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:
finish formatting 1954 Powder Blue Pickup and send it off to the publisher today.
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.
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!)
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…
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!!!
Jesus Christ, you know?? No less than 3 cats threw up before 6am this morning.
Lucy coughed up a hairball at the top of the stairs.
Some mystery cat was a piggy and ate too much dry cat food and then threw it back up, only partially digested, in my bedroom (hence my reluctance to ever go barefoot in this house, especially in the dark).
Then in the middle of my own breakfast, Huckleberry threw up her canned cat food on the kitchen floor because she wolfed it down like a crazy person who was never going to see canned cat food again, so it came right back up. (She does that a lot, even though she’s gotten canned cat food for breakfast, every single morning of her life, for over 8 years now…)
And so the day begins! Yay.
Yesterday was a perfect day, gang. I spent many hours going over the gangbang segment and, overall, I thought it worked really well, I just wanted to tweak it. The dialogue, mainly. But now that section’s complete and I’m happy with it, and now that means I only have one section left and 1954 Powder Blue Pickup will be done!! I’m so excited.
I only wish that Michael Hemmingson were still alive. This is the kind of novella he would have really appreciated and probably would have published. (Meaning that it’s 99.9% anal sex.)
Michael Hemmingson, gone but never forgotten, not even for a minute
However, in regards to publishing it, I won’t go into all the details yet, but yesterday, I accepted a multi-year, exclusive publishing deal for all of my new taboo erotica, so I’m guessing that 1954 Powder Blue Pickup will likely be for sale, in print and digital, by late fall.
I’m super excited, gang. But I’ll go into more detail when I know absolutely for certain.
And I also think that The Muse Revisited Volume 4 is going to be slightly re-envisioned in its overall premise.
Okay. Another head’s up regarding the staged reading for my play, Tell My Bones. (Sunday evening, EST, November 22nd) There will be a link soon for you to make reservations to stream it. It will be free to stream — and it will also be available to stream from several websites (tellmybones.com, our Facebook page, through blueprint productions. com, and I believe through Harlem One Stop, and probably even here on Marilyn’s Room) but primarily it will be an evenbrite thing on YouTube, and streaming everywhere through there. It will run about 45 minutes.
And I’m really hoping you guys will make your reservations and then stream it — because, not only do I hope you will like the play, but also, I need those viewing numbers. I really do. The amount of views it gets matters to potential producers. And this is the first step toward getting it actually produced on stage in NYC (once the virus is over).
So — hugely thanking you in advance!! I will keep you posted.
So, last evening, I started streaming the new documentary on Brian Jones, Rolling Stone: The Life & Death of Brian Jones. I’m more than halfway through it, and will finish watching it tonight. It is really good, but nowhere near as uplifting as that documentary on Bill Wyman is (The Quiet One). I really did love that Bill Wyman documentary.
However, Bill Wyman and Brian Jones were two incredibly different types of people. (Brian Jones, in case you aren’t aware of who he is, was the original founding member of the Rolling Stones back in 1962 and died in 1969, shortly after being ousted from the group due to severe drug use and psychological problems.)
I was already very aware that Brian Jones had a reputation for not having been very nice. He allegedly had a sadistic streak, and could also get physically abusive toward women (at least to Anita Pallenberg), and he also had 5 illegitimate babies by 1965 (when he was only 25 years old), and it didn’t seem like he was doing much about taking care of any of them, accept at least acknowledging that they were his.
So, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that the documentary was sort of depressing — it does basically say that all those rumors about him were true. However, it goes much deeper into his personality and his emotional issues, stemming from childhood, and the serious psychological problems that developed from that. (Compounded by unbelievable quantities of alcohol and drug use that he was infamous for.)
It also looks more closely at the personality dynamics within the Stones, and why Mick & Keith came to the forefront, even though it was Brian’s band, etc. Really sad stuff, that you can easily see why it got so emotionally complicated for Brian and why he felt so defeated by it. (He was dead by age 27.)
