Tag Archives: The Guitar Hero Goes Home Marilyn Jaye Lewis

Some Awesome Memories!!

Today is the 4th anniversary of Bunny’s passing — she was such a sweet cat. I swear that I still miss her every day.

I went looking for some old photos of her to post to the blog, and I serendipitously (which I don’t think is actually a word) discovered a bunch of photos that I forgot I had.

So it’s Memory Day again, here in Marilyn’s Room!!

First of all, I found a wonderful photo of Paul at Christmas, 1996. Paul was my best friend who died, whom I blogged about yesterday.

Paul at Christmas, 1996

He was already really sick here, but you can see that even while he was dying, he was just such a good-natured human being.

Here are two photos of Bunny right after I rescued her and her brother, Buster, from a NYC cat shelter in Times Square. They were a few months old already when I adopted them. Bunny is the larger cat, Buster, was the grey and white cat. I loved both of them so much, it was almost unbelievable.

Bunny and Buster on the dining room table on West End Avenue, NYC.

 

Wayne was not happy that I adopted two cats to replace Kitty after she died. But the rescue place wanted me to have this brother & sister pair, even though I had gone in to adopt a different cat. They insisted that I have these two instead and they wound up being such a joy to me.

Buster & Bunny in the nursery.

When Wayne and I thought we were having a baby, we decorated the nursery.  But no babies came, so it eventually turned into my office. So my office on West End Avenue was half-nursery. This is right after Bunny & Buster were adopted.

Our house from 1964-1966

 

I could not believe I found this photo!! This is the house my family lived in from 1964-1966, in Cleveland. I took the photo decades after we lived there, but this was our house! I have so many memories from this house. I could write an entire book just about that. I found out years later that both of my parents disliked this house, but my dad bought it because it was really close to the school — just down the block. And both me and my older brother started school when we lived here.

The house Mikey Rivera and I lived in together.

I did not even remember that I had this photo!! Mikey Rivera and I were going to buy this house in Easton, Pennsylvania. It was owned by a priest who rented it out. We were “renting to own” when my mom got sick and we wound up moving back to Ohio. We lived in it for 6 months.

My office in that house.

This was my office in that house. The house was really old — well over 100 years old. I edited a couple of anthologies in this office and wrote a few short stories, but didn’t live there long enough to write much more than that.

My office in the apartment in Pennsylvania.

This was my “office” in the apartment Mikey & I rented when we left NYC together, before we moved into that house above. We rented a small one-bedroom apartment in an old Victorian house that was on the Delaware River in Pennsylvania, in the foothills of the Pocono Mountains. We were less than 2 hours from NYC, so it was an ideal location. I could easily go back & forth to Manhattan to meet with publishers and other writers, etc., and Mikey could go visit his son, who was only about 6 years old (!!) at the time. (He’s now well out of college…).

My “office” was in a corner of the living room. He and I lived there for 3 years. I wrote 3 novels in that little corner — including Freak Parade, which I wrote about Mikey Rivera. I also wrote three novellas and many, many short stories in that little corner. I also edited 4 fiction anthologies. All in that little corner. I was extremely creative there.

Naturally, Mikey and I shared the tiny apartment with Buster & Bunny! And according to my lease, I was only allowed to have one cat. So we always had to hide Buster from the landlord. Luckily, the two cats looked enough alike, that if one would sit in the front window, you couldn’t really tell if it was a different cat. The only problem was to never let both cats sit in the front window at the same time. The landlord only lived a couple blocks away, so I was constantly worrying that he was going to see both cats at the same time. Luckily, my little desk was not far from the window, because I mean it was a constant chore to keep both of them out of that window at the same time. (It was a beautiful bay window, looking out over the river.)

Okay! That’s my little trip down Memory Lane for today.

Well, the podcast recording went very well yesterday, although I barely even mentioned The Guitar Hero Goes Home! We talked about a bunch of other stuff, instead. Mostly the state of the erotica publishing industry now compared with its heyday, when we all first met.  (Me, M. Christian, and Ralph Greco, Jr.) I will let you know when you can listen to it on YouTube.

And today, I am feeling better all the way around. The bruise on my thigh is a hideous mass of vibrant colors now, but almost all the pain is completely gone. And this evening, I’m meeting Kevin, the director of my play, for dinner, so I’m really looking forward to a chance to get out and socialize again. Yay!! And we’ll be discussing all the things that are going on with my play, so I’m very eager to hear about all that.

Nick Cave’s official web site sent out an email this morning, announcing the screening dates for the extended film version of  Idiot Prayer – Nick Cave Alone at Alexandra Palace. To purchase tickets, you can locate your area here. (I think. I might have just given you the link that says you can’t yet buy tickets to see the film in Crazeysburg, but I’ve been assured the film is coming here soon!) (Just kidding, of course. Nothing comes to Crazeysburg!!)

Okay, that’s it!! Have a terrific Friday, wherever you are in the world.  Thanks for visiting, gang. I leave you with “Euthanasia,” the new song by Nick Cave, which is in that film mentioned above.  Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya!

Day #2 On the CBD Oil !!

The neck pain is absolutely gone. Yay.  And I’m not quite as “relaxed” as I was yesterday morning, but I am still very relaxed and in an incredibly great mood. So we’ll just see how it progresses.

Anything to stay off of Advil and Tylenol.

The best news of all, though, is that we FINALLY have the cover art fixed for The Guitar Hero Goes Home, and the formatting is also fixed. So that didn’t take too long, right? Just a couple of fucking months.

But I am just so happy, gang. Even though the eBook has been fine from the beginning, I am finally feeling like the “book” is actually done. Another “baby” alive in the world for me. To live indefinitely. I never get tired of that feeling.

