A few weeks ago my wife asked me if I wanted to go see a Voodoo Lassie. I call her that because I have no idea if she is a medium, a witch, or what she is. I said sure. A lot, well, six other friends were going so I looked forward to having a good night out. Then I forgot all about it.
So the day arrives and I am reminded that we were going to see the Voodoo Lassie. This called for a quick change, clean jeans, nice shirt and a tweed jacket. We are heading north to Plymouth, I am told, so the jacket could be a good idea. I have heard the Yeti lives up there in the snow.
In the car I put the directions into my cell phone and find it is an hour and a half drive to get to Plymouth. A long drive north. I ask my wife if I need my passport but am told we will still be in New Hampshire.
Well finally we get to Plymouth and meet up with our friends at the Common Man Restaurant. I didn’t think much to the food, I said I did to keep the peace, but am not in a hurry to go back. Then I find out we are going to see the Voodoo Lassie at a place called The Flying Monkey. Well. The night is looking up.
Of course when we get to the Flying Monkey there is no parking to be had so we end up driving round. I did suggest that we just go home and that the Voodoo Lassie, if she is any good, will know that we came, couldn’t park so went home. That idea went down like a lead balloon.
We did eventually find parking just up the street from the Flying Monkey. There were no sidewalks so we braved walking on a road full of people in cars looking for someplace to park.
The Flying Monkey is just like a lot of small town movie theaters except for one thing. When you go in the concessions are right there in front of you. Hot food, beer, wine and candy all lovingly displayed drew me straight into the line. I reached the front and looked at the wines they were offering and opened my mouth to order when a poke in my back and a whispered “Don’t forget you are driving” turned the glass of wine into a box of Cow Tails.
I then followed wifie down into the theater and to our seats in the middle of the 5th row. Nice and close to the stage. Can’t miss a thing and can be seen from the stage so have to behave myself. I looked around and found that the theater was filling up. Everyone except me here to get a message from the dead. I can’t think why your dead parent would want to come back for a chat. They have put up with you for all the years, talking to you all that time, so why do they want to come back for a chat? No. They should be enjoying a bit of peace and quiet instead of wondering how the Patriots are doing.
Right on time some gentleman comes out on stage and introduces the Voodoo Lassie who then comes out on stage. No music or drum rolls. She just walks out and plonks herself in front of the microphone. She is a pleasant looking lady. Nice smile with a voice that I know is going to lull me to sleep pretty dam quick. She is dressed in some sort of body suit with a light, flowing dressing gown type cover that seems to float behind her when she walks.
She starts the show with a brief intro, explaining for those ignoramuses, like me, what is going to happen and how the evening will go then she gets into it.
“I have a spirit here” she starts, then waffles on describing who the spirit wants to talk with until a woman behind me puts up her hand and says she knows who he is. While this is going on I nudge my wife. “Where is the spirit?” I ask. “What spirit?” “You know. The spirit who is here. There is only her up there. How do we know who the spirit is if he doesn’t show up?” “Be quiet and listen.” I was hoping it would be like a Christmas Carol with ghosts popping in and out to chat. Oh well. I opened the box of Cow Tails.
This first woman certainly got the room going. You could feel the change. Suddenly everyone was at attention waiting to see if they would know the next spirit. As the show went on there would quite often be two or three people claiming to know who was coming through. These people were quickly and gently whittled down to one then off we went again.
I did start to nod off once but gave that up after getting an elbow in the ribs. “What?” I said. “I wasn’t snoring.” I looked at my friend next to me. He was sleeping.
My attention was drawn back to the show when the Voodoo Lassie started looking for someone who knew a spirit who had three dogs. One woman was up quick with a “That’s my uncle” when someone else jumped up. The conversation went something like, “I know him. With my three daughters.” “No. He has three dogs on leads. He walks them everywhere.” “No. It’s my three daughters.” “Definitely three dogs.” and with that the woman sat down again. I felt sorry for her daughters. Fancy having a mother that can’t tell the difference between you and a dog.
The show was winding down when she started looking for someone who knew a spirit that had been in the air force. No one was owning up to knowing him and I started to feel sorry for him. Fancy showing up and having no one to talk to. I nudged my wife. “I know it’s not my father but I think it might be brother Malcolm.” “What are you talking about? Mal is not dead.” “Well I hope not.” “So it can’t be him.” “Well maybe his cell phone has no signal and he needs to contact me.” “Oh. God. Shut up and behave. Don’t be standing up.” Just then some guy stood up and claimed the spirit. I was a bit disappointed.