It’s not a film that seems to have been supported, endorsed, or acknowledged in any official way at all by the Rolling Stones themselves, so I’m guessing they want their distance from it, but so far, it is a really good documentary. Eye-opening, and balanced, but really sad.
All righty. Well. On that note!!
I’ll get the morning underway here and inch ever closer to completing 1954 Powder Blue Pickup!! And when it’s done, I’ll see if Michael Hemmingson (in spirit) wants to come hang out at my kitchen table for a bit and celebrate!! Yay. (I’m guessing he will.)
Marilyn & Michael in the old days…
Okay. Thanks for visiting. Enjoy your Saturday, wherever you are in the world!! Oh! And before I forget — that pornographic wallpaper over at Cave Things is now available for sale!! (It’s rather on the pink side — I saw a photo of it on a wall on Instagram yesterday — so here’s hoping you have a room that will look pretty in pink!)
All righty. I leave you with some early Stones, heavily influenced by all the many instruments Brian Jones was so good at playing: “Paint It Black,” their huge hit from Aftermath (1966). Enjoy. And I love you guys. See ya!
“Paint It Black”
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a newborn baby, it just happens everyday
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and must have it painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
Hmm, hmm, hmm…
I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black
Okay, I’m back!! And my new erotic short story, “Half-Moon Bride” is indeed done!!
Yay!!
I’m very, very happy with it. I will keep you posted on when it will become available, and in what way and from where.
I want to post some sort of excerpt here on the blog, but the story is just so intense, and told in such an extreme way, that posting just a section of it would be too out of context and probably seem too extreme. (Most of the story pushes the boundary of “questionable consent,” but reading it from page one, you do sort of get the underlying audacity of it — it is sort of rapturous and even a little humorous.)
Anyway, I have to give it some thought.
Meanwhile, today I am doing a final read-through to check for typos, etc., then I’m sending it off to the potential publisher.
Then, I’m going to get started on another new erotic short story, as well as try to make some headway in editing the upcoming The Muse Revisited Volume 4, Selected Erotic Fiction, 1994-2012. (If you have read any of the other volumes in the series, you have perhaps noted that some of that stuff needs some conscientious editing — I should have realized that before letting those other volumes go to press.)
Anyway. I wouldn’t want Valerie to have to go too long without having another book cover design to tear her hair out over!
So, it is indeed a glorious holiday weekend around here! Just unbelievably perfect weather. You have no idea. And our teenage motorcycle boy has indeed been out and about, zoom-zooming all over the tiny town and seeming happy as the proverbial clam.
Now that I know which house he lives in, I have noticed that an older guy (brother maybe?) seems to fix up old cars. Whether this is for a living or is a hobby, I have no clue. I don’t actually spend all day staring at their house, much as I would like to. (Much as I would like to actually go over there and hang out!!) But it fascinates me. So much life in that boy and he is in the teeny-tiniest place on Earth — practically. And the odds are high that he’ll hook-up with some girl from the high school, start raising babies and stay here in Muskingum County for the rest of his life.
And knowing what I know about most of the rest of the world — it does not seem like a bad idea at all. It takes a long time for the garbage in the world to permeate Muskingum County. It really does.
Okay, well, I guess I’ll get started here. Not much going on but writing and beautiful weather!! Please don’t forget that my newest novel, The Guitar Hero Goes Home, is now on sale! In trade paperback and Kindle eBooks. (For now. It will branch out to other outlets later this fall.) In the meantime, have a wonderful Sunday, wherever you are in the world!!
I leave you once again with Nick Cave’s version of “Cosmic Dancer”, from the (finally) just-released Marc Bolan tribute album, Angel-Headed Hipster. The song was going through my head all night and when I woke-up first thing this morning, so I played it all through breakfast. Enjoy, and thanks for visiting, gang!! I love you guys. See ya.
Me and Henry, my AI sexbot (pictured above in the driver’s seat!!), will be heading out to do our weekly marketing in the next county over within the hour — the county that is no longer in Code Red! Yay! The county where we hope people are still wearing their fucking masks so that it doesn’t go back into Code Red again anytime soon!!