The first time I went from being published in underground zines, to being published in an actual book,  was when I sold the story “The Birthday Party” to Masquerade for an anthology called The Unmade Bed (1997):

 

9780739406519: THE UNMADE BED Twentieth Century Erotica

And I was so excited.  What an incredible thrill. And it wasn’t my best story — it was really tame compared to what I normally write — but it did seem to be popular, and it went on to get published a few more times over the years. But I can’t remember where. I know Alyson Tyler published it in The Happy Birthday Book of Erotica, or something like that. And it’s in one of the Muse Revisited collections.

(I’m a really great sales person, aren’t I? “It’s out there somewhere, all you have to do is find it. Let me know how it goes.”)

When my first book came out, (Neptune & Surf, also from Masquerade), I was over the moon!!  And since for whatever reason, Wayne (my husband at the time) wasn’t willing to celebrate with me, I went out for drinks with Christy Cassidy and Nan Kinny — and Nan was one of my absolute heroes, a true role model for me. I just loved her. (She’s not dead, they just moved away and I haven’t seen either of them in ages.) Nan was one of the founders of the legendary On Our Backs magazine, the first hardcore dyke BDSM porn magazine. It was out of San Francisco. And I just worshiped her and what she had accomplished with that magazine.

ON OUR BACKS; Entertainment for the Adventurous Lesbian Vol. 11, No. 01,  January/February 1995: (1995) | Alta-Glamour Inc.

Anyway, Christy and Nan were both really happy for me. And it was the very best feeling, having a book come out. And I never get tired of the feeling, gang. I absolutely never do.

Although, one thing I will say is that, usually, no one celebrates with me. The only people who are excited for me are people who are colleagues in some way — in the industry. “Regular” people — friends and family –always distance themselves from my books. Even people that I’m very close to — friends/lovers who might have stories or whole books dedicated to them, or serve as the inspiration for some of my early stories. No one wants to be publicly connected to what I write. Which makes me  sad, but I’ve gotten used to it. And I find ways to celebrate on my own. So this is how I celebrated last night!! (We’re drinking CBD tea!!) (Just kidding…)

80 Best Antique /Vintage Child's Tea Sets images in 2020 | kids tea set,  vintage children, childrens tea sets

Okay!!

So. I’m going to get started here. It is a really lovely fall day here in Crazeysburg. I hope it’s equally lovely wherever you are in the world today! Thanks for visiting. I’m leaving you with two things — the same song, but two different titles, and two different singers. “Weeping Annaleah” by Tom Jones, and “Sleeping Annaleah” by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. (A song written by the great Mickey Newbury and Dan Folger.)  Contrast and compare!! And enjoy. All righty. Have a great day, wherever you are!  I love you guys. See ya.

We’re Gonna Try Again Today

Yesterday was intense, gang.

I don’t know if that full moon was factoring in to things, or not. But emotionally, I was all over the place yesterday.

The happy stuff was that my lunch with Kevin, the director of Tell My Bones, was so much fun. He had some initial casting questions, regarding actors, but other than that, we just talked about all kinds of stuff and laughed a lot and had a really nice break from the intensity of our lives.

And then, almost the moment I got back home, my ex-husband in NYC called to chat. He actually bought the print edition of The Guitar Hero Goes Home and was reading it!!

He said he would give me his feedback when he’d finished reading it, but he asked, “How can people think there isn’t a lot of sex in this book?”

Well, by the standards of “erotica” there’s not a lot of sex in it. By anyone else’s standards, I guess there’s a ton of sex in it… (I do have it listed as “appropriate for over 18 only”)

I give up, though — trying to figure how to market anything I write. There’s always either too much sex or not enough.

But it was so nice that he actually bought the book.

And then my other friend Kevin called! The one who lives in Montana most of the year (and the one who my ex-husband visited while on his vacation out West this summer!). It was so nice to chat with him. He’s planning to come back to Ohio soon, but only for one month and then he’s planning to go off to Chile and Argentina for a while, if COVID doesn’t get in the way of that. So I’m not sure if that vintage 1965 VW camper van of his will remain in my barn indefinitely or not.

So that was really just great — to have all those people to talk to you yesterday, including actually seeing another human being!

But in between all that, I would sink rapidly back into a depression.  For a few reasons, many of which involve people who are not getting back to me about things that are very important to me (some other things I wrote, and also stuff related to another play). I’m beginning to feel like I don’t exist.

But part of me is trying to convince myself that “not hearing from people” is actually a good sign…

And I’m still trying to get them to come pick up the 8 yard waste bags filled with dead hydrangea blossoms that are sitting at the curb (since Tuesday). 6 phone calls. Each phone call guaranteeing me that the truck is coming, and it never comes… Yesterday afternoon, the customer support person said the truck came by and couldn’t find any yard waste.

How can you not see 8 enormous brown yard waste bags filled with enormous hydrangea blossoms at the curb? Finally, the last phone call I made to them yesterday to see if they’d get here before the weekend started — the lady told me I’d be better off just putting them in my trash bin and having them picked up as trash on Wednesday.

It broke my heart, you know. Literally. Because I’m neurotic and I can’t treat all these beautiful blossoms like “trash.” But now I have to. So I stuffed them into my trash bin and now there’s no room left for my regular trash between now and Wednesday.

I actually cried doing that — not only because that’s how fucking sensitive I am, but because, you know, why didn’t the guy who picked up the trash on Wednesday — yes, the very same guy who moved all 8 yard waste bags one foot away from my trash bin — just put them in the garbage truck, since he was actually holding them??

I hate when things make no sense and then I’m the one who ends up feeling crazy.

Well, one nice thing — I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner and trying to stop streaming that Brian Jones documentary because it keeps making me so fucking sad: I saw a woman walk by on the sidewalk and then she stopped and pulled one of the yard waste bags from out of my bin and took a whole bunch of those hydrangea blossoms home with her. I don’t know if she’s going to dry them or what. But I felt so happy that someone was going to use them, probably as decorations in some way.

I can’t bring anything like that indoors because all 7 of my crazy cats destroy that kind of thing over night.

