Showing posts with label Paranormal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paranormal. Show all posts

Friday, May 12, 2017

How Colan Got Here from Shuttered Vision Coming June 2017

Colan had been no different. For most of his 36 years of life, films had sustained and carried him. He would never forget his first drive thru experience. His mother and father had taken them to see something he thought he really wanted to see until he turned around to look at another screen in the tri screen theatre. There he watched, without sound, Legend. Shortly thereafter his father had left and he fell completely into the world of moving pictures as his mother had to leave him to fend for himself as she had to work more. So he watched movies, every kind he could watch.

He had been raised in a back-water Oklahoma town called Chandler right outside of Oklahoma City. When he had become high school age he had talked his mother into letting him go to the best high school in the state located in Norman Oklahoma near Oklahoma State University. There he had started the process to get into the University of California Berkeley. From there he had gone to Tisch School of the Arts at New York University with a 4.0.

Colan had graduated full of zest, zeal and an appropriate amount of artistic angst. He had hit the independent film scene on fire. His first three movies had been shot down instantly. The people he pitched to insisted that Americans didn’t want to think. They wanted blood guts and senseless violence. He had been unconvinced. The public took what they could get. He was going to make films again.

All of his professors had seen the idealist in him and knew what that meant. One by one over the years they had warned him away from Hollywood. Make films overseas first, he had been advised. No no no, he had been a patriot. He had only wanted to give his creations to American audiences first. With the choices being Disney and Hollywood, he had chosen the later.

So, there he had gone. Hollywood was everything he thought it would be and a slew of other things he hadn’t expected. He had expected to be disgusted. To be insulted as the art he loved was being canonized and mass produced without thought or originality. What he hadn’t expected was to be lured in by the potential of ultimate power. To be held enrapt by the bright lights the lifestyle, the parties, the drugs, the sex. Some of those women he had met along the way had been willing to do anything. Anything at all for a shot. The realization of all that has been lost happens much later.

Ironically, the most seductive lure of it had been the competition. Being better, doing better hopefully in a way that shows everyone how bad someone else is at this job. Colan had started as a rigging grip. After 5 years of wheeling and dealing, flaunting his degree, his good looks, and southern charm, Colan Abrams from bumfuck Oklahoma and a broken home was the most sought after movie producer in Hollywood. He had gotten to be an assistant of a producer within a year and half of being in the company. Produced his first film within the next six months as the man he was working for cracked under the pressure. Pressure, Colan had eagerly and liberally applied. That year he had turned a summer blockbuster that would’ve fallen on its ass with the previous producer into a multi-million dollar worldwide hit.

The rules are simple for success in Hollywood. Money is the name of the game and the only resume item that’s respected. Rule one summer, it was luck. Rule two summers, the kid might have what it takes. Three summers followed by a killer Halloween and an amazing Christmas showing. Baby the kid’s a star.

Colan was a country boy at the core of his being. He hadn’t been used to women that looked like Hollywood wanna be starlets did.  He had never even let himself imagine men willing to prostitute like Hollywood wanna be leading men did. Like any naïve young man, he had lost his way. He had been exposed to it during school. Needless to say, it wasn’t the same.

In the past the purity of the art of crafting film had kept him focused and removed from much of the party life. Soon he learned that he wasn’t really making films anymore.  He was in the business of making money. With the purity of the art gone, all that was left was this sickening people pulsing floor show. When the lifestyle had started not to be enough he had become a little worried. When the drugs had started to not be enough, his worry escalated. When the sex became practically another form of currency he had started having full blown panic attacks.


Two years ago, Colan Abrams, multi-billion-dollar movie producer, film company executive, and all around Hollywood behind the scenes badass, suffered a nervous breakdown. His perception of the world had never been the same since.

Coming June 2017

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

Understanding Fiona from Shuttered Vision Coming June 2017

Fiona Canters grew up differently than the rest of the free world within the United States of America. When 5-year-old Fiona first told her mother about one of her extraordinary dreams her mother had smiled pleased. She asked her daughter to tell her what they meant. Confused Fiona had not answered. The very next day she had been privy to the conversations the women in her family had away from husbands, boyfriends, sons and fathers.

“Fiona dreamed last night,” her mother had told her mother-in-law excitedly.

“Does she know what it means?” her aunt had asked anxiously.

Her mother proudly shook her head then and recounted the dream for the listening gaggle. With gasps of delight and praises to the Almighty they had all regarded Fiona differently.

The Canters were a French Creole line. Originally, they intermixed with a line that had roots in Native America, Africa and Ireland. Now they were a rainbow people. The shades of relatives spanned the realm of possibility.

Fiona’s mother was Salvadorian. Her skin the color of burnished copper. Her hair fell blue black tightly curled and silky across her shoulders. Her light brown eyes always alight with seemingly forbidden knowledge.

A Canters man, her father was tan skinned by nature. His dark eyes and mixed features made it hard to place into a particular ethnic set. From that, Fiona had emerged a shade lighter than mahogany. Her eyes an almost eerie shade of dark grey. They looked lit from within as the iris closest to the pupil was a paler grey than the midnight that it changed into as it floated to the rims.

“Witch eyes,” her grandmother had said that night as the women talked. She took the child’s measure for the first time.