The summer is basically over, after all! School starts this week! No need to frolic around joyfully without our masks on, right?? We’re sad now. School is starting. Let’s wear our masks…
Okay! Re: the title of this post — here is what my fridge looks like on Monday mornings:
The taste-tempting options on Monday morning!!
It’s really ridiculous how things look first thing in the morning on Mondays, compared to how it looks a few hours later when I come back home from the store.
(And those packaged broccoli crowns are a week old, so I’m not really sure they’re even any good.)
So, Mondays are always exciting around here, if only that it means we get more food!!
Okay!! Two winners were selected for the Bad Seed TeeVee fan music video contest. (Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds.) I didn’t see either of the videos!! I wish I had, but there were just tons on there. (And wonderful, wonderful stuff, gang. I hope you got to see some of them.)
Anyway. The winners were: “Waiting for You” performed by Juldiz. And “Spinning Song” performed by Ilya Gruzdev. (Both songs are off of Ghosteen.)
I still just marvel at what people can achieve so economically these days when it comes to music and music videos and/or visual images set to music on a video.
I feel pretty grateful that I even know how to take a 5-second video with my phone. Even though I have plenty of apps to help me make videos and also to make music, and even though I know how to read and the apps I have are in English, I still can’t figure this stuff out.
And I mentioned this last summer, too — how amazing it is that a lot of people learn how to play (often electronic) instruments on their phones. For instance, a woman I know bought an inexpensive drum machine recently and learned how to play it through an app on her phone.
In my totally outdated opinion, those aren’t real drums, and to be a drummer, you need to know how to actually play drums. But that is no longer the case. She’s considered somebody who now knows how to play drums. Plain & simple. And every single bit of it is electronic and app-driven.
Well, I think it’s just incredibly cool. I’m on this tangent only because I think it’s amazing how quickly these Nick Cave fans put together such incredible videos. If I had wanted to submit something, I’d still be sitting here, trying to figure out how to work the app. And I’m a classically trained musician, with years and years of experience in audio engineering and multi-media production.
So, the Universe is sort of becoming this place wherein the less you know, the better equipped you actually are.
If you want to read what Nick Cave himself had to say about all the entries as well as the winners, his Red Hand File from today is here.
And on a related note — Cave Things Instagram feed announced today that it is adding more “coming soon” stuff so check that stuff out here.
Okay, gang. So this is what I’ve decided to do.
Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I have decided to start self-publishing all my books from now on, and in anticipation of that decision, I will soon have a separate web site for Marilyn’s Room Books.
The books coming either soon or in the very near future are:
The Guitar Hero Goes Home
The Muse Revisited Vol. 4: Selected Erotic Fiction 1994-2012 (POD)
Twilight of the Immortal (POD edition)
And then, coming in a slightly more distant future:
Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse
Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town
In the Shadow of Narcissa: An Intimate Memoir of Childhood
These books will be listed on the new web site but actual orders will be fulfilled by Amazon.
However, I have also decided to start selling new erotic short stories through that Marilyn’s Room Books site, as well. These are stories that I will post for sale as I write them, and they will sell electronically for extremely cheap (and I mean cheap) and the sale will be processed through Lulu.com (Paypal or CC), so I will not have access to any of your private info, gang. And once I accumulate enough new stories, they will be gathered into a new POD collection and the individual electronic stories will be removed from the site.
I really, really love writing erotic stories, gang. I really do. But the economics of doing that for a living became just crazy once the publishing industry imploded back in like 2010 or whenever that was. At the height of my career, I was paid between $300 -$1200 per story, and each story would be 1000- 3000 words; I could turn those things around in a couple of days. And then I earned ten times that (and upwards) to edit anthologies of stories by other erotica writers. (And this was strictly through the small presses; a fraction of what the large presses paid.)
And this was not erotic romance, either. This was hardcore literary erotica by writers that would really just amaze you.
That market simply does not exist anymore. Not even close. Now, an original erotica story will pay between $5-$30. And usually they do not come out as an actual print book that you can buy in the bookstore , they’re all eBooks or audio. Which is great, but still, you can readily see why writing stand alone erotic stories got pushed way to my back burner.