Another nice thing is that the little house across Basin Street is finally going to get some inhabitants!

When I first moved in here, the woman who owned that little house was in a nursing home, and she has since passed away. Her son comes by periodically to take care of the grass, etc., but it’s been a totally empty house. But the son has been getting it ready for some people to move in — an older couple, it looks like.  It will be so nice to finally have some life over there.

Here is the little house, this morning, as the full moon was just barely visible through the fog. It looks like  a really weird house from this side of it, but it’s actually really cute.  And has 2 porches and a deck.

Little house across the street.

At one point, I was hoping my birth mom could either rent that house, or we could buy it for her. But my sister didn’t want her living that far away, and I don’t think my birth mom wanted to live that close to me, 24/7 — because I’m sort of crazy, in case this blog has not alerted you to that.

Whereas, both of my sisters are intensely not crazy. They’re super grown up and serious about everything. (And I’m actually the eldest.)

Well, okay.

Last night, I was listening to some lovely Morgana King music in the dark, in my bed. Trying to seek out reasons to be really happy about all these people who are treating me like I’m invisible. (This song in particular, is so lovely):

And then I started poking around in my music, and I discovered that Bruce Springsteen has actually dropped another new song for his upcoming album, Letter To You. It’s called “Ghosts,” and it blew me away for 2 reasons: one, being that it was that anniversary of Tom Petty’s death yesterday and it made me think a little bit of Tom Petty.

But it also made me think of The Guitar Hero Goes Home — my new novel. It really did. It just kicked my heart so hard.

Because, you know, it’s always just me and the thoughts that are in my head. It’s been like that for as long as I can even remember. I’ve always been very isolated by my thoughts, even as a really little girl. And then at some point, my thoughts make it on to paper and go out in the world, and they either sell or don’t sell, but then I’m always right back to being alone with the thoughts that are in my head.

But even though The Guitar Hero Goes Home is fiction — I made it up, it just came to me out of the blue two summers ago, when I was so in love; but even though he’s fiction, that guy in that novel is so real to me. Just so real. For me, he lives. And I love him like he’s “real.” And so that new Springsteen song “Ghosts” just hit me so hard.

And not in a bad way, but a very intense way, and it reminded me of how isolated I really am. And I don’t guess that, as this point, it’s going to ever really change. I guess that this particular lifetime is just all about managing alone.

Okay, well. I’m going to get started here. Yoga and then put some more of those thoughts down on paper and call it a short story.

I hope you have a great Saturday underway, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting!! I love you guys. See ya.

“Ghosts”

I hear the sound of your guitar
Comin’ from the mystic far
Stone and the gravel in your voice
Come in my dreams and I rejoice

It’s your ghost moving through the night
Your spirit filled with light
I need, need you by my side
Your love and I’m alive

I can feel the blood shiver in my bones
I’m alive and I’m out here on my own
I’m alive and I’m comin’ home

Old buckskin jacket you always wore
Hangs on the back of my bedroom door
Boots and the spurs you used to ride
Click down the hall but never arrive

It’s just your ghost moving through the night
Your spirit filled with light
I need, need you by my side
Your love and I’m alive

I can feel the blood shiver in my bones
I’m alive and I’m out here on my own
I’m alive and I’m comin’ home

Your old Fender Twin from Johnny’s Music downtown
Still set on 10 to burn this house down
Count the band in, then kick into overdrive
By the end of the set we leave no one alive

Ghosts runnin’ through the night
Our spirits filled with light
I need, need you by my side
Your love and I’m alive

I shoulder your Les Paul and finger the fretboard
I make my vows to those who’ve come before
I turn up the volume, let the spirits be my guide
Meet you, brother and sister, on the other side

I’m alive, I can feel the blood shiver in my bones
I’m alive and I’m out here on my own
I’m alive and I’m comin’ home
Yeah, I’m comin’ home

© 2020 Bruce Springsteen

Coffee, Sunrise, Fall

What could be nicer, right?

I’m trying to not notice the lack of summer around here and focus only on how beautiful the morning is here in Crazeysburg. And it is actually really beautiful. And it’s already gotten up to a walloping 50 degrees Fahrenheit!! Yay!

Anyway.

Yesterday was so weird.

I got a lot done. Finished the rather complicated manuscript formatting they needed for 1954 Powder Blue Pickup and then sent it off. I will keep you posted!! (I never like to be 100% sure about something until I have the signed contract.) (I did get the signed contract back for “Half-Moon Bride” on Tuesday, btw. So that’s a go!)

Then I FINALLY fixed the formatting for the print edition of The Guitar Hero Goes Home !!! And I uploaded it. Hallelujah!! However… the new cover design Valerie did that fixes the problem of the old cover art skewing once it was in the Amazon template, was saved in a format that was enormous. And I mean, enormous. The only thing that fit into the template when I uploaded it yesterday was the barcode. Seriously. That’s how huge it was. The entire cover was a giant-sized version of the barcode.

So, since Valerie is obviously not working these days (her mom’s funeral is today), I left the original cover art for now. But the inside of the book finally looks perfect. I was so happy.

But then, for some reason, when the trash pickup truck came to collect stuff yesterday, they didn’t pick up all the clippings from the hydrangea (8 bags worth). And this really upset me because I don’t want to keep looking at all those dead hydrangea blossoms — they make me so sad. So I called the company and they said that a different truck was picking up yard waste and would be over before 5:30pm, but I just knew that they weren’t going to come, and they didn’t.

So they are supposed to come today and get them — and they were really nice about it. But for some reason, it just made me so sad yesterday. I couldn’t really snap out of it. (The amount of windows I have in the house makes it almost impossible to not see 8 yard bags filled with dead hydrangea blossoms sitting out by the curb everywhere I go in the house. Plus it was drizzling rain all day, and cold. And I kept feeling like the flowers were blaming me for killing them and tossing them to the curb…)

And then I wanted to set up the web site for Marilyn’s Room Books yesterday, but I have to wait until Oct. 5th before I can redirect the domain to WordPress, and mapping the domain instead just got way too complicated. So that didn’t happen.