Well the show finished and we swapped the safety of Flying Monkey for the death defying walk back to the car. On the way home I was asked what I thought about the show. I said that I thought the first woman was a ringer to get folks going and after that everyone was just eager to know the spirit and that it was a load of bull. I spent the rest of the journey home hunched in my seat in a disapproving
silence.
Will I go to another one? Sure. It is a night out and I get to have a dinner that I didn’t cook.
Author: admin@graham
Bulls
A good friend of ours goes to Manchester to watch the bull riding every year. This year she invited my wife and I to join her and her husband in Manchester to enjoy the show.
When the night arrived we drove over to Derry, switched to their car and off we went. After parking we walked over the road to the SNHU Arena, went through security, and wandered through the venue looking at all the merchandise for sale. I bought a hard seltzer and went over to the food booth. I wanted a hot dog with all the toppings except mustard, ketchup and pickle which meant all I got was a miserable looking dog in a bun. I did ask if I could have some of the cheese used to top the nachos. I would have got a better response if I had asked the bank for a gold bar.
We found our seats, made ourselves comfortable, and waited for the show to start. Actually, on time, two females came out with some sort of mascot, several guys came out and started pouring liquid into groves in the sawdust. I was just about to take a sip of my drink when there was a huge bang, sparks flying everywhere, the liquid they had poured caught fire and the people behind me were grateful that I had left the top on my drink.
After introducing the riders, no bulls were introduced which I thought was a bit mean, the show got under way. On the big screen we watched as the riders, one by one, spent about ten minutes getting ready to go, the gate opened, and the rider promptly fell off the bull. All that getting ready for a 3 second ride. But then, suddenly, a rider stayed on for the full 8 seconds. Wicked exciting. The rider scored 85.5 points. I would of given him 100 just because he got the crowd going. I was actually enjoying myself when, after the third 8 second rider, my mind drifted back some 54 years. Back to when I was 18 and went on holiday to Spain with a friend of mine.
I don’t remember the resort we went to but I do remember that we went to a bull fight. We quite enjoyed it then went out for a steak with a couple of girls we had met. Two days later we went on an outing to a farm where they raised fighting bulls. After looking around the place we had a decent pick nick lunch and after lunch, they came round asking if anyone wanted to fight a bull. Well. After a nice lunch and about ten gallons of sangria I was only to happy to sign up.
We all walked over to the makeshift bull ring. Everyone else went up the steps and sat down while myself, and three other guys, went into the bull ring and, after a quick lesson, went and stood behind the safety boards. Some guys dressed as clowns came out, took the first willing bull fighter, gave him a red cloak and left him in the middle of the ring waiting for his bull. The gates opened and a wee, baby calf came trotting out. Everyone laughed and cheered. The other two guys took their turns and I noticed that the bulls were getting bigger and bigger. Finally it was my turn so I walked out, took the red cloak and stood waiting for the bull. I had worked out that I was likely to get an almost full grown bull and I had also figured that I could outrun it back to the boards.
I was brought back to the present by my wife nudging me to see if I was still awake. I looked at her, smiled, and asked if we were going for steaks after, and would she go get me another drink at the next interval.
I got my drink, no steak though, and sat and watched the rest of the show. I actually enjoyed it and said that I would like to go back again next year.
We drove back to our car, said goodnight to our friends, and drove home while chatting about the show. Wifie said she would like to go to a full rodeo one day. I said that would be wicked good so we agreed to try to fit some time in to go back to Texas one day.
Oh. I guess you want to know what happened in Spain.
Well I stood in the middle of the ring waiting for my bull to be released. Full of confidence that I could outrun the fool thing. I looked round for the clowns but they were hiding behind the boards so it was just me in the ring. There was a crash and the gates shook and the sound of hooves scraping the ground filled the air. Just don’t run in a straight line I thought. Zigzagging is better.
Finally the gates opened and, a donkey came running out. I remember saying “what the f….k” and laughing as I walked over to the donkey and petted it. The talk and laughing carried on to the bus and we were still talking about it half an hour later when we got back to the hotel.