Yet, I feel bad that so many of you (those of you still willing to pay for them and not download them free through torrents from game boys in distant lands) keep buying that really old stuff, over and over. So we shall see how it goes: In between (erotic) novels, memoirs, screenplays and plays, there will be new erotic stories for you, and about 50¢ for me!!
I’m actually really excited because I do love writing that stuff, but I also do need to earn a living around here.
I will of course announce any new stories here on the blog, but if you want to be updated about new content, there will be an email sign-up on the other site.
Well, all righty. The grocery store is beckoning me!! So I will get going. I hope you have a great Monday, wherever you are in the world today!! I leave you with my listening music from last night: Yo Yo Ma playing “Cantata BWV 147, Jesus bleibet meine Freude”. I had it on “repeat” for about an hour. Listen and rejoice!! Okay. I love you guys. See ya!
The weather has just been astoundingly great this summer, gang. It truly has. Hot and sunny during the day, cool at night. Even during the worst of the heatwave, it was always cool by morning.
And today is no different. Even though the virus still leaves its mark on everything, beautiful weather makes everything more endurable.
Well, in my opinion, it does.
A quick FYI and then I will veer far from the topic of politics: Yesterday, Kevin Clinesmith was the first to plead guilty to “the Obama FBI’s fraudulent Russiagate operation against Trump. And more guilty pleas are expected to follow.”
There was apparently some sort of massive plea bargain involved in that guilty plea, so I’m guessing he won’t go to prison, but at least people are now being forced to come forward and admit that the whole Russiagate thing was a lie and a waste of time and of taxpayer’s money. Simply because Obama’s administration wanted Hillary to win and they hated Trump.
So. No Russiagate. Big surprise there, right? And oddly enough, even as far back as 2016, even the Russians were saying there was no Russiagate. But the more I tried to blog about that whole thing, the more my computer kept getting hacked, so I had to stop… But there we have it.
(And a long, long, LONG time ago, I used to actually respect Nancy Pelosi. Now I wish she’d just find herself another job. She makes Democrats look like hate-filled maniacs.)
Okay, that was the politics. Now, onward.
Nick Cave sent out another Red Hand File today that was so beautiful. It’s about a non-verbal teenager in Australia, Tyler Hartfield who suffers from cerebral palsy, and a song he wrote and performed with his band at school. The coverage in Australia and the band performing the song can be found here. (Tyler’s musical inspiration is Nick Cave.) (Also an Australian, in case, for some inexplicable reason, you didn’t know that.)
The song is really good. A real triumph.
Okay. I did indeed speak with Valerie yesterday, and we went over the cover at for The Guitar Hero Goes Home!! Just a couple text-based things need to be added and we will be done and ready to publish it, gang!!
I will still have to get a test print to see how it looks in reality before I can actually let it go to print. But we are indeed almost there. And hopefully the novel will be available for sale in POD and eBook formats by the time I am a guest on those 2 upcoming podcasts, wherein I will be promoting the book! Yay.
Then, next in line for print publication (POD, to be precise), will be The Muse Revisited, Volume 4: The Selected Erotic Fiction of Marilyn Jaye Lewis (aka: Me) 1994-2012.
So we are making progress here with this HUGE stack of stuff on my desk (and down on the floor around my desk). Plus, I am under the growing suspicion that the current novel I’m working on, Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town, is going to be a very interesting book, gang. The kind of book that no publisher on Earth (except maybe Last Gasp) would ever publish. So there is just no reason to think I am not just going to publish it myself.
But it is such a liberating feeling — to just write the book the way it seems to be asking to be written without worrying about who on Earth would publish it and/or which bookstore on Earth would agree to sell it. (And I’m not wading into any of the traditional taboo subjects that have given me problems with the FBI and the US Attorney General’s office in the past. So I’m not worried that the book will be against the law in any way, it will just be for certain forewarned audiences.) (i.e.: “Warning: this book is likely to offend you in some way so be forewarned.” That kind of thing. But I just feel that, before I die, there are these things I want to express about humanity and tolerance and decency and joy and sex and love and regret and horror and duplicity and savagery and people who look the other way.)
