha call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one morning when the sun didn’t shine
I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine
I loaded sixteen tons of number-nine coal
And the straw boss said, “Well bless my soul!”

You load sixteen tons, whattaya get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
St. Peter don’cha call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store

I was born one morning, it was drizzlin’ rain
Fightin’ and trouble are my middle name
I was raised in the canebreak by an old mama lion
Can’t no high-toned woman make me walk the line

You load sixteen tons, whattaya get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
St. Peter don’cha call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store

If you see me comin’ better step aside
A lotta men didn’t, a lotta men died
One fist of iron, the other of steel
If the right one don’t getcha then the left one will

You load sixteen tons, whattaya get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
St. Peter don’cha call me, ’cause I can’t go
I owe my soul to the company store

© 1947 Merle Travis

That’s Right!! Heading to the Store Today!!

Oui, c’est moi! The “demon on wheels” — Speed Racer. At least I am on Monday mornings, when I head into to town to get the groceries. (Play this 1 minute intro. It’s so fun!!)

Sadly, though, when I needed to renew my car lease, Honda was not offering a “powerful Mach 5” so I had to settle for a boring Honda Civic, instead.

(Although loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that what I really wanted was a Dodge Hellcat, and that the moment I signed the lease for the Civic and was leaving the Honda show room with it,  across the street, in the Used Car lot, was a used Hellcat….)

Ah well. At least with my brand new Honda there’s, like, zero maintenance ever. Not so with a used Hellcat.

And honestly, me in a Hellcat would just be such bad news out here in Muskingum County, where there is almost always no Sheriff. And even though my Honda doesn’t go from zero to 60 mph in (literally) 3 seconds, as the Hellcat does, it at least goes from zero to 60 in less than 10 seconds… (every single time a red light turns to green.)

Okay!!! So yes, I am going to get groceries the minute I post this to the blog. And it is another stunning day here today, although the days are just generally cooler now. But it is still just beautiful.

Yesterday was a really big adventure for me.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that back when last fall began to change into winter (or something like that), the ceiling in my downstairs bathroom leaked really ferociously during a lengthy torrential downpour of rain, thunder, wind, etc., sending plaster to the floor.  And while yesterday, we did not have a lengthy torrential downpour of rain, thunder, wind, etc. , big chunks of that same part of the bathroom ceiling actually came down and was incredibly gross and yucky and awful — it had something to do with me putting off getting the roof re-sealed this past spring because I was so enamored with the idea of getting a new roof on my barn after that heavy wind came and blew the old barn roof right off and set it not too gently down in my backyard.

Oh my god, right?  Where are the handymen when you need them to be living with you free of charge at all times and handling all your many, many, many DIY housing issues?? I sure don’t know. All I know is that I have an exceedingly unattractive ceiling in my downstairs bathroom now, and I can’t really do a darn thing about it until I get the roof re-sealed, otherwise it’ll just happen all over again. And whoever it is who finally does come to re-seal that roof is gonna see that I have really seriously let my gutter go on that side of the house, too (because it’s on that side of the house and no one sees it — many, many teeny tiny maple trees are growing in that gutter), and he is gonna wonder what my fucking problem is. Why bother to own a home if you’re just going to  be insane? (But writing porn is extremely time-consuming… I simply can’t focus on everything around here.)

Anyway. It is indeed upsetting.  I hate to put in an insurance claim on that roof because then they just go and up your annual premium as punishment for actually using your insurance. (And while there are indeed certain types of punishment that I enjoy and perhaps even encourage, rising insurance premiums are not among them.) And oddly enough, just yesterday morning, when I was outside taking care of all the many flowers that are still in bloom, I was looking at that barn and feeling so happy about that new roof on that barn…

Aaaaarrrrrgh

Oh well.  You know what I’ve decided to do about it for now, right? That’s right: Ignore it.

Okay. So I am still very happy with how the work is going on the new erotic story, “1954 Powder Blue Pickup.” Although, yesterday afternoon, after I had to take a HUGE chunk of time out to clean up that darn bathroom, I found that I was at a place in the story where I was unsure of just how intense I wanted it to get.  I am still thinking that it could be a novella, and if that’s the case, then it really does have to get kind of intense or the plot won’t sustain the length of it.

And I won’t explain exactly why, because I don’t want you to know how my brain actually works, but then I was off on this weird and rather unending tangent, involving Pasolini’s film, Salò: or the 120 Days of Sodom — which, if you haven’t already seen it, I would not suggest running out to see it (or stream it), because if you in fact need to see a film like that then you’ve probably already seen it and know it well.

I’ve seen it and I know it well.

It is, of course, disturbing. But I believe I understand what Pasolini was trying to process (about Nazis and Fascists) by creating that film. And then I was thinking about the Marquis de Sade’s original book, 120 Days of Sodom, which is quite different but which he wrote while incarcerated in the Bastille prison in Paris for 37 days… And I also believe I understand what Sade was always trying to process when he wrote all the books he wrote. (I think I also know what the Bible was trying to process when it wrote about Sodom & Gomorrah… but that, indeed, is a whole other story, and one that interests me way less than Salò or Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom. )

Anyway, it is sufficient to say, that after the bathroom ceiling came down, and after I spent time cleaning it up and spluttering the f-word nonstop, and after I went down the intensely intense rabbit hole of Pasolini and Sade, I was kind of spent and could not really get back to work on the new short story.