And then I decided to re-watch that Brian Jones documentary, which I’d forgotten to say was really, really good. Very disturbing, though, since they provide a good argument for saying that Brian Jones did not drown in his (chlorinated) swimming pool from an asthma attack and too much alcohol, but was in fact murdered in the little fresh-water trough at the side of his house by the builder whom he had just fired. (His autopsy does state that there was fresh water in his lungs, not swimming pool water, but his whole case has been mysteriously sealed for 75 years, of which there are still 24 more years to go!) The whole documentary was just really well done. but sad, and I watched it again.

Obviously, none of this is unbearable awfulness, but for some reason, it just contributed to me having a yucky day.

But today just feels world’s better. It really does. Today, I’m going to be working on a new erotic short story for the upcoming Muse Revisited Volume 4 — which will now be “Selected Taboo Erotica” from 1994-2020. (6 previously published stories, and one brand-new one, all of them D/s and pushing the boundary of questionable consent. It will be about 200 pages, 75,000 words.)

So I’m guessing I’ll have a really fun day.

And tomorrow, I’m having lunch with Kevin, the director of my play! So I am really looking forward to that. I have not socialized with a soul since the July 4th weekend, when I had dinner with Kevin and his husband at the Granville Inn.

Since today is October 1st, folks, that means it’s been 3 months since I’ve seen anybody. Well, I mean, anybody that I actually know.

Very early this morning, I had a very interesting dream, though. I dreamed that one of the Nick Cave sites I follow on Instagram posted the lyrics to “The Train Song.” And I was dreaming about the song (and then the train actually went by outside my window, too, which is nowhere near as sleep- disturbing when all the windows are closed).

But the dream was actually really cool. Even though I was back living with my adoptive mom, she wasn’t  home. And it didn’t seem as if she was ever going to come back, but she’d left behind all her diamonds — plus she’d left the house in a big mess. (I’m guessing that all symbolizes my consciousness re: her.)

But it was really sunny and I had a big wooden deck out back, with a patio and a big privacy fence around the patio, and it was filled with all these young friends. (Which in itself made for a great dream because I have, like, 3 friends left in the whole world now.)

Everyone was socializing and happy, instead of practicing social distancing and wearing masks. And a young lesbian black woman  brought me a gift — a pruned rose bush that was still young — in a flower pot. And she gave me all the instructions I needed for it to bloom. I was so excited. (Roses are my favorite flower, followed closely by lilacs.)

Inside the house, I had a pet bird in a cage. But the bird somehow got out, but I was able to easily get it with my hands and put it safely back in the cage and take it out to the back patio with me. (It was so cool to have a bird that wasn’t afraid of me.) (Plus, when I woke up, I was immediately thinking about that phrase, “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”)

Anyway, I woke up feeling really happy.

And on that happy note…

I’ll get to work here on the new erotic short story. And get the day happening around here. I hope you’re having a nice Thursday, wherever you are in the world. I’m leaving you with “The Train Song” since Disc #1 of B- Sides & Rarities was already in the CD player in the kitchen anyway! How fortuitous! So enjoy, gang. And thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.

“The Train Song”

Tell me how long’s the train been gone?
Tell me how long’s the train been gone?
And was she there?
And was she there?
Tell me how long’s the train been gone?

Tell me how many coaches long?
Tell me how many coaches long?
What did she wear?
And what did she wear?
Tell me how many coaches long?

Tell me when did the whistle blow?
Tell me when did the whistle blow?
And did she tie her hair?
And did she tie her hair?
Tell me when did the whistle blow?

© 1990 Nick Cave

Autumn Has So Totally Arrived!

48 degrees Fahrenheit; the sun didn’t come up until 7am; the leaves are changing all over the neighborhood; I did indeed prune the hydrangea yesterday morning…. The flowery  summer wreaths are off the doors — replaced with the ones for fall. I put away the porch furniture.

Now all I have left to do is wait for summer to get here…

All righty! I won’t get far with that attitude, will I? No.

So instead of wishing that life were totally different, I’m going to spend the day ignoring the world beyond Crazeysburg and just doing non-writing work today:

  1. finish formatting 1954 Powder Blue Pickup and send it off to the publisher today.
  2. fix the formatting on the print edition for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. And then upload it to Amazon and hopefully stop tinkering with it and keep it there once and for all.
  3. set up the web site for Marilyn’s Room Books and get that up and running.

Even though I will no longer be self-publishing any of my new erotica (which I am extremely happy about!), I will still put up the Marilyn’s Room Books site because I want all of my available titles to be in one place, regardless of who the publishers are.

Plus, I’m still planning to self-publish In the Shadow of Narcissa, since it’s not erotic. And also bring out a new print edition of Twilight of the Immortal.

If I’m not mistaken, gang, Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse is going to be brought out in print and eBooks by the new publisher. (So that means I will finish writing it before the end of the year.)

But before that, I’ll be sending them The Muse Revisited, Volume 4 — yay!! But instead of it being strictly a print edition of my selected erotica from 1994 -2012, it’s going to be print and digital, and focus on my previously published hardcore BDSM stories, along with a brand new one that I will write here at any moment!!

So all of it is really exciting to me, gang. It really, really is.

Meanwhile, though, I just now realized (because I’m not dressed yet) that I am still wearing my summer PJs to bed every night. I suppose I have to make an adjustment there. Drag out the fall PJs.

It’s funny, but for most of my adult life, I hated summer — because I lived in NYC and I have a very low tolerance for high humidity. It makes me super cranky and makes my brain feel like it’s going to explode. And NYC summers are usually just the worst.