All righty! On that note, I’m going to get going here. The morning is rapidly disappearing.
I hope you’re enjoying your Thursday, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with my breakfast-listening music form this morning (and truth be told, it followed me clear into yoga this morning, too!).
I’ve posted it here many times, but here it is again, for your listening pleasure!! Cat Stevens’ “Moonshadow,” from his massively popular 1971 album, Teaser and the Firecat.
(And tomorrow, I will start posting new videos/songs from the upcoming Tom Petty Wildflowers part 2 box collection. His official web site has started to release the stuff on YouTube today.)
Meanwhile, enjoy “Moonshadow” for the millionth time! Okay. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.
“Moonshadow”
Oh, I’m bein’ followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin and hoppin’ on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
And if I ever lose my hands, lose my plough, lose my land,
Oh if I ever lose my hands, Oh if… I won’t have to work no more.
And if I ever lose my eyes, if my colours all run dry,
Yes if I ever lose my eyes, Oh if… I won’t have to cry no more.
Yes I’m bein’ followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin’ and hoppin’ on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
And if I ever lose my legs, I won’t moan, and I won’t beg,
Yes if I ever lose my legs, Oh if… I won’t have to walk no more.
And if I ever lose my mouth, all my teeth, north and south,
Yes if I ever lose my mouth, Oh if… I won’t have to talk…
Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light.
Did it take long to find me? And are you gonna stay the night?
I’m bein’ followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin’ and hoppin’ on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
If you are still sort of in lockdown mode (as am I), it probably feels like Saturday or Tuesday or maybe even Wednesday…
When I woke up this morning, it did not feel like Friday. It felt like Tuesday, and I felt a little crestfallen that it was already Friday. Where is August racing off to??
And I went down to the kitchen. It was still dark out, because it’s that time of the summer where things have definitely changed. It stays dark out just a little longer now. And the birds don’t start singing until about 6am — and there are maybe 3 of them, now, instead of 3000. So it’s just crickets now, during my entire breakfast.
But I stood at the kitchen sink, where I have a really great window. It’s really wide and tall. A great view. And I stared out at the dark yard and up at the sky, and I thought of that August 2 years ago, when the man was still alive and we were in the absolute thick of falling in love — which included some arguing, too, because I didn’t know how to be loved and so my constant insecurity kind of made him very frustrated.
Anyway, in my head this morning, I was talking to him and I said: Remember that August? When time stood still? And we didn’t even realize the summer was racing away?
And then after the cats were fed, and I was fed, and the many little dishes were washed, and I sat down again at the kitchen table to write in my Inner Being journals — he came through. Just like that. His words were in my head and they came out onto the page. He said hello, and that he loved me and that he did remember that August, and that he hadn’t wanted it to ever be over, but that we have evolved now (meaning both of us) and that nothing ever really ends. That’s what he “said” !
So, that made me super happy, gang. That man changed my life. My whole entire life. (If you’re new to the blog, he came into my life suddenly in July 2018, and died a handful of weeks later, in late September of 2018.) (He changed my life because he loved me, and he was actually the first person ever that I felt really loved me. Except for my grandma, but she loved me in a different way. She loved me in a “grandma” way, and this man loved me in every other way.)
And once I finally believed that he loved me (after a few really intense shouting matches, that’s for sure) my whole life changed.
Well, anyway. This is a magical house. And my kitchen is a magical place. Oh — my Amazon firestick 4 arrived yesterday, and the AC power cord to actually finally plug the TV into the wall (!!), and the only place I could find to put it for now is in my kitchen.
It seems crazy to have it in the kitchen, but there it sits, all plugged in. And I moved the hardwired speakers for the iPad up to my bedroom, where I keep my iPad at night. So now I have my iPad with great speakers — instead of the Bluetooth speaker that only lasts one hour — crowded onto my night table.