However, that said! I feel completely confident that the work I’m gonna get done on it today will be very, very, very good! So I’m excited.

But I’m still not sure if I will post any more excerpts from it to the blog. I probably worry too much. But I guess we’ll just see. (Mostly I worry about how much it skirts the “questionable consent” thing.) But we’ll see.

Okay! I guess I’m gonna scoot into town now and get those groceries. I hope you’re having a great Monday, wherever you are in the world. I’m leaving you with something I saw on Instagram this morning — a Neil Young song, but done by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds! “Helpless.” It’s on their B Sides & Rarities CD from 2005, but I think they recorded it in 1990? Anyway. Enjoy. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!

Golly, It’s Humid Here in Crazeysburg!!

It is just one of those Sundays, gang, where it is so humid and likely to rain off and on all day, that I have decided to forego the treadmill this morning and just take the day off from working out.

Yay!! Makes me happy enough to want to swing a cat…

The weather is actually pretty interesting right now. The tiniest hint of a breeze, otherwise everything is really still and really quiet (except for the crickets) and it’s completely cloudy and not a person or a car is in sight.

Just so totally still. (Which means that  any moment, the loudest train whistle on Earth will probably come screaming by…)

I have been so busy working on the new erotic short story (“1954 Powder Blue Pickup”), that I haven’t been spending much time online at all and so I missed the fact that yesterday was the anniversary of Johnny Cash’s death.  (“Anniversary” sounds like such a happy word, though, doesn’t it? “Commemorate” is probably a better word to use there.)

Well, I would rather just remember what it was like when he was alive, and how much I loved him when I was a little girl.

It’s one of the (many) things I really regret about not having been raised in my birth family — they all loved Country & Western music so much. And were a part of it, as professional musicians, as well. The type of music it was before it became the “Country” music we have now in America, which is much more middle-of-the-road rock music than true Country music.

Although now they also give us the option to like “Americana” music, which to me, is more like folk music than anything else. Authentic Country & Western is simply gone and there was just nothing like it. I loved that type of music so much, and I was the only person in my entire adoptive family who did.

Once, after my birth father died, and I went to visit his brother, one of his sisters, and his nieces, nephews and cousins (in rural Indiana),  at one point, after lunch, we were all out on my cousin’s front porch, and one of them took out an acoustic guitar, and we all sang Hank Williams’ “You’re Cheatin’ Heart”.  I still lived in New York City back then (and had been a singer there for a long time) and none of them could believe that I knew all the words to that song. It was so not New York.

But I knew all that stuff — even the more obscure stuff.  The true honky-tonk singers of the 30s & 40s — I had all those records, knew the words by heart.

And even though it doesn’t seem like it, because I live alone now in the middle of nowhere, I have always been a truly family-oriented person. I always just wanted to be surrounded by family (but it turned out that I would have preferred not being surrounded by a really abusive family…). And I loved being around children and always assumed I would have a big family of my own — well, to finally be able to sing the kind of music I really loved, surrounded by a family who was really loving to me, that I was actually related to by blood and not by the randomness of the Adoption courts — that day meant so much to me.

Die 30+ besten Bilder zu Rock Dreams by Guy Peelaert | rock album cover,  johnny cash, frank sinatra
Hank Williams’ legendary death by Guy Peelleart

It was fitting, of course, that it was a Hank Williams song we were singing — based on his life and death and legend. Both sides of my birth family definitely had all of that in their blood.  And I know that had I been raised by them, I would have wound up a Country singer instead of a folksinger, and I would have had  just a rip-roaring alcohol “issue,” and probably a bunch of illegitimate kids. (As it was, even isolated within a non-drinking adoptive family, I had just an amazing ability consume bourbon. I began to have a true fondness for bourbon and cigarettes when I was eleven years old. And by the time I was twelve, I developed a real fondness for barbiturates, too.)

Considering that I started writing songs on my acoustic guitar by the time I was eleven, as well, I was just a true Country & Western legend waiting to happen…

Anyway. That’s not how it worked out.

I got this truly weird other life instead. That seems to have no real “course” or purpose.  Although, considering that my birth parents were basically still children when they conceived me — (my mom was 12 and my dad was 14) —  and they barely knew each other and were just horny and wanted to have intercourse for about five minutes…

I guess I lived up to that heritage, in a way. I mean, considering all of my writing. And even though I do all kinds of writing, its my erotica that readers usually prefer.  Hands down.

Anyway, I find it amusing. And I’m okay with it, actually.

Okay, well, I guess on that lofty note, I’m gonna get back to writing my new dirty story here!! I hope you guys are having a great Sunday, wherever you are in the world and whatever the weather! Thanks for visiting. I’ll leave you with a later song of Johnny Cash’s that I always just loved, especially because I was living in NYC when this version of the song, “Ballad of Barbara,” came out. (On his album Johnny Cash is Coming to Town, 1987). Enjoy, gang!! Okay. I love you guys. See ya.

