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A Few Things I’ve Learned From Death & Horror

/ 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:

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

You just have to be willing to listen.

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Horror Stories are like Love Stories minus the pretense.

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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.

yuck

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

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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.

torso cake ( 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.

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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.

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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.

Here’s To Me at 70

/ animar64 / 5 Comments
DAILY PROMPT
From You to You
Write a letter to your 14-year-old self. Tomorrow, write a letter to yourself in 20 years.

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When I was 14 I was an ok kid.

Now I’m looking ahead to when I’m 70.

I really hope that when I’m 70 I’m like my Grandma’s sister who was a Pilot- or that I’m like my Grandma when she was hitting 70.

She was this fierce little thing and the only person who could make her laugh was my Grandfather and my come to think of it my brother.

I used to like it when she got mad- I thought it was funny so I would laugh and she would send me to my room which was fine because I’d  play with my toys and sing at the top of my lungs and jump all over my bed until I had exhausted myself and fell asleep.

Which was probably the only time I shut up.

So Here’s To Me At 70:

Hey Anita Marie,

Remember when we were  three and drank kerosene and it was our Grandmother who we cried for before they pumped our stomach and it was our Grandmother who got us not to cry and because of her we sailed through that process and when they were done we went home and fed her chickens and we  got to choose what kind of soda our  Grandfather would bring home ( if you were sick he’d buy a case of Fanta and the sick kid got to choose the flavors).

We chose Grape. Only Grape. He got it and when everyone asked us why grape we said it looked like our” Ick ” that came out of our tummy and we  got that entire case to ourselves.

It would be easy to be like our Grandmother.

We are a lot alike, except for we like to laugh.

Nope. I hope you are like that little kid who drank kerosene, got her stomach pumped went home and fed chickens and cheated her brother and her four older cousins out of a case soda pop.

At least, that’s who I’m hoping to meet twenty years from now.

So be her…please.

Be fierce, be strong and shine.

It’s in our blood after all.

Written On My Skin

/ animar64 / 4 Comments
DAILY PROMPT
Tattoo….You?
Do you have a tattoo? If so, what’s the story behind your ink? If you don’t have a tattoo, what might you consider getting emblazoned on you skin?

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Years ago I really wanted a wolf tattoo ( considered myself fierce ) and then I changed my mind and wanted Anubis ( because I was an embalmer, so it made sense ) and than I wanted allons-y ( I was in that frame of mind…actually still am).

I guess by this point I could have had three tattoos.

So I mentioned it to my sister.

My sister made it clear to me that somewhere out there, there is a tattoo needle loaded with hepatitis just waiting for me to walk in so it can infect and kill me.

I now know more than any one person needs to know about diseases you can get if you were to get a tattoo- but not to worry, my Sister is convinced that needle has my name on it so don’t worry you could use it and you’ll be fine.

And then I told my Mom.

Oh.

I’ll bet you think can see where this is going.

HA!

You don’t know my Mom.

She thought it was a great idea.

She suggested little flowers, not roses though. But pretty little flowers- maybe on my shoulder or ankles ( Yes, plural ).

She told me how nice it would look with my skin coloring.

I told her what I wanted and she said, ” Oh. That’s nice too. But remember. Get small ones or nobody will notice your face or your hair and your face is so pretty.

So I went from feeling like a fierce, fearless, rebel to  the daughter of a woman who is a fierce, fearless, rebel and I thought:

” I could tattoo my face and I will never be able to make  being a rebel look so smooth and easy as my Mom was in that conversation.

And I still don’t have a tattoo.

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The Honour Of Your Presence Is Requested

/ animar64 / 11 Comments

If my blog were a house, would you brave the long lonely drive here

alone?

Once you’ve arrived  you wouldn’t have to knock, just walk right in and take a seat, feel free to read a few pages of what I’m working on.

I don’t mind.

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It’s pretty quiet here on most days, sometimes I have bad spells and don’t feel like myself. That doesn’t happen very often and if it does while you’re here…well…you can always leave.

Just do it quickly.

Very quickly.

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If you want to look around you’ll find here and there the things I’ve worked on, safely stored but not locked away. Things in my house have taken on a life of their own.

No I’m not laughing.

I just have a little tickle in my throat.

weirdroomSo I hope you’ll visit my house.

I hope you’ll spend a little time here.

I’m willing to bet though, that once  you’re in my  house you’ll never, ever leave.

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:::One Of My Neighbors:::