But ever since I moved into this amazing old house in the middle of nowhere, all of that has changed (mostly because of that man I fell in love with that first summer I lived here who died; he changed summer for me forever) — honestly, honestly, honestly; I cannot emphasize how much in the middle of nowhere this house is, gang. When you get off the highway that leads to the 3-mile, winding back road that leads to my village, there is a really big freeway exit sign and it says “LOCAL ATTRACTIONS” and there is absolutely nothing written on that sign! I’m so serious. It’s just amazing. Nothing is on the sign. It’s just a big blank sign. NOTHING is here, folks!!

However, there used to be a famous homestead out here but it’s been closed down, so they removed the listing but left the huge sign. (In fact, if you were to google my village, you’d discover that it was once home to the world’s largest apple basket — but no more. I have yet to lay eyes on that basket (below) because that homestead was closed down! Yet google seems to think it’s emblematic of where I live!)

Worlds Largest Basket of Apples in Frazeysburg Ohio Stock Photo - Alamy

So I’m guessing that, once I’m dead, the one thing on that freeway exit sign will be my house that will, by then, be a famous museum… (Probably because I was insanely crazy, had a house full of dead spirits talking to me all the time and had too many undomesticated cats, but I would prefer it to be a standing homage to my splendid writing…)

Yeah, well…

Robert Jordan Quote: “If wishes were wings, pigs would fly.” (9 wallpapers) - Quotefancy

Okay, on that happy note… I refuse to talk about politics or the debate.  I refuse to even think about it. I will simply buy a gun, I mean, VOTE, and get on with my life.

And now I will even get dressed and get to work around here. (Just FYI, I never sit down at the desk to blog before getting dressed, so I’m not sure what’s up with me today.)

Anyway.

Have a nice Wednesday, wherever you are in the world, gang. Thanks for visiting. I leave you with probably my most favorite Buddy Holly song from my wee bonny girlhood (even though I pretty much liked all his songs), “Everyday”  (1958) — because I want to feel hopeful about love, like when I was young (yay!!), instead of depressed by its utter absence around here, now that I’m old (yay!!)! So enjoy. I love you guys. See ya!!!

Does It Get More Exciting??!!

I’m of course referring to the WEATHER!!

The next 3 days in a row, it’s going back up to 80 degrees Fahrenheit and sunny.  So I can pretend, however briefly, that it’s not really fall.

Then, of course, as soon as it’s really undeniably fall, and all the leaves have changed and the October sky gets that shade of really deep blue — then I’ll act like “Yay! It’s Autumn!! My favorite time of year!!”  And life will go on, ad infinitum.

I was actually conceived in the month of October — it’s the month I consider the moment I chose to come back to Life, so it’s a special month for me. All sad Tom Petty things notwithstanding. And also the death of my best friend Paul happened in October, as well. It’s a month I have a lot of attachment to.

Well, okay. So yesterday was a lot better. I moved forward with 1954 Powder Blue Pickup. I still have a ton of work to do on that gangbang section today.  I really walk a fine line between keeping it believable, keeping it erotic, pushing the boundary of questionable consent, and yet not making it so realistic that I make  myself sick…

But at least I’m getting there. And once that part is completed, there’s really only one more segment and the novella will be done!!

And then  off to the publisher it goes for their consideration…

I forgot to give you a head’s up that the new date for the premiere streaming of the staged reading of my play, Tell My Bones, will be Sunday night November 22nd. Not November 8th.  (Since this will be the anniversary of JFK’s assassination, perhaps it’s a lofty & important omen of some kind.) But I will keep you posted as it gets closer. And remember, it will be FREE!!

All right, well, once again, there is not much going on here besides working on the new novella and finally being in a better frame of mind again, too. It was a couple of difficult days, but they have officially passed.

Last evening was so lovely — I had all the windows open again and I just love that feeling that life is permeating the house. And I once again came to that understanding that death is only a transition, and that if anyone is waiting for me on that side of the veil, they’ll still be there when I get there. I don’t have to rush anything just because I’m lonely.

Also, quick update on The Guitar Hero Goes Home. The cover art has been fixed and is ready to upload. Yay!! And now I have to try to fix that formatting problem I have with the layout of the text. And then I’ll reload all of it to Amazon at one time. But that won’t happen until I finish writing 1954 Powder Blue Pickup. Meanwhile, the book is for sale, there’s nothing actually wrong with it — I just want it to look a little different. And, of course, the eBook is for sale, as well. No problems with that layout at all.

(And a huge thank you to all of you who are already buying it. I really appreciate it.)

And now! I will get yoga happening here, and get down to work.

Have a wonderful Thursday, wherever you are in the world and with whatever you’re getting up to! Thanks for visiting. I leave you with my late-night listening music from yesterday– a huge hit from The Monkees, circa 1967, and it is still a popular favorite among Monkees fans: “What Am I Doing Hangin’ Round?” From their album, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn, & Jones, Ltd. Okay!! Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya!

“What Am I Doing Hanging ‘Round?”

Just a loud mouth Yankee I went down to Mexico.
I didn’t have much time to spend, about a week or so.
There I lightly took advantage of a girl who loved me so.
But I found myself a-thinkin’ when the time had come to go…

[Chorus:]
What am I doin’ hangin’ round?
I should be on that train and gone.
I should be ridin’ on that train to San Antone,
What am I doin’ hangin’ round?

She took me to the garden just for a little walk.
I didn’t know much Spanish and there was no time for talk.
Then she told me that she loved me not with words but with a kiss.
And like a fool I kept on thinkin’ of a train I could not miss…

[Chorus]

Well it’s been a year or so, and I want to go back again.
And if I get the money, well I’ll ride the same old train.
But I guess your chances come but once and boy I sure missed mine.
And still I can’t stop thinkin’ when I hear some whistle cryin’….

© 1967 Michael Murphy, Owen Castleman

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

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.

Excerpt from “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”

My proof copy of the print edition of The Guitar Hero Goes Home, arrived this morning, and while I love being able to hold it in my hands, the cover art is skewed by about 1/4 of an inch on three of the borders, front & back.