Fiona had starred up innocently into the clear hazel eyes of the paler woman. She felt that nagging suspicion of being in the presence of something that was more than it seemed. Of course as a child, she had no true idea of what it was. Just this sudden unmistakable unshakable awareness as she peered up at the woman. Always waiting for her to change form right before her eyes.

She had always been fearful of her father’s pale, hazel eyed mother. The woman had eyes that saw too much. They saw everything and communicated with the souls of others without their knowledge. These were things she had heard whispered growing up among the others.

The others were the ones of her family that had been born without that extra thing that most of the women had. It was a generation skipping instance. Every once in a while, a woman in their line was born without that extra sense of the world, without the vision to see into others through dreams, premonitions and senses that were a family birthright.

They were raised in a different way than those with sight. Still loved and shown the same affections and care. They were kept away from the ones who bared stunning signs and levels of awareness. It was a courtesy to both sides. The children would grow to understand and appreciate each other before they interacted. This way they could understand their differences and not treating each other badly over them.
Before the conception of every child, the women of the family dreamed. During the pregnancy, the women dreamed. They dreamed of the child they would bare. They would know before modern technology whether a boy or a girl would be born. When the mother conceived her entire existence was enrapt in the being she carried. Through their personal dreamscape, they would understand the nature of that child. How it should be raised and what it should be led to do.

Even those born without the special gifts procured to the blood line were dreamt of. Regardless of whether it had been given sight or not. One day they may raise a child that most likely would be given sight. Regardless, they needed to be raised in a fashion to be able to deal with their child’s gifts. That was why all dreams and premonitions centered on the child.


Fiona was the exception. Fiona’s mother Alejandra calls that time in her life ‘el negro’: 
The dark. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to live as most people do. She had only common sense, instincts and logic to guide her way through. All of her dreams during Fiona’s conception and birth had been shielded from her. All premonition and sensory insight dulled to just instances of déjà vu. Her mother-in-law said it was because the child she carried was blank. Meaning there was nothing to see.

Coming June 2017

Sunday, May 7, 2017

Girl Talk from SPRSWB

Dorrie held up the dress.  “Sergei will be here soon.”

Clair reached for the dress.

Dorrie held it back.  “Promise me you’ll give this man a fair shake.”

Clair frowned at Dorrie and pursed her lips reaching for the dress again.

Dorrie backed away from her.  “Promise Clair.”

Clair bit her lip almost hard enough to break the skin. She huffed and finally said, “I promise, fair shake.”

Dorrie held the dress out to her.  “Thank you.”

Clair snatched it.  “Why are you on this guy’s team?”

Dorrie looked beside herself.  “Are you joking, you weren’t at the table when he said that a man doesn’t walk out on a woman after they’ve been together for years.  Maybe you didn’t notice that he had only been in your space for a few seconds and knew that you were worth the effort.  Or did you miss his calm acceptance of your episode.”

Clair thought back, that had been odd.  Only Dorrie knew about her voodoo heritage.  Being raised in Africa she was a bit more understanding about that sort of thing than the average American.  During the phone call he hadn’t even brought it up. He had been more concerned with the idea that she had changed her mind about seeing him. Which considering their rocky meeting was fair.

What had been even more odd is that when Clair thought about it everything she did when he was around seemed oddly out of character. She wasn’t the type to get into a man’s face regardless of the circumstances. She really needed to pay attention. Something was not quite right.  Clair realized that Dorrie had called her name twice and startled she looked up.  “Yeah?”

“Where were you?  I swear you need a keeper most of the time.” Doreen said with slight shake of her head.

Clair shrugged and nodded.  “Just thinking.”

Dorrie huffed some herself this time.  “That is something else you need to give up, just feel Clair.  I know you are attracted to this man.  Be attracted to him and stop giving yourself such a hard time about it.  And for God sake try and have some fun.”

Clair smirked at her worrying mother hen of a best friend.  “Done mama Dorrie?”

Dorrie returned her smirk.  “Smart ass, for now, yes.”  She grabbed her purse and started for the door.  “Have fun.”

Clair smiled and said sincerely, “I will do my best.”


“That’s all I ask,” Dorrie yelled back as the door shut on her.



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Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Saturday Night from So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar

Clair was in her bedroom in front of her full length mirror annoyed with what she had chosen to wear.  It wasn’t a bad outfit it just didn’t look like a date outfit.  Because of her profession, and because of Jonny, besides jeans and t-shirts Clair only had two absolute looks, dress black for her concerts and skank club gear for Jonny’s concerts.  Somehow neither one seemed appropriate. Not that she knew what Sergei would consider appropriate. She couldn’t help but to wonder about him and their meeting.

Sergei hadn’t even blinked oddly when he had calmly asked her what she had seen.  As if he were accustomed to dealing with people with extra sensory perceptive gifts.  Their phone call last night had been brief but not once had he even implied that he thought her repeated fainting spells had been odd.

He had called around 8 last night, very respectful of her time. Clair had been sitting at her piano going through her paces. She had literally been thinking of him and wondering if he would actually call. Part of her hoping he would and part of her hoping he wouldn’t. The contrast made her uncomfortable. She had been lost in thought when the ringing phone made her jump.

“Hello Clair, how are you?” he had casually answered when she had said hello.