“Ballad Of Barbara”

In a southern town where I was born
That’s where I got my education
I worked in the fields and I walked in the woods
And I wondered at creation.

I recall the sun in a sky of blue
And the smell of green things growin’
And the seasons chang’d and I lived each day
Just the way the wind was blowin’.

Then I heard of a cultured city life
Breath takin’ lofty steeples
And the day I called myself a man
I left my land and my people.

And I rambled north and I rambled east
And I tested and I tasted
And a girl or two, took me round and round
But they always left me wasted.

In a world that’s all concrete and steel
With nothin’ green ever growin’
Where the buildings hide the risin’ sun
And they blocked the free winds from blowin.

Where you sleep all day and you wake all night
To a world of drink and laughter
I met that girl that I was sure would be
The one that I was after.

In a soft blue gown and formal tux
Beneath that lofty steeple
He said, “Do you Barbara, take this man,
Will you be one of his people?”

And she said, “I will.” and she said, “I do.”
And the world looked mighty pretty
And we lived in a fancy downtown flat
‘Cause she loved the noisy city.

But the days grew cold beneath a yellow sky
And I longed for green things growin’
And the thoughts of home and the people there
But she’d not agreed to goin’.

Then her hazel eyes turned away from me
With a look that wasn’t pretty
And she turned into concrete and steel
And she said, “I’ll take the city.”

Now the cars go by on the interstate
And my pack is on my shoulder
But I’m goin’ home, where I belong
Much wiser now and older.

© 1977 Johnny Cash

A Fine September Saturday Underway in Crazeysburg!

What a difference a day makes, as they say.

Everything in my life looks sort of perfect right now, so I’m just going to focus on writing the new story today, and accept this gorgeous weather we have right this minute, even though by evening, we’re supposed to get thunderstorms again.

And I’ve already brought all the plants further onto the porch so that no unexpected winds come along this time and start blowing them all over the place. (My palm tree is actually doing just fine and doesn’t seem to be at all traumatized from having been blown down under the hydrangea bush and having laid like that for hours before I discovered it.)

I had to go into to town briefly yesterday, but other than that, I got a lot of work done on the new short story, “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”. I’m not sure if I will keep posting excerpts to the blog or not — last night’s excerpt might be the last one that will be tame enough for the blog. I guess we’ll see. But I’m really having so much fun with it.

And then when I was done writing for the day, I did what I have been doing a lot of lately — watching episodes of the old TV show The Monkees on YouTube!! The Monkees was probably my favorite TV show from the years when I was 6 to 8 years old. Watching the reruns just takes me right back there to Cleveland in the 1960s — even though now I’m not only watching it “in living color”, but also on a tiny iPhone screen. Who would have ever guessed, right?

BTW, The Monkees were not on NBC. They were on ABC… But that little NBC promo is completely burned into my brain from childhood.

And also, watching the old reruns now makes me see that I had absolutely no clue what most of the (ridiculous) humor was about when I was little, I just loved watching the show. Plus I really, really loved their songs.

This episode below  — “The Paris Show” — is probably their most iconic, although not my favorite, by any stretch. It was shot on location in Paris in 1968. I preferred it when they just stayed in their weird apartment in LA.

This TV series was aired back in that era where a show would turn out to be a huge hit for kids on a weekday evening, so then they’d also show it on Saturday mornings.  I watched it whenever I possibly could. I just loved that show.

And even though I don’t actually pay close attention to it when I watch it nowadays — I usually play solitaire on my iPad at the same time and try to figure out my life! But just having it on calms me down and makes me feel really happy. And it’s not so much “nostalgia” for me — I actually feel really happy that those days are over. Even though I loved that show, that era of my childhood in Cleveland was when my adoptive mother was really coming unglued. My life was almost constant anxiety back then.

So I guess I’m sort of celebrating now — watching the show, knowing that  I’m not in any sort of weird prison anymore. My childhood is over. Yay.

So. Yesterday, on Instagram, Cave Things posted a photo of Nick Cave’s (EVIL) desk!! I just love this!!

I am at long last, learning how to copy other people’s photos from Instagram.

Okay. So I’m gonna get started here! I hope you have a great Saturday underway, wherever you are in the world!! Even though there are quite a few songs that The Monkees recorded that I still really love, this could be my favorite– their version of Neil Diamond’s song, “I’m A Believer.” The Monkees actually had a hit with this song on the AM radio back then. I leave it with you today! Play it loud. It is a super happy song!! All righty. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

“I’m A Believer”

I thought love was only true in fairy tales
Meant for someone else, but not for me
Love was out to get me
That’s the way it seemed
Disappointment haunted all my dreams

Then I saw her face, now I’m a believer
Not a trace of doubt in my mind
I’m in love and I’m a believer
I couldn’t leave her if I tried

I thought love was more or less a giving thing
Seems the more I gave, the less I got
What’s the use in trying, all you get is pain
When I needed sunshine, I got rain

Then I saw her face, now I’m a believer
Not a trace of doubt in my mind
I’m in love and I’m a believer
I couldn’t leave her if I tried

Love was out to get me
That’s the way it seemed
Disappointment haunted all my dreams

Then I saw her face, now I’m a believer
Not a trace of doubt in my mind
I’m in love and I’m a believer
I couldn’t leave her if I tried
Saw her face, now I’m a believer
Not a trace of doubt in my mind
I’m in love, and I’m a believer

© 1966 Neil Diamond

Excerpt #2 “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”

Okay, here’s another excerpt that I don’t think is too extreme.  But please be advised that it is sexually explicit, it deals with subject matter that some readers could find offensive and it won’t be suitable for everybody. Thanks, gang!