It has been such a pain in the butt. Valerie keeps making the art work fit perfectly into the template, and then it keeps not printing correctly. So she’s going to try again…

Meanwhile, the book is actually already for sale, and so is the eBook. (Linked at the drop down menu above.) You might not notice the cover art being off, but we both sure did.

Well, I spent all of today on the new erotic short story, “1954 Powder Blue Pickup”. I am really , really happy with how it’s going, gang. It will probably run close to 20 pages when it’s done.

And while it’s intense and seriously skirts the boundary of “questionable consent” throughout, it is nowhere near as extreme as “Half-Moon Bride” was, so I’m going to go ahead and post a short excerpt here on the blog. I’ve tried to pick a segment that wasn’t too extreme.

However.

Please keep in mind 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!

Approx. 3 pages

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

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

When he was finished with her, she sat up, and grabbed a fresh Kleenex from her purse. She cleaned up her face as best she could, while he pulled up his trousers and zipped his cock back in.

Her skirt was still bunched around her waist and her panties were still down in back, revealing her ass, but first she reached for her blouse and put it back on.

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t button it up yet. Don’t hide those beauties!”

She smiled at him as he reached for her and pulled her breasts right up to his mouth. He licked her nipples and nipped at them and sucked on them. And while he did that, he reached a hand down her ass, feeling inside her underpants. “You’re soaking wet down there, you know that?”

She smiled, getting shy again. “I know,” she said. “I don’t know why.”

“It’s okay to like it,” he assured her. “Lots of girls like that.”

“They do? Are you sure? Because I’ve never heard about anything like this before.”

“Lots of girls do it – and like it. They just don’t admit it. It’s a secret.”

She gave it some thought “I guess it would have to be. Who’d ever talk about doing something like this?”

“Sure. Girls do all kinds of things that they don’t talk about.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” He took out a cigarette, lit it with his lighter and then passed it to her. Then he lit another one for himself.

They smoked in silence as she sat there with her blouse still unbuttoned and her naked ass hanging out of her soaking panties. Then she spoke. “Can you show me something else that girls like that they don’t mention?”

He gave it some serious thought. He knew he wasn’t going to get it up again; his dick was spent for the night. What could he do that would still suit his agenda – keep her focused on her asshole, this new thrill?

“I tell you what,” he finally replied. “Lie back on the seat there. Just lie down and lift your legs.”

“Can I keep my cigarette going?”

“Sure.” But he rested his own in the ashtray. Then he pulled her panties all the way off and spread her legs wide apart.

She laughed in delight. “I already know all about this,” she said. “Not that I don’t like it…”

“This’ll be a little different.”

She lay there and smoked her cigarette, and watched him get the little tub of Vaseline from out of the open glove compartment. “Is that what that was,” she said. “Vaseline?”

“Pull your knees up high,” he instructed her. “Up there close to your tits.”

She did as she was told. And she watched him scoop a big smear of Vaseline from the little tub and then felt it rubbing all around her asshole, and even up inside it.

She moaned as she sucked intently on her cigarette. “I think I might know what’s coming next,” she said.

“Maybe you do,” he said, tossing the tub of Vaseline back into the glove compartment. “But maybe you don’t.”

He got down between her legs and began licking her. She was already a sopping mess, but he didn’t care. His tongue went straight for that little spot she loved so much, and then he pushed two of his fingers right up her greasy ass.

“Oh god!” she cried out. “That’s too much! Just use one! Please!”

He licked her clit and he wiggled it with his tongue and he sucked it, while his two fingers kept a steady pace, fucking in and out of her asshole.

Oh god – ow – no! It hurt but he wouldn’t stop, so she sucked like crazy on her cigarette, quickly smoking it all the way down, because what he was doing to her clit at the same time felt so good, so good. She wasn’t sure what to do. Oh god, she groaned again, because her asshole had opened now and was bearing down on the steady fingers that were actually fucking her. And her captive clit got stiffer and stiffer in his sucking mouth.

“Shit!” she screamed out, her body shuddering. “Shit! Oh shit.”

She was actually coming – already. “Shit!” she sputtered again, because he wouldn’t let up on her; he sucked her clit so intensely now – like maybe it was a tiny thumb, or a little nipple that milk might explode from if he only sucked on it hard enough. And his two fingers fucked her so deep now and so fast, that she knew for sure her asshole had opened way too much for any girl anywhere to ever be proud of – to ever, ever speak about, to anyone.

When her body collapsed from the orgasm, he pulled his fingers out of her, then leaned up to her face. He took her spent cigarette from her and then said, “Lick my lips.”

“What?” She was panting, delirious.

“I said lick my lips. Go on, do it.”

She pushed her tongue out of her mouth and licked his lips, just like he told her to do.

“What do they taste like?” he challenged her.

She wouldn’t answer.

“They taste like pussy,” he said. “Your pussy. See? Dirty girls like you like all kinds of dirty things,” he said, kissing her full on the mouth then, knowing her own pussy smell would go right up her nose.

*     *     *

He pulled up to the curb outside of her apartment building, but before letting her get out of the truck, he said, “Give me a Kleenex. You can’t go inside looking like that.”

When she gave him a fresh Kleenex, he spit into it and rubbed every last trace of mascara from around her eyes – from where it had run and smeared. And then he said, “Put a little more lipstick on. You don’t wanna look like you’ve had your mouth anywhere where it shouldn’t have been, do you?”

She smiled at him, and fished her tube of lipstick from her handbag. “No,” she said. Then she took out her little pocket mirror and freshened her Wildberry Lipslicker.

He loved watching her do that to her mouth. He could feel it down in his balls.

“When can I see you again?” he said. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Well, I have to work…”

“I know, but what about after?”

“So soon? Do you think we should? Two nights in a row – my girlfriends are going to start asking me what’s up with you and me.”