“I’m fine.”  She had been at the piano, of course.  For whatever reason, the day after she had met Sergei she had started a new piece.  She was sure it was just coincidence.  She needed to rationalize the things that she felt when she thought about Sergei. Meeting him had been pretty impactful in a way she didn’t want to deal with.  She had slowly fallen for Jonny and previous guys.  A little flirting at a music event, a date or two. Then eventually they got intimate.

This was different.  Sergei spoke to her in ways she didn’t know she had places to speak from. It was maddening she went from anxiousness, to excitement, to blind terror.

“That’s good to hear, we still on for tomorrow night or have you come to your senses and changed your mind?” Sergei said rather cautiously.

Despite herself Clair had chuckled a little under her breath.  “Should I come to my senses and change my mind?”

He had paused for a moment or two as if he were actually thinking about it.  “Well, Clair, I’m not an easy boy to get along with, you got a taste of that a few days ago.  I know that you never actually instigated this so I don’t hold you accountable for going out with me.  I’d like a chance to get to know you and you seem like a person worth knowing Clair.”

“Clairvoyance.” She had said instantly surprising herself because she never asked anyone to call her Clairvoyance.

She heard a low whistle from the other end of the line.  “My Lord, that’s a god-awful first name, no wonder you go by Clair.  Do you really want me to call you that?”

Immediately embarrassed Clair held her warm forehead in her hand.  “No, I guess I wanted to see if you would go running for the hills.”


He chuckled a little this time.  “Honestly Clair, if you turn out to be as much woman as I think you are, it would take wild horses to drag me away.”


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Monday, February 27, 2017

All the Unexplained - SPRSWB

“Not everything of this world can be explained by science or anything else for that matter.”  He pinned her again with his laser blue eyes.  “I don’t discount anything, there is something in you Clair that is beyond the norm and it glows off of you like a beacon, it attracts me.”

Clair knew she was staring at him in the oddest fashion but she couldn’t seem to control the instinct to do so.  All of her life she just knew that talking about the eccentric nature of her family line would be a bad ideal for a first date.  It would be a bad ideal before marriage but she had admitted to herself that she would’ve volunteered the information if Jonny had ever asked her to be his wife.  She had never guessed that the secrets of her lineage permeated off of her and someone open to those ideals would be able to associate and see how she was different from most people.

“To be honest, I have a family history that would imply that extra sensory perception was an ability I should have, but you are the first person I’ve ever had even a blip of activity with.” Clair admitted.

Sergei frowned slightly.  “Really?  I find that very interesting.  Not a single occurrence before?”

Clair shrugged sheepishly, “Not involving anything else besides music.”

Sergei sat silently for a moment the question burning in his form as he softly asked, “How bad was it, Clair?”

Clair was very solemn and couldn’t hide the fear in her voice as she said slowly, “Bad.”

He nodded.  “I thought so, had a gut feeling about it.”

Clair finally asked, “Is there any reason to believe that someone would want to hurt you?”

He nodded quickly.  “Yeah, this project that I’m here for is under much scrutiny and debate.”  He leveled his impressive eyes at her.  “There are people who would rather not see it done.”

“How pertinent are you to its completion?” Clair said in a very direct way.


“There’s the thing Clair, without me, it doesn’t happen.” Sergei laid hard.

“You want to talk about it?” Clair asked earnestly.

He hesitated for only a moment, “Virgin launch.  The ideal has been humming around the aerospace industry since we first got people on the moon.”  His eyes started to glow again as he started talking with his hands.  “What if we could charter people into space, like airline carriers charter people around the world?  It’s a huge undertaking because you would have to be able to eliminate a bulk of the physical limitations to being in space that astronauts train years for.”

“Okay,” Clair inserted following.

“What is the one thing missing from space that makes it so damn difficult for people?” Sergei asked in an ironic way.

Clair thought for a second. “Gravity.”

Sergei smiled at her then.  “I have developed a rather crude and preliminary gravitational system that would not alter regardless of the gravity, or lack thereof, in space. Currently it can be isolated to a single hub.” He shrugged, “So far I’ve only been able to stabilize a hub the size of a Lear jet, but that’s just the beginning.”

Clair felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.  “You’ve found a way to create gravity?” she said in a disbelieving fashion.

Sergei nodded a bit as he responded. “Sort of, I’ve mostly found a way to borrow gravity.  Gravity is one of the big four forces of the Universe, it just exists, the trick is tapping into it.”

“How?” Clair asked honestly intrigued.

He was casual but confident as he continued. “Same way it exists now, orbiting bodies in a circular pattern, centrifugal force meeting rotating atoms.”

Abruptly he grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket.  He drew a crude looking cigar shaped vessel and drew several rings around it.  On each ring he attached various circular objects of varying size, and with arrows he displayed the directions each ring would move and the directions each circular object would rotate in.

He showed her the crude drawing.  “Mankind’s problem is that we always think we need to reinvent the wheel, we don’t need anything new, the solution is in the application.”

Clair’s mind wrapped around it instantly.  “A roving solar system, with the hub as the sun.”

Sergei nodded.  “It would move in space just like our galaxy does, creating its own gravity as it goes.”

Clair shook her head.  “That’s so simple it’s brilliant.”

Sergei nodded.  “I had this thought for quite a while and I often thought that it really couldn’t be this simple so I never brought it up.  But people are chomping at the bit to get into space.”  He paused before finishing. “So I put a little more time and planning into it, mapped out the physics of it all and I was able to generate a gravitational field on a model airplane.”