Please excuse any typos. It is still in progress. Okay! Have a great night.

Approx. 4 1/2 pages

************************************************

Excerpt from “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”
© 2020 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

He drove the truck back out to the edge of town, where it was dark and quiet, and he parked it in his usual spot. He lit a cigarette and he drank his Coke and he sat back and stared out the windshield, just letting his dick get hard.

She’d blushed. She’d really blushed. He knew without doubt what that meant. She’d been thinking about it. It might be better not to rush her – then she’d be really good to go, be open to all kinds of suggestions. So far, she’d liked every one of his dirty ideas.

“That is one dirty girl,” he said quietly.

The first date, he’d driven the truck out here to the edge of town after the movie and they’d kissed in the front seat of the truck and she was so polite. So shy – he was surprised when she let him fondle one of her tits while they kissed. But she had on that bra that was like armor – the kind that made her tits stand up in points. He couldn’t feel anything that felt anything like a breast through that thing.

He smoked his cigarette now and remembered. How shy she’d been, still was – it had made him get so hard.

“Do you mind,” he had said haltingly. “I don’t want to offend you, but do you think it would be okay to take that thing off?”

“What thing?” she asked, startled.

“That thing under your blouse. I can’t feel anything.”

She stared at him and blushed. “You mean my bra?” she said quietly.

“Would it be okay? You could put your blouse right back on – just take that bra off.”

She stared at him and nervously bit her lip. She’s a total virgin, he realized then.

“I won’t look,” he said. “If you don’t want me to.”

She stared at him, saying nothing, but not looking away. Not at all. “Should I help you?” he asked.

Again, she just stared at him, not looking away.  So he reached over and began to unbutton her blouse. Right away she’d started breathing funny, not trying to stop him. So he’d simply unbuttoned the blouse, very methodically, and then helped her out of it. She sat there then, in her tight skirt and that armor of a bra that had no straps at all. It simply held up her tits with more elastic than he’d ever seen – but it was very pretty, very grown-up-woman looking. And her hair was pulled back neatly in that bow. She looked so pretty like that, that he decided to kiss her again, while she was just wearing that sexy bra.

He held the back of her head and they opened their mouths, their tongues mashing together – real kissing. Her, just in that skirt and bra. And her heavy breathing was very telling. He didn’t even ask her – he just felt behind her and unhooked it and let it come right off.

God, her breasts were beautiful – big and full and weighing down on that slender rib cage. He went right back to kissing her – didn’t bother offering her the blouse back. He wanted to get a good feel of those tits while they kissed. And she’d let him do it – let him feel her tits and even squeeze them. Her kisses got very passionate, then.

“I don’t want to be rude,” he said. “But your tits are beautiful. They are. I bet everybody tells you that.”

“No one’s ever seen them before,” she replied quietly.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m the only one?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Well, let me tell you – they’re beautiful.” Then he took both of her breasts between in his hands, gently squeezed them close together and then leaned down and kissed each of her nipples. She gasped. “Really beautiful,” he said. Then he kissed each nipple again. Then lightly licked each of them, just on the tips of the nipples. They had gotten erect. Oh god, she was saying so softly, with each kiss, each lick. Oh god.

Without asking her if it would be okay, he began sucking on one of the nipples, while very lightly rubbing his thumb over the other one at the same time. Her “oh gods” filled the front seat of the truck then, and he saw her pelvis begin to squirm on the seat.

It wasn’t long before she’d unzipped her skirt and wiggled out of it. And there had been those complicated panty-things with the garters that attached to her stockings. He’d seen those things before – they almost looked like girdles, but not quite. He hated those things – they were so complicated. But there she sat, in the front seat of his truck, a dim glow coming from the radio dial, darkness everywhere else. And her beautiful breasts hanging down, and that girdle-type thing, like still more armor, and those stockings attached to it, like they meant business.

He didn’t have to ask if she was a virgin; he knew. He said, plain and simple, “Don’t worry. Nothing we ever do together is going to ruin you. I promise. Any doctor on Earth would pass you with flying colors, if it ever came to that. So just don’t ever worry. Okay?”

The obvious relief she felt was what seemed to underlie her willingness to let him remove her stockings. And to lie down flat on the seat when he asked her to. And to let him get between her legs, even though he had no intention of removing the remaining vestige of her armor. He already knew from experience with other girls, that the crotch of that thing was cotton – soft cotton. And he was content to kiss her through the cotton fabric – just kiss her through the fabric, down there between her legs.

He discovered right away, of course, that her crotch was soaking – she had soaked right through the cotton.  He didn’t bring it to her attention, he simply made a note of it. And he also made a note of how widely she spread her legs apart for those kisses down there. And he noted to himself the little gasps she made when he ran his tongue lightly on her skin right at the edges of the elastic leg openings of the panties. And although he couldn’t tell for sure if he’d found her clit or not, he kissed all over the area where he knew it generally was.