It just feels weird. But here is a photo I took last evening to send to Valerie (she’s the culprit friend who persuaded me to buy the firestick 4 because it was on sale). I’m watching Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries here:
(oh — and I can get the PBS Passport app on the firestick so I’ll be watching Endeavor on the TV this year instead of on the iPad!! It starts Sunday!!)
This morning, while I was lying in bed (feeling like it was Tuesday), I started thinking about Endeavor and how this would now be Season 7. And I recalled so well when that show first started. It was 3 houses ago. I had something like 3 TVs back then — including a much larger flat screen TV in the bedroom. And I had cable service, and premium channels, like HBO, Starz, Showtime, Cinemax, etc. (And on my iPad, I had Hulu, Netflix, Amazon Prime.)
And down in the family room, I had a really big digital TV that was hooked up with the DVD player, and it had the DVR box, and all that.
And a free-standing bar was in the family room, complete with top shelf liquor and all my bar ware. And wall-to-wall, built-in bookshelves. And art on the walls, and framed photos of friends and family set out on the end tables, etc.
Just like how most regular people live.
And then everything really changed. Not in a good way, but I won’t go back into that. And I got fed up with drinking and with watching television. And little by little, I got rid of everything but the iPad, the DVD player, and Amazon Prime.
So having a TV in my kitchen now does not really sit well with me, but it’s okay. And it has a really good picture.
On a totally different topic. here is the Cave Things item (see yesterday’s post re: Nick Cave’s new merchandise page) I want most (a silk screen thingie), but I can’t afford it so I’ve started a Kickstarter campaign so that you guys can help me buy it!! (I am totally kidding about that.)
I have to say,
Abstract Absurdity Productions is getting every spare dime out of me right now. Which reminds me, I took that webinar yesterday on equity financing versus debt financing for film funding, etc., and my brain did indeed explode by the end of the class. It was presented by 3 entertainment lawyers in LA, and it was an intense amount of information in just under 2 hours. Most of the basic liability information I had already gotten from my accountant, but there was still other stuff that just — well, it’s a lot to cram into this wee bonny brain of mine.
It’s not all that different from when I was running multi-media production companies 20 years ago, but this is on a much larger scale.
Anyway. Every spare fucking penny is allocated right now.
Hey. Look at this! I found this on an external hard drive while trying to find some Word files for the new Muse Revisited Volume 4 collection. It’s the house we had in Cleveland from 1966 until July 1971 — just weeks before my 11th birthday.
Our house in Cleveland 1966 -1971
My bedroom was the window at the top left, behind that tree. It was a truly wonderful house. It really was. It had a big back porch off the kitchen, that had a big wooden swing hanging from the ceiling of the porch. And up above it, running most of the length of the back of the house, was a sun porch. There were 2 fireplaces in the house. And a den that had built-in bookcases on 3 of the 4 walls and a built-in desk. And the whole house had plenty of windows. We didn’t have central AC yet, but it was a really wonderful, breezy house.
Unfortunately, this is the house where my adoptive mother really started to unravel, so I have a lot of intense & terrifying memories from this house, as well. I also had my first orgasm here (I was 7), and I got my first period in this house — and I was so angry, because I was only 10 (almost 11) when that happened. And so none of my girlfriends were anywhere close to getting their periods yet. I hated that.
I was not a big fan of menstruation, in general, gang. And wasn’t sad to see it go at age 46. Although I was devastated to know for sure that I was never going to have children, other than that, I didn’t mind menopause coming so early.