Clair was holding the napkin, staring at it blankly not really believing how unerringly brilliant this man was.  “Talk about thinking outside of the box.”

“I find the only issues with science are all the rules, we’ve made things too complicated.  None of us can see the forest for the trees.”  He stated like it was obvious “God had it all right in the beginning, why mess with that?”

Her thoughts got captured by his mention of God.  “Don’t tell me you’re a scientist that believes in God.”

He fixed her with a very serious look.  “No true scientist can look at the evidence and not.  It’s too balanced, everything is.  I don’t know if religion has it right but I do know that something holds this all together.  We’ve broken things down to their smallest component and we have no idea why everything doesn’t just fall apart.  That’s either magic or some other divine force.”  He fixed her with a knowing look.  “And I don’t have to tell you about all else in this world that is unexplainable.”


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Friday, November 11, 2016

Familiar With This Sort of Thing - SPRSWB

“I would like to take your hand, but I don’t want you to have another episode,” he admitted candidly.

Which made Clair ask, “You seem familiar with my odd behavior, why is that?”

Sergei smirked at her.  “You don’t know much about gypsies do you?”

“Well I don’t give any credence to most stereotypes, I don’t see fortune-tellers and the like.” Clair affirmed.

Sergei leaned back in his chair.  “As terrible as it is to say, while stereotypes themselves are wrong, some of their assumptions are based in fact.”

“You believe in things beyond the norm,” she stated more than asked.

“Believe them, hell, I’ve seen ‘em,” he imparted. “Not everything of this world can be explained by science or anything else for that matter.”  He pinned her again with his laser blue eyes.  “I don’t discount anything, there is something in you Clair that is beyond the norm and it glows off of you like a beacon, it attracts me.”

Clair knew she was staring at him in the oddest fashion but she couldn’t seem to control the instinct to do so.  All of her life she just knew that talking about the eccentric nature of her family line would be a bad ideal for a first date.  It would be a bad ideal before marriage but she had admitted to herself that she would’ve volunteered the information if Jonny had ever asked her to be his wife.  She had never guessed that the secrets of her lineage permeated off of her and someone open to those ideals would be able to associate and see how she was different from most people.

“To be honest, I have a family history that would imply that extra sensory perception was an ability I should have, but you are the first person I’ve ever had even a blip of activity with.” Clair admitted.

Sergei frowned slightly.  “Really?  I find that very interesting.  Not a single occurrence before?”

Clair shrugged sheepishly, “Not involving anything else besides music.”

Sergei sat silently for a moment the question burning in his form as he softly asked, “How bad was it, Clair?”


Clair was very solemn and couldn’t hide the fear in her voice as she said slowly, “Bad.”


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Wednesday, November 9, 2016

I Choose to Not Let You Die - SPRSWB

With the clarity of daylight, understanding flooded her senses.  “Oh dear God, you knew you were coming to New Mexico to die.”

Sergei didn’t pretend to not.  “I don’t back down Clair, I face things head on.”

Clair was beside herself with rage at the lack of care he showed with his life.  “You are insane,” She uttered carefully. “I’m not the only one who needs a keeper apparently.”  She got up and headed for her kitchen but stopped short and turned around to look at him. She didn’t mean to but ended up yelling the last bit out, “How long have you known?”

He casually shrugged.  “All my life really.”  He stood and tried to touch Clair but she pulled back. He held up his hands.  “You believe in patterns, right?”

She shook her head.  “No Serg, not like this, this is not the pattern.  Death is a natural transition, murder is malicious and brought about by pattern wreckers.”

He moved closer to her but made no effort to touch her again.  “Sometimes the pattern needs to be wrecked so that it can begin again, set right from being wrecked before.  Can you agree with that?”

Clair huffed loudly because they both knew that she did so she refused to answer.  “Our paths change here, for better or for worse, we choose, it isn’t chosen for us,” she clarified with a great deal of passion.

Sergei nodded.  “I agree, I choose,” he emphasized the word, “not to run away from this.”


Clair, still enraged, felt her chin rise as she declared, “I choose to not let you die.”


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Friday, November 4, 2016

Karmatically Predisposed Not to Lie to Me - SPRSWB

Sergei walked into her home.  “Perhaps the anticipation of seeing you has me at a disadvantage.”
With slow deliberation he turned to her and pulled her into his arms.  He shifted and tilted her just enough that she had to grab his arms for support.  For a moment his lips hovered over hers letting her breath in as he exhaled and then returned the favor.  “Something very appealing about watching you breathe me in,” he whispered against her lips.

He watched her skin flush and her eyes dilate ever so slightly.  The woman was exquisite, God help him if she ever figured it out.  He sealed his mouth to hers.  Clair stopped bracing herself and sunk her fingers into his hair a startled sound coming from her. Sergei felt his head swim for a moment, he could get drunk just kissing this woman.  Resigned he lifted his head and resettled Clair in front of him.  They had things afoot.  “Your mother?”

Clair blinked up at him, still slightly dazed. “My mother?”

Sergei smiled despite himself.  He did understand how she felt, the control freak in him would be damned if he showed it.  “Are we going to her?”

Clair nodded. Then started wringing her hands.

Sergei took her arms into his hands. “Clair?”

She shook her head.  “I can’t... I don’t know what... how to explain...,” she huffed deeply. “I’ve never... in my life... to this degree...”