And when he thought she was going to faint for lack of air, he told her that he didn’t want to get carried away and that they should probably think about getting her back to her apartment.

Which only meant that on the next date, they’d skipped the movie entirely – went straight out to the edge of town and parked. He’d already seen, before she’d gotten into the truck, that her legs were bare in those high heels. No stockings. Which also meant that the complicated girdle-thing was going to be gone now, too. And he was right.

The crazy armored-bra was still there, but he didn’t mind that so much because it was pretty and it held that unbelievable delight of her big tits spilling out when it came off of her, because they were packed in there so tight.

When her bra was off, and she’d slid out of her tight skirt, and was there in the front seat wearing just her high heels and a pair of very pretty lacy panties – the kind of panties he could easily get off of her if he wanted to; that’s when he pulled her onto his lap, letting her straddle him while they kissed. Keeping her panties in place. Making her wonder if he was gonna kiss her down there again. But most importantly, letting her feel his hard cock that was making a tent in his trousers. Letting her feel it right down there between her legs.

“Do you want to see it?” he finally said, knowing that it was making her nervous to be straddling it like that while they kissed. He was rubbing it up against her down there and he was so hard.

She looked at him but was too shy to make eye contact for too long.

When she didn’t answer, he said, “How about, I show you mine and then you show me yours? What do you say?”

It was clear from the look on her face – an excitement she tried to conceal – that she liked that idea a lot.

He helped her off of his lap, unbuckled his belt, undid his trousers, and then slid them down enough so that she could see the whole package. And again, he could tell just by looking at her face that she’d never seen a cock before, let alone an erect one.

“You wanna touch it?” he asked. “Or does that scare you?”

She didn’t reply right away.

He reached up and gently brushed a finger tip over one of her nipples. He could see that she was awful nervous now – that the presence of his cock was getting her in over her head. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he said, still rubbing the tip of her nipple. It had gotten erect. She was starting to breathe funny. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you want to lean over and give it a kiss, then I’ll do the same for you. This time, we’ll take down your panties – I’ll kiss you all over down there.”

Oh. She let out the softest moan. He didn’t let up on that nipple.

“What do you think? Are you brave enough? Just a kiss.”

“Okay,” she finally said. And when she leaned over to kiss his cock, her boobs hung down and he squeezed one of them. And then stroked the nipple. And when her soft lips pressed against his cock, she let out another little moan because her nipple had gotten so stiff and so tender.

Such pretty tits, he whispered to her. So pretty. I just love squeezing ‘em.  And he squeezed it some more. And she moaned some more. Kiss it again, he encouraged her. Just all over it. Just kiss it. It’s okay. You’re doing just fine.

Her kisses were so light, so timid, that it felt incredibly exciting. He got so hard. But she wouldn’t get near where his cock turned into his balls. She steered clear of that. And he didn’t want to push her. Instead, he lifted his cock straight up and said, “Just kiss the very tip of it, okay? Just the tip.”

“But it’s wet there,” she said, sitting up again.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be wet where I’m gonna be kissing you, right?”

She glanced at him then, like she could not believe her ears.

“Right?” he said. Over this little point, he was not gonna let her off the hook. He was gonna make her answer the question. He stroked her nipple again and looked her in the eye. “It gets wet down there, right?”

She finally answered him. “Yes.”

“It’s probably wet right now, right?”

She wouldn’t answer.

He put his finger under her chin and then lifted it and made her look at him. “Right? It’s wet right now.”

“Yes.”

“Come on, then. Just a quick kiss,” he said, wiggling his cock a little and winking at her. “That wet stuff just means it likes you. And then we’ll take a look at what you’ve got.”

It had clearly appealed to her – that trade-off. She’d leaned over again and kissed the very tip of his cock, right where the pre-cum had oozed out – and she’d even licked it off her lips, where the pre-cum had gotten them wet.

And so he’d kept his word and they took a good long look at her, down where she’d gotten so wet, and he’d let her feel his lips on her clit, then feel his tongue there, too.

He stubbed out his cigarette now and drank his Coke. His dick always got so hard just thinking about her – he didn’t even have to touch it.

But when he did touch it… Oh. He sighed out loud. The pictures in his head got so dirty then. The things he thought about making her do.

She’ll do it, too, he said quietly to himself. She does everything I tell her to do.

He unzipped his trousers now and slid his cock out, just enough to gently tug on it – just enough to fill his head with the pictures.

*     *     *

Thursday night finally arrived and he waited for her out in front of her apartment building. When she came out of the front door, he saw that she was not wearing a tight skirt this time – she was wearing a gently pleated one. Loose and flowing; summery. And she wore a midriff top; it tied under her ample breasts which he could tell were not packed inside a bra – again. More and more, she was dressing like someone who was ready to get undressed as easily as possible.

He got out of the truck to go kiss her hello and to open her door for her.