Anyway. Beyond that lovely stuff — I loved that house and I loved my bedroom and I loved my little desk and I loved my big bed and I loved my record player and all my records and I loved the late 1960s. (That’s the house we lived in that summer they walked on the moon. And that’s the house we lived in when my dad was still kind of “around” and not a millionaire yet and was still really nice and we watched “Star Trek” together on the TV in the living room and I remember that it scared me! I watch that old TV show now and find it so funny that it used to scare me. Anyway. I got my first pair of fishnet tights there, and my first mini skirts. My first maxi-skirts. I lived there when I first learned French and Hebrew and learned how to ice skate and roller skate, and when I took dancing lessons and had tap shoes and ballet slippers. And I lived there when I learned how to read music and to play violin, piano, and guitar. How to ride a bike. I lived there when I fell in love with the Beatles, and with David Cassidy, and the Monkees TV show. And I lived there of course when MLK and RFK were assassinated, and George Wallace was gunned down, and when Johnny Cash had his TV show and the Everly Brothers, and the Smothers Brothers, and the Beach Boys all had TV shows. And I lived there when “Hair” was a huge scandalous hit on Broadway. And I lived there when “Laugh-In” was a huge scandalous hit on TV. And I lived there when the Beatles broke up. And when our dog got epilepsy and had to be put to sleep and I was heartbroken. And I lived there when “In the Heat of the Night” was a huge hit movie and we saw it at my dad’s drive-in theater and there was a naked woman in the movie and my little jaw fell open!! And I lived there when I started to fall in love with girls, and my little friends told me that it was a really weird thing to do. And when I lived there, every night after dinner, on the news Walter Cronkite would tell us how many US soldiers had been killed in Vietnam that day. It was quite a house. When my parents bought it, it cost something like $35K. The last time it sold, a few years ago, it went for something like $550K. Inflation is really just insane. Anyway. There was a lot to love about my childhood.)
All righty. I’m gonna get going here. It is Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town day so I am very excited to see what new stuff hits the page for the new novel.
Thanks for visiting. Enjoy what’s left of your Friday, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with another song from Lou Bega’s A Little Bit of Mambo album (1999). This time, it’s “Can I Tico Tico You” (“Tico” is a general term of endearment used by people who live in Costa Rica.) Enjoy, gang. I love you guys. See ya!
“Can I Tico Tico You”
Baby you’re my freak once in a week
we gettin’ kind of deep in my ’86 jeep
I don’t play no tricks you know the bomb ticks
the only style I play is my self-made hits
and it kicks like that yo’ it really does
was it number one hell yo’ it really was
I got the swing the king is back in the ring
ladies throw their bras when I start to sing
[Chorus:]
Can I rock it can I knock it
can I lick it can I kick it can I top it
you make me hazy you make me crazy
and baby I don’t know what I can do
We can start somethin’ fantastic that you never knew
forget you live in plastic when I keep my eyes on you
I can’t cool down because it’s gettin’ too hot
so please baby please baby never let us stop
and it kicks like that yo’ it really does
was it number one hell yo’ it really was
I got the swing the king is back in the ring
ladies throw their bras when I start to sing
But first!! The Tom Petty website released another song yesterday that will be in the upcoming Wildflowers PT. 2 boxed set. It is called “There Goes Angela” and it was just lovely, gang! An acoustic home demo. I really loved it. I cannot find a link anymore to how you can listen to it (they had it posted yesterday). But it was one of those true Tom Petty awesome acoustic songs where he empowers the woman alone in the world, as he usually did in his songs.
Also, Nick Cave’s website revealed Cave Things today!! A place where you can buy sort of extremely expensive things that Nick Cave has designed or curated in some way. The items are really cool. Some of them are “coming soon,” but the descriptions are already there. Everything is pretty much on the pricey side. For instance, a really nice guitar pick with Warren Ellis’s picture on it, which in US dollars cost about $4, before shipping. So that’s sort of a pricey guitar pick that, you know, if I bought it I would be afraid to use, because I wouldn’t want to damage it, or anything.
Still, the stuff is really cool, but being the somewhat lowly scribe that I am, I cannot afford any of the items I actually really want. But check them out anyway, because if you are not a writer, then you can probably afford everything!!
So. Yesterday.
I spent the entire day working on the re-edits of The Muse Revisited collection and came to the decision that the “new” revised edition will only be one book, and only available in trade paper, POD (Print On Demand).
My decision came about because of the page count.
It turns out Volume 1 has a really small page count, so it doesn’t really make sense to offer it separately in trade paper, even though the page count works fine for an eBook.
Then Volume 2 has a really high page count. And volume 3 has a kind of average page count.