Sergei just stared at her enjoying her gapping.  “Clair, spit it out.”

“I want to jump your bones.”  Clair’s grey eyes popped open and she put her hand to her mouth staring at Sergei in an accusatory way.  “Did you, I don’t know why I just…”  She stared at him gravely.

“I told you, it was a two-way street.  I can’t lie to you either.”  Sergei said softly relief in his voice. 

“It’s starting to become a permanent state.  Before I met you I at least knew when to keep my mouth shut.  But if anyone asks me anything about you, if you ask me anything, the truth comes flying out.  Whether I want it to or not.”

Clair pulled a face thinking about this.  “Karmatically predisposed not to lie to me, that’s not so bad.”

Sergei held up his finger, “Two-way street.”

Clair shrugged.  “I don’t lie often enough to really worry about it.”

Sergei grinned at the shock mixed with horror that spread across her face.

“This sucks.” Clair winced hard as she heard her own words.

Sergei nodded.  “Not all the fun and games you thought it would be huh?”


“Not at all.”  She put up her hands.  “Let’s go.”


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Wednesday, November 2, 2016

So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar - Those Witchy Rumors

Charlie took the hint well.  He got up as well and started out of the office.  “There are weird voodoo rumors circling Clair, just be careful.”  He threw over his shoulder as he was walking out.

Sergei smirked.  “And why would that be a problem?”

Charlie shrugged.  “Some guys get put out about things like that.  Weird witchy shit.  Never know what will happen when one gets uptight about you.”

“Charlie Benson, are you afraid of sweet harmless Clair?” Sergei asked clearly bemused by the prospect.

Charlie shrugged again.  “Not really but you know, it bears to wonder about.  Just in case things go sour.”

“They won’t,” Sergei winced internally, that truth trigger of his was just as hair pinned as ever.

“Confidence,” Charlie said.  “Something else geniuses have a wealth of without thinking about how hard it is for other people.”

Charlie shuffled out of the room leaving Sergei watching his back not really sure if he was okay or not.  With a huff, Sergei sat back down and stared at the screen. The chirping of the cell phone brought him away from any reflective thoughts. “Clair.” He answered recognizing the number.

“What’s your schedule like?” she asked a little impatiently.

He shrugged hearing the anxiety in her tone.  “Whatever it needs to be. I’m my own boss remember.”

“Tomorrow night, about 6:30.  My mother is free.” She said slowly.


“I’ll meet you at your place, with bells on.”  He stated ironically.


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Tuesday, November 1, 2016

So a Psychic and a Rocket Scientist Walk into a Bar - Now Available

I think I've been very wordy regarding what this book means to me.  So I felt the best way to express that was to write a Samhain blessing to accompany its release.

I shed the skin of who I once was to carry the form of who I am to become
I release those bound to me by dislike and doubt to let our harm be done
I ask that grace releases our dark desires and opens our hearts to another power
I declare there be peace between us as this time slips away in these next few hours
Leave our pain and sorrow our ill will and ill words on the pyre to disperse as it burns
Let the renewal of hope and faith take root in those spaces as the witching hour turns
I fondly send away those who lost their lights in this cycle leaving the world dark in their wake
As I prepare a place for those who will now shimmer to shine to burn for thier namesake
Honor to who came before whose bravely lived lives have hollowed the path that I pace
May the passion the fevor the will of their purpose and light forever be reflected in my face
I am who I will be, as I am what I was
I am who they were for being is what one does
Blessed be to those who light the way
Blessed be as we share this new day