When he kissed her, he lightly ran a hand down over her rear end. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to scoot clear of the unasked-for caress. Best yet, the material of her skirt was silky; he could feel her behind through it. It almost felt like she wasn’t wearing underpants… He let his hand linger on her behind a moment longer, kissed her again and then looked her in the eye. She smiled shyly at him and looked away.

That’s when he knew.

He pulled her up close to him to give her a big kiss, a real kiss – not just a quick peck on the lips. And he used it as an excuse to hold her with both his hands down there, holding her rear end through the loose silky fabric of her skirt. Her ass was as loose under that skirt as her tits were inside of the midriff top.

“Oh my goodness,” he said quietly, between kisses. “You’re not wearing panties tonight.” He groaned into the kiss now, and he took a firm hold of those ass cheeks in both his hands.

She pulled gently away from his kiss, and said, “Not right here.” And he realized that he was already hard.

He quickly opened the passenger door for her and watched her slide up into the front seat.

As he walked back around to the driver’s side door, he thought to himself that she might just be ready. She might be more ready for him than she even knew.

They hardly exchanged a word on the drive out to the edge of town. But the air inside the truck felt electrified. He was rock-hard inside his trousers and he didn’t even care if it showed.

When they parked in their usual spot and he turned off the motor, he said, “Do you mind if I do something a little forward?”

She studied his face warily. “I don’t know – what did you want to do?”

“You just sit there for a minute. I’m gonna come around to your side.”

He got out of the truck, went back around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Just sit there a second,” he told her, and then he opened the glove compartment and made doubly sure the Vaseline was in there.

He watched her watching him. He saw her notice the little tub of Vaseline; saw that her breathing was getting uneven. To him, she was an open book: She’d really liked what had happened to her the other night, had probably been reliving it in her head, over and over. He’d known other girls like her – girls who had wound up really liking it up the backdoor – but none of them had gotten him as excited as she did.

“I just want to remind you,” he said, “that anything that happens between us is just between us, and we won’t ever do anything that any doctor anywhere could find out about – okay?”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I trust you.”

“Good,” he said, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the mouth. “I really like you.”

“I like you, too.”

He gently squeezed one of her breasts through the midriff, then began to untie it. She didn’t stop him; she watched him do it. When it was untied, he unbuttoned the four little buttons and pulled it open. She was really breathing heavy when her breasts – loose and free and soft and so full – spilled out into the warm night air.

He helped her take the little top off completely, watching those big tits bounce and jiggle as she maneuvered herself out of it. With the passenger door open, the little overhead light was shining bright. And as she sat there in the front seat, topless in that silky skirt, her bare legs leading down to those pretty high heels, he said, “How about we do something a little more grown up tonight? What do you think? You feel like growing up a little tonight?”

She got nervous again. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you.”

He helped her slide out of the front seat, turned her around and had her lean over, so that those naked breasts were pressed flat against the leather seat. He lifted her skirt and there it was – her round, white and very naked ass, no panties at all; and those long naked legs and those high heels making her legs seem even longer. In this position, she looked a lot like Shelley. Only prettier, and somehow brand new.

She got tense right away. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing you won’t like – come on. You can relax.”

He leaned down and planted kisses all over her bottom. And right away, she did relax.

Then he squatted down, parted her ass cheeks and, like he’d done with Shelley, began licking her asshole. She gasped and, on reflex, tried to clench her cheeks closed but he kept them spread. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “It’s just us.” And he licked the tiny hole; patiently and methodically. Keeping those cheeks of hers spread. Winning her over.  When she parted her legs, repositioning those high heels more firmly on the ground, he knew it was going to be a big night for her. A big one. Because once she’d parted her legs like that, he could easily see that her pussy was wet. She was thoroughly enjoying it.

To win her confidence even more, he pulled open her pussy lips and found her clit and licked it, too. And he listened to her moan, watched her ass arch up good and high. He always steered clear of her little pussy hole, though; only went for the clit – never put a finger up her there, never even touched it with his tongue. But he could see plain as day that she was a virgin, all right. Really tight. The guy who ended up marrying her would have his work cut out for him on that wedding night, he knew that for certain.

But he also knew for certain that it wasn’t gonna be him – he had his own work cut out for him, the kind of work that no future-intended of hers ever needed to find out about.

He stood up and got the little tub of Vaseline from out of the glove compartment, and he saw how her ass stayed arched up high, how she tried to keep herself open, how her legs were rigid with anticipation. She really wanted that finger up her ass again. He was going to comply.

He scooped the Vaseline from the tub and smeared it on her asshole, getting a lot of it up inside the hole now, too – a lot of it. “It feels like so much,” she said.

“This way we don’t have to stop and have to keep getting more. In fact, do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Hold yourself open down here for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, hold your cheeks open – so that I can get that hole good and greased up. Come on,” he encouraged her, knowing she was getting shy again. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve already seen it. Just help me out a little.”

To his delight, she reached both of her hands behind her and pulled her cheeks open.

He was ready to burst out of his trousers. “Oh god, you look so pretty doing that,” he told her quietly, as he smeared even more Vaseline right in the opening of her asshole. “I wish I could take a picture of you right now and sell it; you know? Guys the world over would die to see how pretty you look like this.”