“All right, then. Thursday – how’s Thursday sound?”

“That’ll be good,” she said. And as she opened the door to let herself out of the truck, he stopped her.

He pulled her face up close to his, kissing her cheek so as not to disturb her lipstick. “You be good,” he said quietly, “You hear?”

“I will,” she said.

“I mean it – don’t you go giving it away to anybody else. You need something, you get it from me. Right?”

“Right.”

He gently rubbed one of her breasts through her blouse. “Anything. You hear me? Anything your little mind can conjure up; we can do together. So you call me first.”

“There’s nobody else,” she said shyly.

“Okay, then. You have a goodnight. And I’ll see you Thursday. Unless you want me to stop by the store before that and just say hi?”

“Sure. That’ll be nice.”

“All right, then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said.

She let herself out of the truck and he watched her ass in that tight skirt walk away from him; watched her walk up to the front door of her building and go inside. Then he put his truck in gear and started down the road.

Thursday, he thought to himself. How the hell am I gonna wait ‘til Thursday?

*     *     *

The following night, he drove by the drugstore, slowed down just enough to make sure he could see her there inside, working. He just wanted to know for sure.

His mind at ease, he drove across town – to where the street was better lit, where the people filled the sidewalks and the occasional girl leaned against a traffic sign or a parking meter. When he saw Shelley, he cruised to a stop.

He reached over and rolled down the passenger window and Shelley leaned in.

“Hey, stranger,” she said. “Long time, no see.”

“Get in,” he said,

“How much you got?”

“Enough to work it out. Come on, get in.” So she got in.

As he drove out to the edge of town, where it was dark and quiet and private, Shelley chattered up a storm, like they were old friends. But when he pulled the truck to a stop and parked it, she was all business.

“Really, hon – how much you got? I know what you want, but you gotta pay.”

“I’ve got enough,” he assured her.

“Let me see.”

He retrieved his wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, opened it and let her take out a twenty-dollar bill.

“Okay,” she said. Then she waited as he let himself out of the truck and then came around to the passenger door and opened it. He left it open so that the little overhead light stayed on. When he helped her get out of the truck, she turned around, leaned back in and bent over the seat.

“Let me just look for a minute, okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” she said, “but I don’t have all night.”

“I know,” he said, lifting her dress up high in back and then pulling her panties down. There was enough light coming from inside the truck for him to see her just fine. Then he squatted down and planted light kisses all over her ass.

“Well, this is new,” she said.

Then he spread open her ass cheeks and began licking her hole.

“This is real new,” she said, softly now. “What is up with you?”

But he didn’t reply. He went about his business, licking her asshole. Licking and licking, occasionally poking his tongue in, letting his cock get good and hard.

Shelley moaned and sighed deeply and lost herself for a while – forgot all about working.

And as he licked her hole and caught the scent of her there – the scent of aroused pussy and asshole and soap – he thought of another time he’d smelled aroused pussy and asshole and soap. Another girl who charged by the trick and not by the hour, and how she’d sat her asshole right down on his mouth, riding his tongue, while she leaned over at the same time and sucked his dick. That one had gotten filthy dirty with him, getting into the back of the truck with him, where he’d lain on his back on an old tarp and she’d straddled him, taking his cock straight up her ass and then grinding down on it, taking him in deep while leaning back on her outstretched arms and keeping her thighs spread wide so that he could look at her spread-open pussy while she ground her asshole down on his cock…

There’d been moonlight that night and she’d agreed to get completely naked. Out in the middle of nowhere. He’d seen everything there was to see. And he came in her ass. No condom needed.

“Let me cum in your ass,” he said now to Shelley.

“No chance,” she said. “My night’s just getting started. No man in this town wants to pay for sloppy seconds – you know that.”

“Come on, Shelley,” he urged her, getting up and reaching into the glove compartment for the little tub of Vaseline. “I gotta cum in there. Come on.”

“No.”

“How about an extra ten – will that help?”

She gave it some thought. “Twenty. Another twenty and you can cum in my ass.”

“Will you hold yourself open while I fuck you?”

She sighed in disbelief. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “For another twenty – that you hand to me right now – you can cum in my ass and I’ll hold it open for you.”

*     *     *

For some reason, he liked it better when the woman’s panties were halfway down her thighs and not all the way down to her ankles. He thought it looked dirtier that way. Like they were getting away with something and might get caught at any moment.

That’s how it had been his first time – because the first time that he’d gotten his cock up a girl’s ass, it had been his cousin’s ass. One summer at a family reunion, when she’d flirted with him until his cock had gotten so hard they’d snuck into an upstairs bathroom together – where she’d known there would be Vaseline.

She was a year older than him and she was the first girl to clue him in about how fucking a girl in her ass kept her a virgin so there’d be nothing at stake. You could both have fun and just walk away.

His cousin had bent over the edge of the tub, still in her high-heels, with her skirt pulled up high and her panties halfway down. She’d been the one to smear Vaseline on her own hole and also on the tip of his cock. They were both so slippery that he’d gone right up her asshole, even though his cock was thick and rock-hard. He’d held her cheeks open and watched his cock push in and out of that impossibly tight hole, while she gripped the edge of the tub and tried not to fall head-first into it – he was pounding her that hard.

How he had loved looking at that – his cock stuck up that snug hole, her panties down her thighs, until he saw a strand of that gooey wet stuff drip out of her hairy pussy and land right in the crotch of her panties. That was all it took. He came. He gripped her hips tight and pounded her asshole so hard that she’d started to cry, she’d even tried to pry his hands off of her to try to get away, but he held her and he fucked her good and then he jerked his load right up his cousin’s ass.

The last time he’d seen her was at her wedding. The whole evening, she barely looked at him…

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

Pornographers Hard at Work!!

I am of course just kidding ! Clearly, those are cats having tea at the club!