But if I put it all together in one book — all 3 volumes, together — it becomes way too expensive for Print On Demand. So then I thought, what if I pull some of the stories, to ease up on the page count, put it out as one new collection…
…but then I couldn’t offer it as an eBook because it would potentially cannibalize any sales of the tons of eBooks I already have in the marketplace, published by myself and other more traditional publishers who wouldn’t appreciate that at all.
So then I finally came up with the idea to put it out under one cover, but only as POD trade paper.
So I pulled the erotic memoir, the erotic fantasy stories, and the erotic romance stories from the (new) 4th volume. It’s only traditional erotic fiction. But then I’m adding some stories that were not included in volumes 1-3. And now the collection covers 1994-2012, and as of right now, has 25 previously published erotic fiction stories in it.
Plus! I finally found a copy of that publishing history that SomethingDark.eu had published in 2012, and so that will be included in the back of the book, and it lists my publications, honors and awards from 1990 to 2012, and also includes a list of all the reviews I wrote of erotic fiction and nonfiction books for various magazines and websites back in the early 2000’s. But it doesn’t include the erotic art shows I curated in NYC, or any of the multi-media work I produced, which was just a hugely massive amount of work (1997-2006).
But I thought it would make for an interesting book. Again, everything in it is previously published and will really only be for people who prefer books over eBooks.
The title is: The Muse Revisited, Volume 4: The Selected Erotic Fiction of Marilyn Jaye Lewis, 1994-2012. And the cover art is going to be black & white and feature this photo below in some way, that Valerie took of me at Coney Island in 1995, just prior to my 35th birthday.
June 1995 Coney Island, Brooklyn NY
I don’t know — you can sort of tell by the expression on my face that we probably weren’t up to any good. Holly Lane was there that day, too, because the Mermaid Parade was going on that day. And if you were ever at a Mermaid Parade at Coney Island in the old days — nothing respectable at all was ever going on. And it was a blast.
Okay, so I started a new publishing company, Marilyn’s Room Books, and it will be at marilynsroombooks.com — although nothing is there yet. I don’t know if I’ll just keep it as a vanity press or publish other writers down the road, but here’s the logo, in case you’re interested:
And here, for your reading pleasure, is one story from Volume 4, that does not appear in the other volumes. It is not what I would call “erotic,” necessarily — it’s more about erotic cannibalism. It is microfiction (less than 300 words), and it appeared in Dirty: Dirty: An Illustrated Anthology of Dirty Writing published by Jaded Ibis Press, 2013, and was written expressly for them.
(And with that, I’m gonna leave you, gang!! I gotta get ready for Abstract Absurdity Productions work here today! Thanks for visiting, though. I love you guys. See ya!)
It was autumn, so we slung her over the split-rails to dry in the crisper breezes, knowing the smoky air would trap the piquant flavor of her and keep it that way all through the winter. Sweet meat where there were once tight curls of flaming red hairs; those lips hairless now, smooth and cool. The throbbing, over. The tender folds salted and the blood drained. In spring, she was succulent to the eye – engorged, even, to the point where she’d driven us mad. We’d warned her: “From here, we can see your thigh!” She’d laughed at us – her mirth like tinkling bells strung through plum blossoms that are caught on the gentle wind of an April rain. We could hardly fault her for it – that blithe laugh. She’d seemed as intoxicated by spring as the dewy hyacinth blossoms, or as the swollen buds of the old roses that had not yet burst with their sultry fragrance of sin. She’d refused to believe us, yet here was her proof: gone now, from the waist up. Splitter-splatter went the shards of bone in blood. “Straighten your skirts,” we’d urged her. “Don’t sit that way – we’re going balmy!” Lewdly was how she sat, legs splayed down in the grass, those flowery dresses with their many underskirts of lace raised too high. Until it was plain that she’d worn nothing under those lacy skirts; that the fleshy folds beneath the tight red curls were swollen and wet with something salty-sweet. In the summer, she was even worse. (“I want to devour you,” I’d whispered once, my fingers plunging up into her while I lost control of my very breath. I licked them then – my fingers – and madly kissed the side of her damp face.)
Marilyn's Room 