To Be An Author 11
So now you are set to begin to write your story. You have everything together in your mind and think you know where the story is going to go. Sorry, but this is where you have to stop and organize yourself. Take a piece of paper and start to plan out your chapters. I sometimes open blank pages in word, mark them chapter 1,2,3 etc. and write where the story should be and what happens in that chapter. I don’t write a lot, just things like “meet Abigail, go for dinner, or get rid of Fred”. Anything to remind yourself where the story is going, and, don’t forget, as your writing progresses, you can always go back and add extra action etc.
I have read a lot of advice from experienced authors. All of them take breaks while they write. This I have found very helpful. I have tried, when feeling tired, to push on and get the chapter finished, only to go back the next day and wonder who wrote it. I now take a break every hour. Fifteen to thirty minutes is good. I do whatever I want in that break to relax my mind. Watch tv, walk the dogs, anything away from the computer. When I restart my session, I find I am set ready to go again with a clear mind and relaxed body.
At the beginning of every session, I go back and read what was written before my break, to refresh myself with what is happening. As I finish a chapter I try to move on to the next one before I finish for the day. This gives me the starting place for my next writing. It is very important to go back and read writings you have finished to ensure they flow the way you want. I wait a few days before I re-read the piece. I use an online editor to check sentence length, writing style, grammer and punctuation after I have read it and again after the edit to make sure it still makes sense.
Also check how many words you have written while working. It will surprise you when you think you must have written 1,000 words to find you only wrote 600. They say most novels have some 80,000 words. I noticed when I read novels that there is a lot of what I call padding. I am sure you have come across it. The story is progressing nicely when a new character is introduced. This will take up to 5 pages and about 1,000 words to describe him, his education and clothes and what he is going to bring to the story. By the time the description is finished you have lost track of the story, and then find the character is written out of the book 3 chapters later. In my first book I cut the descriptions down to as little as possible while still giving the reader enough information for them to relate to the character. This cut my total word count down to approximately 45,000 words, but kept the story moving, and I have had numerous readers thank me for it, telling me how they found the story moved along nicely. I do have 20 odd characters in the book so I suppose I could have padded up to the 80,000 words.
To Be An Author
To write is a labor of love. You will sit at a table or desk, looking into a computer screen, and wondering where you will start and what you will write about. You will probably have some idea of the story you wish to write and now, looking at that screen, you will probably have forgotten what it was or how to start it. Just sit and start writing anything, a load of rubbish works well. When you have finished, your fingers have warmed up and your creative juices are flowing, go to a new page. At the top write Chapter One and away you go.
I was asked the other day how long it takes to write a novel. I told them that everyone is different but with the happenings of every day life, unless you dedicate yourself, you can bank on at least a year. Then you have all the editing and re-writes, choosing a name for your masterpiece, book cover and publisher. It all takes time so do not rush it. That is when expensive mistakes can happen.
You may also find that you become more withdrawn. When writing you are immersed in the life of your hero and his friends. People outside of this, it really is a friendship you develop on the page, do not know that you are walking around planning what is going to happen to your new friend next. They will just think you have a lot on your mind and leave you out of the conversation. Fine by me. My new friend knows everything and is good company. I can sit quietly by myself. When I get home then all the thoughts that have worked themselves out, new action that needs to happen, will all get written down and the book progresses.
The other thing you will find is that you start people watching. This is when your significant other will say something. “You are with me so stop ogling that woman or man.” Try to focus on the person without staring. Watch their mannerisms, the way they walk, sit, stand and how their face moves when they talk. Ignore what they are saying but listen to their voice and how their eyes light up when they smile.
You might wonder why you people watch. What a waste of time you think, but remember. You are now an author, budding perhaps, but still an author. You are writing your first book and when you are people watching, you are actually still writing your book. Sounds crazy weird right? But think. To move your story along, you have to have a person drinking in a café, walking down the street or sitting watching the tv. You need to describe them. Cast your mind back. How about the guy you watched in the supermarket. He will work for the café guy. The woman leaving the parking lot will be a perfect fit for the person walking down the street. The guy sat eating lunch is perfect to be watching tv. You have these people in your minds eye so you do not need to struggle to invent a person. You have people watched and brought them home to your pages.