A Few Things I’ve Learned From Death & Horror

September 7, 2015 / animar64 / 6 Comments

I’ve learned some valuable things about the world from being a Mortician and writing Horror Stories.

Here are a few of them:

Dead men do tell tales, they tell them all of the time.

You just have to be willing to listen.

Horror Stories are like Love Stories minus the pretense.

I hate The Lord of the Ring Movies…I’d rather watch a Twilight ( the tween Vampire movies ) Marathon then sit the Lord Of The Ring Movies. I’d rather shove a fork in my eye. There’s no reason for that to be on this list. I just felt like putting that here.

When you’re embalming bodies you get super thirsty. So drink a lot of water before you embalm. I’m not kidding.

When I write a story about Death, or The Devil or Cannibals I get my best ideas after watching shows like Cake Wars or Chopped because the contestants on those shows would take their Moms down for that Ten Thousand Dollar prize.

Bastards.

( Yep. That’s a cake )

Never, ever write about the Dead if you have a funeral background. It’s unseemly.

The living are fair game.

Fair.

Game.

I’m sorry, but I’ve learned this to be true: If you’re writing a horror story and you’re not laughing I’d say you’re not connecting with your writing. How can I say that? Come on. You’re getting away with murder or something anti-social or wicked

Even if it’s just in your head.

It’s enough to make one positively giddy.

I listen to Tom Waits before I write. Sometimes ABBA. Does that surprise you? That’s probably why I can do the same when I write.

Word.

I Write Because…

September 7, 2015September 7, 2015 / animar64 / 5 Comments

I WRITE BECAUSE…

I wish I could come on here and write some deeply moving tale about why I write, but the bottom line is I learned to tell stories and write them because I liked the attention.

In my Mom and Dad’s family everybody had a talent- they could sing or play an instrument or paint or draw and a couple of them- both of my Grandfathers in fact- could tell stories.

They could tell scary stories, they could tell jokes, they could tell you about their trip to the store and those stories were better than anything in the stories I read or on TV or at the movies.

No matter how good the food, how fine the wine, how wonderful the music when it came time to tell stories the storytellers owned the room.

In my mind there was nothing better you could do or be then that.

Both of my Grandfathers helped me learn how to tell a story- all the way from how to stand or sit and when to make eye contact with my listeners and to always, always weave something from the moment ( something someone was wearing, the color of the room, anything ) into your story.

They also both agreed on one thing- ghosts always made the story more interesting so at least work one of those into your story no matter what.

That’s a challenge- the first of many as I writer I would learn to take on- and most of the time I won.

It was funny, my Grandfathers never really knew each other- they lived in different states, came from different countries ( Canada and the Philippines ) had different temperaments and I couldn’t tell you if they even liked each other but when it came to the story telling and me wanting to do the same they were on the same page.

They were both so proud when I was reading by the time I was eight years old, writing by nine, and what was I up to they would both say, ” she’s a writer”

They said it before I did or anyone else for that matter. So when it comes to that question, why do I write- am I really a writer?

I write because my Grandfathers said I could, that’s why. And if they were here they could tell you all about it and you’d soak in every single word. You’d be eating out of their hand.

That’s what I want to do every time I write…for them.

Nan’s Picture

September 6, 2015 / animar64 / Leave a comment

Mouth Drop

In exactly 100 words creatively describe one moment when your mouth dropped open, chin hit the ground, and tears rolled down your face (figuratively or not). If you prefer to develop this into a longer post, that’s fine too!

When me and my husband and our kids moved back to Mountlake Terrace, I only had two ‘valuable’ things to move.

One was my cat Wolfgang- and the other was a picture that used to belong to my Great Grandmother Nan.

Nan was a force of nature in our family- she was tall, red headed I’d seen her make grown men cry- and not in a good way.

I thought she was grand and one of my goals in life was to look like her when I grew up. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen but she and my Grandpa Bert ( her son ) would swear up and down that I looked like her.

The print was very old and the frame was delicate and I loved it. I hung it above the sideboard I’d inherited from her.

I packed it ( the picture, not Wolfie, I bought Wolfie a dog crate that was designed to withstand blah, blah blah it was EXPENSIVE) and a special little crate for the picture.

When we got to Terrace we unpack the picture and it’s smashed to smithereens.

I was beyond angry.

I trashed it myself.

A few months later it was the end of Summer and we were pulling things out of our storage room for our Labor Day picnic- croquet set, babarque stuff, pirate flag.

I was NOT looking forward to having my Dad and Grandmother noticing the picture was gone and having to explain how something that had been in our family for so long was gone and having to tell them it was pulverized and in a land fill now.

All of the sudden two of my sons are not just calling me from the storage room, they sound panicked.

Spider I figured.

I go into the storage room and the boys are pointing in a corner and I figure spider but instead of a spider.

There it is.

Nan’s picture.

Nan was a force of nature, like I said.

I picked the picture up without blinking an eye, hung it above the sideboard where it is to this day and my husband and sons have spent years ignoring it.

I don’t ignore it.

Ever.