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Saturday, May 7, 2016

That thing about race from an excerpt of Shuttered Vision

They had actually spent most of the drive quiet.  Commenting on music and scenery.  Nothing truly substantial just comforting small talk to pass the time.  He would make a catty remark about a movie billboard. She would berate the art.  It was rather amusing how comfortable, how quickly each got at their end of it.  They were seated at one of the back tables in the restaurant and poor Colan was confused.
“I always get front and center.”
Fiona was looking at her menu. “You’re always with people they want you to be seen with,” she said without really thinking about it.
“If you knew the company I kept you wouldn’t say that.” He argued gravely thinking about his rendezvous with his Columbian backers. “Not everyone I’m here with is white.”
Fiona dropped the menu and looked at him dead on. “I told you it’s not just about that; it’s about class.” She gave him an odd look. “How much is everything you’re wearing?”
He looked down at himself. “Maybe a grand most likely 2.”
“Just in clothes?”
“Just in clothes.”
“This whole outfit cost $20 at the local mall.  I got the dress on clearance for $10, the shoes were on sale for $3 and the purse I got at a 75% discount for 8 bucks.” She showed him her wrists and gestured towards her neck.  “I don’t wear jewelry.”
“You don’t wear makeup. Your hair is as it grows out of your head and not coiffed into oblivion,” he finished.
She tilted her head at him. “Aw honey, you finally noticed.”
He smiled at her despite himself. “It was one of the first things I noticed,” he admitted.
“I’m not one of you guys.  I don’t have the finance. And,” she emphasized. “I’m the wrong color.”
He winced. “I’m really starting to not like it when you refer to color.”
She shook her head at him. “Why does it piss you off?” she said in a way that completely said that he had no right to be pissed off about it.
He picked up his menu. “Because I’d punch someone that said that to me about you.” He paused a slight sharp smile dancing on his lips. “I don’t hit women.”
She stared at him sideways, literally tilting her head the other way. “I don’t understand you,” she said softly.
He looked up at her. “Then we have more in common than I thought.”
The waitress came over finally. “Mr. Abrams, how can I help you?” She said tensely.
Without looking at the girl he said swiftly. “Ask the lady what she would like.”
The girl next door brunette plastered on a fake smile and looked over at Fiona. “Ma’am, what can I get you?”
Fiona returned the smile dripping with every ounce of fakeness the girl had given her. “Well,” she started in her most country accent forcing Colan to slowly pan his head up at her. “Ah think Ah migh’ star’ with a Pabst Light.”
The girl’s face dropped. “I ..” she stammered. “I don’t think. . . we carry that brand of,” she gestured loosely. “Beer?”
“Well Damn,” Fiona stopped. “How bout some OE.”
Colan was biting his lower lip watching the display as the waitress looked at the woman helplessly. “I don’t think we have that either.” She supplied.
“What the ell kinda bar’s this, awright, awright.” In perfect English she requested. “Actually I’d like a vodka dry martini Grey Goose, very very dirty. Please lace the rim with lemon.”
The girl stared and then finding a solution quickly said, “Method actress; I totally get it.” She turned to Colan.
“The same.” He barely got out.
The girl nodded and quickly ran away. Colan followed by bursting out in immediate loud arborous laughter. After about 30 seconds of this he used the napkin to wipe his eyes and just kept muttering, “Well played, Ms. Canters, well played.”
A mischevious light danced in his eyes as he looked at her and started, “You know I have this role—“
“Forget about it mister.”
Colan smiled at the immediate setdown. “What made you . . .”
Fiona shrugged. “Terrible habit I developed years ago.  Can’t make myself stop.  As soon as someone starts treating me a certain way I like to give it to them, and then show them how I really am.” She shook her head smiling to herself. “Man has it gotten me into trouble over the years.”
“In Texas. I’m sure it has.”
She looked at him in an accusing fashion. “You know a lot about the South, and when you got pissed at me earlier your accent got going.”
“Oklahoma,” he supplied. “Born and raised.”
She nodded. “Makes sense.” Then smirkingly asked. “Why doesn’t Texas fall into the ocean?”
Colan rolled his eyes. “Here we go. Cause Oklahoma sucks.” He fixed her with a look. “Why is Oklahoma so windy?”
Fiona laughed. “Cause Texas sucks and Kansas blows.”
She looked around the room. People were either in various stages of disgust, wonder, or overt self-involvement. “How in the hell did you end up here?” she wondered openly.
“Foolishly,” he supplied. “But I’ve made it work for me?”
Fiona picked up her menu. “Well I think we should be ready when she comes back.”
“I’d rather you take your time.”
“Well Cody and I have a flight to catch—“
“I’d be highly offended if you didn’t let me treat you to at least one night in Hollywood.”
“Really, we haven’t booked a room—“
“There is room at my place.”
“But the plane tickets—“
“I’ll refund, have Mic book you a new flight when we get back.”
“I don’t think—“
“Would you refuse my hospitality?” he let his accent slip as he said it.
Fiona opened her mouth, and her southern breeding took over closing it instantly.  “No sir, I wouldn’t dream of it.  One night.”
“Unless more is required.” He hinted.
“One night.” Fiona insisted.
He smiled, “I’ll try not to push my luck.”
“Ready.” The waitress returned with a much more genuine smile on her face as she placed the martinis on the table.  Colan looked over at Fiona to see if she noticed.  She still had her head buried in her menu.  This probably happened all over the place, and she just never paid attention; still trapped in her sea of distain.
“Fiona.”

She still didn’t see it because she looked at him.  He said her name like a caress, like he cared for her.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Tripping the Light Fantastic an excerpt from Shuttered Vision

Fiona was running, the earth was moving fast beneath her feet. She was laughing and playing.  The sun was bright and florid. The air rich with the scent of poppies.  She stopped running and started twirling in circles, just like she had when she was little.  The man that stared down at her was her favorite man in the world. She stopped spinning and threw herself into his waiting arms.

“Fee-Fee.” He said like he always had softly, quickly and yet insistently giving it all the French inclinations it desired. “What are you doing here?” he asked in his odd Spanish, Texan, French accent.

“I wanted to see you.”

He gave her that chiding look that only an overindulging father gives his child. “Petite, you have other things to do besides obsess over me.  How is your mother?”

“She misses you.”

He shielded his dark eyes. “And I her.  We will meet again she and I.”

“Soon?”

He gave her a firm look. “What have I told you about asking about the future?”

“Don’t do it.”

“You have something to do.” He stated as he gave her a final hug and then put her down.  He looked into the horizon of the grassy area that they were on.  It was like a still set almost.  Wind blew and there was grass and the smell of poppies but it was static, none moving giving cry to the illusion of the place.  With firm steps he walked to the edge of her vision and poked the sky.  It rippled from the spot.

“He’s eavesdropping.” He stated.

Fiona felt shock and surprise. “No one comes here but me, not even Momma. How--”

“He’s searching for you cherie. And he has found you.”

He moved now to stand behind Fiona, slowly he took her hand and moved it across the sky.  It felt like satin under her fingertips and like water the fabric of the sky parted and fell away to reveal her field and there was a tall blonde man standing in the middle of it.  Fiona turned to go back but it was too late, she was now in her field.