These are, in fact, pornographers hard at work:

Lighting Department stenographers, 1935 | Item 9929, Enginee… | Flickr

Anyway!!!!!

Yes, well, I hate to label what I write as “pornography,” try as most people have done, over the decades, to get me to see it that way.  I still call it “literary erotica.”

However, that said,  “Half-Moon Bride,” my new erotic short story that is inching ever closer to completion,  is probably leaning way over to the pornographic side of any “erotica” I’ve ever written.

I just cracks me up, gang. The story is just so intensely intense. And there is just no story arc whatsoever — unless you consider going from “being a virgin to being absolutely in no way whatsoever a virgin” a story “arc”…

However, even if I say so myself, it is very well written!

Yesterday, as I sort of paved the literary way for the grand “anal sex” finale of the story, I spent no less than 8 hours writing and re-writing and re-writing yet again, the 2 pages that lead up to the beginning of the anal sex stuff. It’s just unreal. It’s like this story is never going to end. Everything is so tightly focused.  (I’m already at 22 pages, 13,000 words, and except for some plot set-up on the first page, the entire thing is sex.  The entire thing. There’s next to no dialogue. No exposition. Very little to explain the setting — of course we know that there’s a full moon. And it’s their wedding night. But the rest is just endless, really tightly focused sex.)

Still, I am really having a blast writing this.  I will give up saying that I
“think I am going to finish it today,” because it’s clear that I have absolutely no idea anymore. All I know is that I want to finish as soon as I can because I want to send it off to the new publisher to see if it’s a good fit for them. And then go on to the next story, which is already tumbling around in my head.

On a related note… You might have seen my update last evening regarding The Guitar Hero Goes Home.

It is no longer for sale as an eBook on Smashwords. For now, it is only in Kindle Select, so that means it is part of Kindle Unlimited right now, so you can get it for free as an eBook on Kindle. (Or get it in trade paperback for $9.95.)

Once the 90-day restriction of Kindle Select expires, I will publish it as a global eBook through Lulu.com. The Windows 10 platform is not formatting the ePub file the way Smashwords wants it (they need it based on the 2007 model of Word docs.) And I already tore my hair out trying to learn the Windows 10 platform, and it works just fine on Kindle. So, since I no longer have 2007, which I need in order to format it for Smashwords, I had to simply remove it from there.

All of my other self-published titles are still available as eBooks on Smashwords, but I guess that, until they update their style guide for formatting ePubs with Windows 10, I won’t be publishing any new eBooks on Smashwords .

And you probably also saw by now the photo I took of the boy on his motorcycle zooming past my house yesterday afternoon, on his way home from school.

Well, as luck would have it, after I finally finished working on the short story last evening, I got up from my desk, and was standing in front of the window in my bedroom that faces east, and I saw the boy backing his motorcycle into the garage for the night. So now I know where he lives!  His house is across the street from mine, 5 houses down the street. Which means that the train basically runs through his backyard!

His house is one of those modular homes, which means it’s basically a really big mobile home. No basement, no attic, one-story. But it’s a nice one, and really well maintained. (And this morning, when I got out of bed at 5am, I noticed an incredibly bright star over his house. I’m not kidding. I’m guessing it was a planet or something, it was shining so bright.  I’m not sure which star would have been in the eastern sky and shining so brightly at that hour. Anyway, I thought that was kind of interesting.)

So here’s this teenage boy, just really good-looking, long straight blond hair, growing up in the tiniest town you can imagine, in a trailer home, with a freight train running through his backyard about 5 times a day , and he drives a motorcycle, and he smokes cigarettes, and he seems like just the happiest boy I have ever seen — he is always smiling. I can only imagine that every girl at that high school is in love with him.

And it makes me think that his parents have probably just been really, really good to him.  He just looks to me like somebody who is so loved.

Okay, so, Nick Cave’s Cave Things has a new tee shirt on pre-order. This one seems to be referencing his song “Girl in Amber” (the lyric “don’t touch me”), but with a nice felt spider as a cool accent! You can pre-order it here.

Okay, then!

Well, I guess I’m going to get started here today and see if we can’t move these happy hermaphrodites into some sort of anal sex extravaganza today!! And bring this short story to a close. We shall see. I at least managed to get them out onto the terrace before I quit writing last night. (Yes, they went from the enormous marriage bed, back out to the enormous stone terrace, overlooking the mountainside in the moonlight to have their anal sex — because I’m thinking that’s just how it is, right? We go outside to the terrace to have anal sex on our wedding nights…)

My god. Anyway. So I’m leaving you with a Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds song again today, this one from 1997, “Come into My Sleep,” which is on B-Sides & Rarities (2005). Enjoy it! I hope you have a great Friday, wherever you are in the world — and if you live Stateside, I hope you are gearing up for a great holiday weekend — officially, the last weekend of “summer.” (I’m guessing that a certain boy on his motorcycle will be zooming past my house all weekend long, with it being a holiday and the weather is expected to be absolutely perfect.) Okay. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

“Come Into My Sleep”

Now that mountains of meaningless words
and oceans divide us
And we each have our own set of stars
to comfort and guide us
Come into my sleep
Come into my sleep, oh yeah
Dry your eyes and do not weep
Come into my sleep

Swim to me through the deep blue sea
upon the scattered stars set sail
Fly to me through this love-lit night
from one thousand miles away
And come into my sleep
Come into my sleep oh yeah
As midnight nears and shadows creep
Come into my sleep

Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair
For I am sick at heart, my dear
Bind my dreams up in your tangled hair
For all the sorrow it will pass, my dear

Take your accusation, your recriminations
and toss them into the ocean blue
Leave your regrets and impossible longings
and scatter them across the sky behind you
And come into my sleep
Come into my sleep
For my soul to comfort and keep
Come into my sleep

For my soul to comfort and keep – my sleep

Come on,
Come on,
Come on,
[repeat and fade]<

© 1997 Nick Cave