This week’s topic: Resources. A writer, like any good artist/craftsman, needs the proper tools and access to resources. No one can argue how the Interact speeds research, which I’ll discuss in a future blog. Today, I’m referring to the resources I have handy around my desk. A big fat Webster dictionary—I rarely use the Internet versions, except to track down new words or slang, as I love to browse through pages of the dictionary. Roget’s Thesaurus of course (but I admit I like the feature on my computer.) An old copy of Funk and Wagner’s “Standard Handbook of Synonyms,” which helps me discern why one word is better than the other for a given sentence. A “Name your Baby” book for first names. A white pages telephone book that gives me choices for last names. When it comes to names, my ear tells me what it will be. It’s similar to waiting to hear a line of music. For home furnishings and clothes and such, nothing beats the J.C. Penney catalogue. My story takes place in 1996, so I have a few books about what occurred in that year. About twenty books from Writer’s Digest to be a better writer. Two books on body language. Diane Ackerman’s book “Natural History of the Senses,” to remind me to include all the senses. “The Passionate Observer” by Jean Fabre, to remind me to really look at the world when I’m outside. Since my main character is an actor, I have 5 books on Macbeth, various acting books, like “The Filmmaker’s Dictionary,” by Singleton and Conrad, “Setting up your Shots,” by Jeremy Vineyard—even if you’re not writing about acting and directing, it’s still a good resource because you can visualize a scene “out of the box.” Also, because of the careers of my other main characters, I have police books, carpentry books, automobile books, etc. Finally, my best form of inspiration comes from my Forbe’s and National Geographic magazines and copies of the greatest paintings of all time. I cut out the pages with most awe inspiring ads and article image in the Forbe’s magazines. When you need inspiration, you’ll be surprised what will pop into your mind by looking at a random picture. That box weighs about ten pounds and is a true treasure chest. I also have many photocopies from back in the day when you had to go to the library for research. This week’s tip: Start your own treasure box. Fill it up with images that connect with you. You don’t need to know why it means something to you now. Later on, something may reveal itself to you that can spurt you to a great sentence, a great description, poem, etc.
***Twink is heating up the popcorn as we speak. For new viewers, please go to Chapter 1, Page 1 in the July archives.***
…I allowed a deranged stalker to overpower me so she could begin the initiation ritual to become “Satan’s” Number One Fan.
This shouldn’t be happening!
I was her
There must be a logical reason why I was in the midst of a sadistic version of
Time to back track.
I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub reading Stella’s letter. I must have nodded off and conked my head on the floor. So perhaps this was just a typical scary dream.
I then felt Psychochick dig her boots into my calves, demonstrating to me she was very real indeed. My current situation was not as harmless as a simple nightmare. Reality check: You’re in deep deep dog doo doo!
The stranger cleared her throat in a very irritating manner.
Well, excuse the hell-out-of-me me for wanting to take a moment and focus on my own problems.
As the bedroom became brighter, my breathing improved, but I sounded asthmatic. The weird housekeeper slash stalker slash homicidal maniac slash…
Stop! Quit thinking about slashers!
She now looked kind of different in this lighting. I refused to say she looked normal, because God knew she wasn’t nor would she ever be considered a “normal” person, but her expression seemed friendly. Maybe in her warped mind, she believed we were buddies, but she sickened me, especially when she lifted a quizzical eyebrow.
Having no experience with killers, unless you want to lump in my actor friends who portrayed killers and don’t forget that I will soon star as Macbeth, a raised eyebrow could represent any type of evilness coming from these kinds of people. I was forced to assume this situation won’t end favorable for me. She lightly fingered the area under my chin, leaned back and smiled sweetly at me. Fear upgraded itself to a terror like I never knew existed.
Wrong!
I once experienced this same type of terror in
All those teeth!
“Relax, Monty.” Psychochick softly said in her deep voice.
I slowly exhaled. Because of terror under the seas, I abandoned one of my favorite passions—swimming in the ocean. My groin area now felt numb, and I quickly inhaled. Did Psychochick plan to damage the instrument I use to carry out my greatest passion?
I narrowed my eyes in disgust at her. How dare she insult Stella and all my fans by boasting she was my number one fan? And a short five minutes later, voila, she assaulted me!
What was this? A cheap remake of Misery?
“Who are you?” I demanded in my toughest voice, but to my ears I sounded like a gasping impersonation of Alec Baldwin.
“Does it matter?” Her grin looked stupid with her lips stretched wide, giving her a canine appearance.
Puking while flat on your back would be messy. Messy for her.
“What do you want?” I asked, utilizing my hoarse voice, hoping to sound callous like De Niro’s.
“You just lay there like the greatest celebrity in the entire universe. I’ll be asking all the questions, Babba Louie.” She started laughing, and I must admit for a crazed Psychokiller bitch, she did have one cool laugh. None of my so-called normal gals had cool laughs. Actually, none of them rarely laughed or did anything in a hearty manner. “Monty, pretend I’m just an ordinary reporter for one of those low-down dirty tabloids. I’ll go easy on you…depending on your answers.”
“You, ordinary? Hah! But you are correct about those slimy tabloids.”
“And with your history,” she said, squeezing my waist with her firm thighs, “I’m dying to hear one of your astounding comments.”
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