And he wasn’t saying it to win her over now – he meant it. She looked so dirty, holding her ass cheeks apart, showing that tight asshole, the wet pussy peeking out right underneath it. So dirty, and yet so pretty, too.

Then he wedged himself up beside her on the front seat and said quietly, “Keep holding yourself just like that, okay?”

“Okay,” she said – her voice just a wisp of breath. She was clearly getting very aroused.

Then in one synchronized motion, he grabbed a hold of her ponytail in that pretty bow, pulled her head back and slid his middle finger right up her ass. Right at the same moment – and she was clearly overcome with lust. In just that instant. That quick.

Oh god,” she cried sweetly. “Oh my god.”

She had all the signs of a girl in heat. She kept her ass cheeks spread open, kept her ass arched up high, letting her hair be pulled way back – she wasn’t fighting him at all. Not in any way. And when he let that finger of his fuck her ass slow and deep – nothing rough, nothing quick, just in and out, in and out – the moans that came out of her, came from someplace very deep.

Oh god, she sighed out breathlessly. Oh yes. Oh god.

He kept a slow steady rhythm with his finger – in and out. They had all the time in the world.

When he did finally ease his finger out of her ass, there she was: still holding her ass cheeks open, her legs spread, her ass arched, and not for a moment asking him to let go of his grip on her hair. He said to her quietly, “You know that you’re a very dirty girl, don’t you?”

Mm hm, she agreed softly.

“Say it out loud, I want to hear you. Say: ‘I’m a very dirty girl’.”

“I’m a very dirty girl,” she said quietly.

He gave her ponytail a firm tug, “Louder – so I can really hear you.”

“I’m a very dirty girl,” she said more loudly.

“Louder,” he said, really yanking on her hair.

“I’m a very dirty girl!” she said, as two of his fingers pushed right up her asshole. “Oh, god!” she cried out.

“Go on, say it – keep saying it. I really wanna hear you.” He kept a tight grip on her hair, her head pulling way back now, as his two fingers fucked her asshole hard and deep.

“I’m a very dirty girl!” she cried loudly, still holding her ass cheeks open. “A dirty girl. A very dirty girl! Oh god. Oh god. A dirty girl. I’m a very dirty girl!” While his fingers fucked her and fucked her.

She was the best girl he ever had. She really was such a dirty girl.

He let go of her hair finally and eased his fingers out of her asshole. Then she rested her face down on the front seat and looked up at him. She was still holding her ass cheeks open – she didn’t even seem aware that she was still doing that.

Excerpt from “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”
© 2020 Marilyn Jaye Lewis

Really Windy Here in Crazeysburg!!!

First, some really good news:

WASHINGTON, Sept. 9, 2020 – The Department of Education released new, final regulations today providing crucial free speech and religious liberty protections for students at our nation’s public college campuses. Institutions that violate those core rights will risk losing access to federal education grants. Put simply, the regulations require public institutions of higher education to do what they are already obligated to do: protect the First Amendment rights of their students.

Yay. (This doesn’t mean that Courts, and Colleges accused of violating First Amendment rights, won’t try to come up with new ways to define the First Amendment, but it is still a really meaningful step in a good direction. Plus, it is just better to debate about the Constitution rather than simply ignore and defy it.)

All righty. Well. My life, gang. I do not want to go into it on the blog because I would rather just face forward and look at the positive things, but I will say that every morning when I wake up these days, there is another little fire of hell burning that I somehow have to figure out how to put out, but honestly, I just don’t know how. I can only have faith that things will work out in some miraculous way, all on their own, without me trying to solve things that are unsolvable.

Here is just one of the key people, hard at work behind the scenes, trying to help me solve my problems:

Pin on Vintage Christmas

WAIT!! NO!! I meant:

The meaning of Byzantine Orthodox iconography.

All righty!!

So I’m only going to post two things for now. One is that I think I may have figured out how to fix one of the formatting issues of the printed text for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. (The eBook edition is fine. I’m still just having issues with how the printed edition’s text is formatted and how the cover looks.)

The other good thing is that I am still making really great progress with the new erotic short story, “1954 Powder Blue Pickup.” So that is making me really, really happy.

So that is really all I can say today.  Except for the fact that it is really windy here today! (Hopefully, this means that all my troubles will blow away!)

I’m gonna go get this day started. Thanks for visiting, gang. If you commemorate 9/11 where you live, I hope you have a meaningful day. If you don’t, well, I still hope you have a meaningful day. Meanwhile, Bruce Springsteen has a new album coming out; it’s ready for pre-order wherever you buy your music. Here is the official video for his new single, “Letter to You.”  (New album has the same name.) (Lyrics are in the video.) Okay. Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya.

Sorry for the Delay!

I’ve been working on the new short story all day here, gang. Still toying with the idea of pushing it to the length of a novella.  We shall see. For right now, I’m just happy that it keeps wanting to come out.

So. Tom Petty Official released another new single today from the upcoming Wildflowers & All the Rest. (Release date Oct. 16th). This new one is called “Confusion Wheel.” It’s posted below.

The lyrics sort of fit where my life is at these days. For the most part. I guess you can give it a spin and see if you concur!