Instantly Fiona was enraged with the man. “What are you doing here and who in the hell are you?”

He stood there staring at her. “You can see me.” He said softly.

“Of course I can see you.”

He shrugged. “You were running and twirling, it looked like you were talking to someone but I didn’t see anyone else.”

Fiona felt herself take a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Hiding.” He smiled back at her.

“Should I bother asking who you are?”

“I’m nobody darling.”

Fiona felt herself start to move towards him, but she didn’t walk.  It was almost as if he willed her to him and she merely floated over. She looked down and saw her field moving beneath her feet.  She tried a few times to stop the motion and was unsuccessful.

“What are you?” she asked in a ragged fashion.

“Just a man.” He said evenly.

“No way, no one does –“

“I know, no one controls this but you.”

She was right in front of him now. She was elevated so that she could look him in the eye.  His sea green eyes searched her face. “My those are amazing eyes you’re got.  With the right light, they’d film like a dream.  People would think they’re CGI’d.”

“I doubt I’m the filming type.”

“You’re right. You’re gorgeous but you’re built too much like a real woman for Hollywood.  It’s all about the illusion you see, trick the world into believing only filmable things should exist.  Very few men would even see your face with the rest of that displayed.”
Fiona felt herself blush.

“Beautiful lips.” And then he leaned into her.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Those with Sight - Shuttered Vision

Fiona Canters dreams a lot.  Usually her dreams are plain simple and about people she loves and cares for.  All of her life Fiona has listened carefully to her dreams.  As her family knows they tell stories that the world need to pay heed to.  Fiona's art is always a pale shadow of the brilliant color and light that her dreams bring into being.  So when an unknown stranger begins to appear in them, she has no idea what to do with him.  He doesn't fit the mold and worse yet, he doesn't seem to want to be there.  And yet she can't seem to stop dreaming about him.


For Colan Abrams life has seemed to exist in a constant nightmare.  His demons remain with him on waking and seem to only be pushed away by the tide of sleep.  There he gets to see her, and she drives away all the pain and anguish for those brief blessed hours that sleep finds him. Always Colan thought this specter was a figment of his imagination.  A woman created from his dreams to pull him away from his hellish existence.  Until the day he met her.

Monday, May 2, 2016

The Artists - Those with Sight

The concept of the artists is the first stage of reconciling the inequality of the world as far as creation is concerned.  We live in a society that in some instances value art for the wrong reasons.  The human spirit is a treasure trove of beauty and beautiful instances.  However we as a species sometimes condemn creation and invalidate it based on conventions that should be explored because of how rich they make the content that is given. Art is popularity not art. Many of the leading societal structures in the world have a very rudimentary appreciation for art as it stands and for the sake of. It gets dolled off as frivolous and unnecessary.  And yet most of our living world as it stands and is imagined is a product of an artistic mind. Without art nothing of what we have would exist.  From household appliances to all of our technological advances. We would be bereft of homes, cars, buildings. In the beginning there was art.  Creation and the desire to create drawn on cave walls is the beginning of our gradual evolution into communication. Without art we are without.

So I present the first selection. Those with sight.


Sunday, May 1, 2016

Life Goes On

All over the world awakenings are happening.  Each day an ordinary person is waking up with new extraordinary talents.  And those who already had these talents are finding themselves much much stronger. One day the world will know it's history and this time shall be known as the shift.  The brief period of time where humanity succumbed to vanity, pride, lust, envy, anger, sloth and greed to become their own gods.  The loss of life was monumental.  The true powers of the universe stood by and let it happen.  In most situations the problem will eventually weed itself out and this time was no different than the many, many times before.

But each time humanity returns more refined.  They adapt to change faster.  They understand the theories in less time.  And they build their monuments to themselves higher and higher.  This wasn't the first time they declared themselves gods. However it might be the last time.

In the preparation for the shift a select few have been chosen.  Of course in every story such as this, there are those who have actually been given divinity. They were chosen not because of what they were but because of who they could become.  Potential is not a dirty word, it is a compliment. The bottom line is, when the universe calls on one to become bigger.  The last thing one can do is deny the request. 

The world must begin again and it has been determined that when the time comes only those born of the 9 matched pairs will remain.  All else shall perish, by decree of the seven deadly sins.  They will fall for an idea or person, for power and glory.  Only the children of the 9 will survive and only they will seed the future to humanity.  Life must go on . . 

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Sergei

Clair was admiring her shoes in the mirror when she heard the loud insistent knocking on the door.  She jumped and then started over to it.  His knock wasn’t quite a cop-knocking because it wasn’t the pounding normally associated with cops, but it was only a few notches down from that.  Clair opened the door and there stood one of the most attractive men she had ever seen.  He certainly hadn’t looked this dapper when they had first met. 
Sergei stood on the other side of the door with a single rose held against his chest, which was covered in a dark blue linen shirt that made his ice blue eyes really pop.  The slacks were also a linen it seemed and in the same shade.  His hair, which he wore just a touch long, was combed over and parted on the side.  It was such a nerd thing to do and it was one of the cutest things Clair had ever seen.  He stood ramrod straight, almost military straight as he let his eyes roam over her.  Clean shaven, his angular jaw line and ridiculous cheekbones were put on display framing his full lips as he softly smiled at her, finally meeting her eyes.
“Good evening Clair.” He drawled smoothly.
For a split second as she stared into his eyes as he smiled down at her, his deep voice caressing her, Clair did something she had never done before.  She went completely blank, no thought would cross her mind as she stared into his eyes.  She felt her mouth open but no words came out.  And that was when panic had started to set in.  Blinking rapidly she stood in the door facing him as her jaw flapped without voicing anything at all. 
Sergei arched a brow at her seemingly enjoying her display.  Mercifully he asked, “Can I come in?”
The question registered and Clair solemnly nodded and stepped aside so he could do just that. As he passed her, the frozen ‘deer in headlights’ feeling she had started to fade.  What in the hell was that, she frantically asked herself.  I acted like a deaf mute for a second there, he’s not that hot!! She could feel the last thought actually being yelled in her mind.  With a deep breath and a concert smile she turned to the large man that was standing in her living room.
“Sorry about that.” She said briefly.

He shrugged casually. “About what, it’s a compliment to render a woman dumb, deaf and blind for a second.” He paused and thought about it some. “Or it’s very sad.” He frowned as he thought about the other end of that.

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Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Clair Fair

 ‘Rapture.  As a noun meaning delight.’
Clair thought to herself as her fingers flew over the piano keys as if she didn’t guide them. 
‘Delight as a noun meaning enjoyment, ecstasy, enchantment, contentment, joyance, relish, which leads back to rapture.’ 
Since Clair discovered the piano and the joy inherit in this instrument that could whisper and yell, sigh and resonate, she spent her spare time trying to find the word that defined the sublime elation that filled her when she played.  She searched thesauruses, other languages, symbols, whatever she could get her hands on.  But not a single word alone described this feeling of release and bliss that she experienced while she played.  So her mind would string together all of these words to try and express what was being experienced.
‘Bliss, as a noun meaning ecstasy, euphoria, felicity, heaven, paradise, which leads back to rapture.’
She was playing Mozart’s piano concerto no. 20 in D minor.  It was one of her favorites to practice on at home and loosened her up when she was ready to compose her own works.  No. 20 in D minor was special to her.  This one had been the culmination piece of her first full concert at the age of 15 for a local arts festival.
After her Aunt Mary introduced Clair to the piano it had been the passion of her existence.  She had played throughout middle school with a mix of lessons with her Aunt Mary and whoever was available.  When she had entered high school, Clair had applied for a work-study program that allowed her to spend fewer hours at school and more time practicing her instrument.  Her dedication had been noticed by several of the local musicians as Aunt Mary had made it her job to find teachers that could operate at the level that Clair had reached and could carry her beyond.
That had been when she had met Edwina Powell.  Edwina was a large maternal woman with dubious ethnicity.  She was dark in coloring with her black hair and dark brown eyes.  But it was her tan skin tone that made it very hard to place her into any particular race. Edwina had been teaching pianoforte for 15 years in the small high school in Taos New Mexico.  It wasn’t until you went to her home for private lessons did you see the fruits of a 20 year long professional classical pianist career.  She had played everywhere, Carnegie Hall, the Kennedy Center, Sydney, Paris, Japan.  Her walls were lined with accolades and world championships.
The day Clair had met Edwina had changed the course of her life.  Before that day, Clair had believed that she would not be able to become a professional artist.  She was told by school counselors and most other adults that choosing to become a professional artist was foolish and would not support her well. Everyone agreed with exception of her Aunt Mary and her mother who had both encouraged Clair to follow her passion and to ignore the call of material wealth in lieu of happiness. Still Clair had been undecided until she had her first meeting with Edwina Powell.
The first meeting had been at Clair’s home with her mother and aunt.  Ms. Powell had walked in like a ruling queen.  Her stature had been perfect, her clothing, hair and makeup immaculate. She had asked for Aunt Mary to leave so that she and Clair could speak privately.
The woman had instructed Clair to sit at her piano and then circled her seemingly looking for deficiencies.
“Clair.” She stated clearly in a Spanish accented, deep feminine voice. “That is not your full name.”
The woman waited a moment or two and then continued. “Clair is short for something, what is your full name, as it is written on your birth certificate.”
Clair had hesitated, hating what she was about to say out loud. “It’s” she paused taking a long labored breath. “Clairvoyance”, she sighed, “Clairvoyance Olivia Warren.”
The woman only stared pointedly at Clair, “This shame’s you.” She stated. “It is empowerment, a characteristic that is unique only to you.  You should embrace this name of yours.”
Moving to stand next to Clair she stared pointedly at the instrument before them both. “Does this shame you as well?”
Clair turned to her quickly denial in her heart. “No, there’s nothing embarrassing about a piano, or playing it.”
The woman sat next to Clair at the bench. “What is this instrument to you?”
Clair thought about it long and hard staring at the instrument in question.  Softly she ran her fingers over a few keys and the day her Aunt Mary introduced her to it flashed starkly in her mind.  Her entire body was filled with the euphoria that had started that day.  Her Aunt’s words ringing in her ears, ‘this does not care what color you are, it only knows music, it only knows joy.’ With that fresh in her mind, Clair had answered Ms. Powell with the only word that had summed it all up for her.
“Freedom.”

Ms. Powell had nodded. “You’ll do Clairvoyance.”

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