There is not really much to report on here because, once again, I am  trying to get this new story completed. I’m guessing it’ll be another four or five days.  Until then my life consists of yoga, taking care of the flowers, eating a few times, writing for 8 to 10 hours at a stretch, then collapsing in bed into a deep sleep until about 4am.

Oh, except that yesterday, I had to make a trip into town and guess who was riding right behind me the entire way?? And wearing a helmet??

Yes!! The boy from down the street — on his blue motorcycle. I could not believe it.  And he basically went the speed limit the whole way, which was why he was behind me, I guess. Because god knows I go way more than the speed limit.  (Well, he started out in front me, on the freeway ramp, but I soon pulled way out ahead of him, because I don’t understand what it means to go the speed limit.)

But it was so strange. A relief to see him in that helmet, but strange to see him out on the highway, heading somewhere unknown — miles and miles from Crazeysburg.

And in the car, I was streaming Brian Hyland singing “Sealed With A Kiss” on repeat again (see Monday’s post) and it just made for such a wistful trip to town.  Because both that song and that boy make me really melancholy for days long gone.

Oh, and my lawn care guy showed up yesterday. His back is really in bad shape and he needs surgery. But at least I finally got the grass cut, so I really appreciated that.

Nick Cave sent out a really great Red Hand File yesterday, after I posted to the blog. You can read it here. (He addresses the purpose of an anchor once it has been cut loose from the ship.) For me, it was perfectly timed.

Other than that, life goes on. And I have nothing else to say!! I gotta get back to work here on the story.

I hope Thursday was good for you, wherever you are in the world. the new Tom Petty tune is below. No lyrics are available yet. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

Putting On My “Happy Guy” Face!!!

I won’t bog you down with the details, I’ll only say that I’m really happy to be making some story sales here AND even getting some editing work again. Here’s hoping things are slowly but surely getting back on track…

I need it to. That’s all I will say. Because we’re going to be positive around here and look forward!!

Today, in addition to working some more on the new erotic short story (“1954 Powder Blue Pickup”), I think Valerie and I are going to try to figure out why the heck the cover art for The Guitar Hero Goes Home is not doing what it is supposed to be doing — we had a long chat about it yesterday, and it gets mindboggling –why it keeps skewing the way it does, when, in the template, it keeps matching up perfectly.

It is disheartening. But we’ll get it figured out.

Meanwhile, every time I look at the cover of the proof copy that arrived yesterday, I just sort of sigh with a heavy heart…

I’m actually toying with the idea of trying to make the new short story a novella. If you’ve read last evening’s excerpt from the new story, you can probably tell that there are actual characters in the story and a story arc is underway. Unlike “Half-Moon Bride,” which basically had neither. So the groundwork is set if I want to actually extend it into something more significant.

However, this is another one of those situations, where I have no real clue what’s coming up next while I’m writing it — the story just comes out.  So we’ll see how it goes. Basically, everyday I simply sit down at the desk and I write…

Even though the writing has been going really great lately, I have been battling the urge to get rather melancholy. So far, I am winning the battle, but it is just constantly there, in the background. I guess mostly because summer is waning. And that storm the other night really took a toll on my incredibly beautiful hydrangea bush. I don’t think it’s going to be able to get back to how it looked before the storm because it is already so late in the season. It makes me so sad. The blossoms had gotten so huge, and the storm filled the blossoms with water, so now they’re bent way down to the sidewalk — and they had been 8-feet tall. That’s a lot of weight keeping it bent over.

I keep wishing there was something I could do, but the blossoms are getting old now and I need to accept that I can’t solve all of Nature’s “problems” — and it could be that Nature doesn’t think it has any problem at all. And I should just keep out of it, right?

And my lawn care guy has had a bad back issue so he hasn’t been here to cut the grass in 3 weeks. My yard now has that look of complete and utter abandonment. Which is not the overall look I prefer.

I hate feeling like I have no control, you know? Like I have to just stand back and allow everything. Let everything just be what it is. Sometimes it’s very frustrating for me.

So, the more I can sit at my desk and write and not focus on the things that make me sad, the better the day goes.

And on that little note… I’m gonna get the day underway here.  I hope you’re having a nice Wednesday, wherever you are in the world!  I think I mentioned the other day that Nick Cave’s solo concert is going to be released as an album in November. I’m going to leave you with a video they released from that concert — Nick Cave at  the piano, singing “Galleon Ship” from Ghosteen (2019). This is what I was listening to last night, as the whole world was trying really, really hard not to go flying off into a million pieces.  Okay, thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!!

“Galleon Ship”

If I could sail a galleon ship
A long, lonely rider across the sky
Seek out mysteries while you sleep
And treasures money cannot buy
For you know I see you everywhere
A servant girl, an empress
My galleon ship will fly and fall
Fall and fly and fly and fall deep into your loveliness

And if we rise my love
Before the daylight comes
A thousand galleon ships will sail
Ghostly around the morning sun

As the city rises up
As the city rises up
As the city rises up
As the city rises up

For we are not alone, it seems
So many riders in the sky
The winds of longing in their sails
Searching for the other side

And if we rise my love
Oh my darling, precious one
We’ll stand and watch the galleon ships
Circle around the morning sun

© 2019 Nick Cave, Warren Ellis