Parasite Girls, Time the Healer, Sylvia Plath...and the Point of it All...

I am not ashamed to tell you that right now I am in a holding pattern, partly of my own doing. One of the unfortunate results of that is finding myself stuck, and l fear leaving others in the lurch. It's not something I am happy about.

Without ever saying it, my late father by example did his best to keep his word on things. We all learned that, and for that reason I sometimes find it very hard to promise things to others. Because I have no idea in about 50% of the cases whether or not I can actually follow through.

It's easy in some ways--people need me to cover the, I'm there. That's because I need the money, but also because I do actually enjoy the dying industry I live in.

That plus a series of incidents and issues has led me to once again find myself on the edge of a pit that I do not wish to fall into again. It's pretty bad when you don't sleep properly (the worst thing for whatever my brand of depression is!), and then awaken to find it's fucking 12 Noon.

Lovely. So much to do, no time to do it in. And yet that may well also be an illusion I've allowed to manifest.

So, where are we? August 1st, and I wish to know where I am, still. I've had a few friends ask me about my work, and what's going on there. Well, suffice to say I've been cruising through cyberspace for the past 12+ months on the job hunt, and yes, also looking outside the broadcast realms. Couple of interesting interviews did take place, so I am encouraged.

Of course, it means...moving. The days of being able to drive to my job are no longer, and that means for me pulling up stakes. I am aware this is something I will have to do; there is nothing left for me to do in Pennsylvania, and I think a change of scenery is what I need. I need it, badly.

I feel sorry that I have not been able to commit to things, musically. That leaves one person hanging, but thankfully he's using his mad skills with another project, and I hope for their success. Add to that: here in York, I give respect and props to friends who have produced really awesome music. Their talent goes way beyond anything I have to offer in that line. My job as a DJ is to help them get some kind of attention, which is well deserved.

That has been my role. To push, promote, and let others know who's really out there. I guess I tried to push myself into that hole and I think I'm alright, but not what works. Not now.

Let me get to the next one here...w/o internet service at my house, I've had more hours to read, edit and do stuff in a comparative silence. I have to admit, I like that. What it has done is allow me to examine things a little more closely, than I normally would do.

The net is our TV, isn't it? We watch it, read from it, and get all obsessed over what's on it. I'm not going to go on a rant about how awful it is, because that is pointless. Nothing is ever good enough for some people, and nothing will ever fit their pigeonholed respectability whateveritis. Do what you gotta, folks.

Sylvia Plath's unabridged journals are a very slow, heavy read. I'm basically reading her diaries. And again, these have to be taken in a very small bit at a time. Her word use, big words, some kind of education none of us could possibly get today...let those elitist little "exceptional" brats (and especially their voyeuristic parents) have a go at THIS!

What I get out of it, though is that Plath suffered from the same issues a lot of us do. She suffered losses, went through all the turmoil any human being did, but felt it so much more intensely. She was human; you see her struggling in the pages with her family, the need to be wanted by another, but also the need to be who she had to be. Sylvia vacillates on her writing, ignores it, comes up with ideas for stories with impossible names for characters, but you wonder where they all went.

She was ahead of her time, in terms of her feminist views, but these were not fully formed, I don't think. She left behind an awful lot for us to consider, though, about ourselves.

So where does that leave me? Well...as I've shamelessly plugged you can find me on Behance.net, and the rough opening of "Parasite Girls" is there. That will come out later this summer, and I do hope very much to see some cover ideas from my artist friend.

I'm already trying to consider the follow-up. I don't know if I should do this, but with down time and "stasis," the word Sylvia uses a lot, I have to do something.

I look back at a lot of my writings from years past--all just waiting to break out, and I realize my style changed. What I have is still good, but not good enough. Nowhere near. I must go back to that. I must bash at it yet again.

So in the meantime, what have I got?

I think "Time the Healer" might be the followup. The rough opening is also on the Behance site. It's longer, but in ebook form it'll not be so bad. I think I can have it ready for 2014. My goal is now to publish one every six months, while still trying to find some method of getting into a real book form.

The cost is not going to be prohibitive, and hardly do I expect my friends to buy everything I write, of course not. But it's got to get out there, and the window is closing.

"Time" also is rather timely...it deals a lot with bullying, and the violence that surrounds it...also what happens when people stick their heads in the sand and pretend it doesn't happen. Not all of this is personal, but enough is and what I have done with it makes it compelling enough for others to wake the fuck up.

The main character is remaking herself (aren't we always doing that?)...without ever seeing the video until today, I now realize what is fitting about this:

"Point of it All" is from the solo album, "Who Killed Amanda Palmer?" I was listening to this recording and others of hers as I put the story together. 

This is where we are. 

I woke up late, and with a mind to go do something I should be doing today, and the feeling of no drive, no energy and no will is horrid to me. Being lazy is not something I enjoy--it comes from years of being told not to be lazy, to be active, to work, and work, and work the fuck some more.

I do not know what it is like to be lazy, even when forced to it. Yet, some must think I am, because they see me sitting in the "Office," banging away on my laptop or staring at it.

My surgery of one month ago does have a hand in this, but I am improving, so you'd think I would feel better about it. I do, but I am finding this world around me a crushing one, that I have to fight off, as I do ongoing depression.

That video above? I've heard and played that song fuck knows how many times. I love it; it's well-written, the piano and the way it was recorded (not sure how from listening to it) and what little instrumentation around that just fits. The video did not depress me, but you feel something, don't you? 

Ain't that some shit?

Resignation as well...what I hope everything to be will NEVER be. I am starting to realize that what I hoped for is not something I think I want, anyway. Because what I wanted will transform out of my hands and into something that it's not. Or...is it because I wish to control it, that I won't let it grow?

Oh. Now that is tough one, isn't it? Perhaps I should let it go, as I have had to go many things, my land up home, my last connections to certain places, and to again look down the open road and see what's there.

And yet I must wait. Wait for things to change, on their own time, but wonder also if I have time, enough for it. Perhaps it is to take these matters more securely in my own hands and say, "Fuck it! I will go NOW!"

Not instant gratification, mind; more just a matter of putting things into action and saying, "Alright, now it's moving--let's see where it goes."

Depression. It is not fun. I do not, as another has said, wish this on even the person who hates me most, if anyone actually does. 

For those who are starting to wonder, believe me I am not considering any kind of drastic measures. I have no interest in creating that kind of mess, because I have learned that to stay is to keep fighting all of it, and to eventually win, because you are still here and you didn't ring the curtain down prematurely.

An old friend very bluntly stated that she didn't think much of those who offed themselves, because they gave up. Well...there are some who would take that way out rather than face the reality of what was before them, true.

Not everyone though--for some cultures, there's still the matter of honor and pride. I understand it, but I don't. We can't fully understand a place we've never been, and never grown up and lived in, can we? But we think we do.

It's noted in "Parasite Girls," that suicide is at times a dark place where if you fall into it...(I'm leaving it blank, you decide for now)...

So what is "the Point of it All?" I don't know. I have a bad habit of using other people's lyrics and songs for inspiration because I don't feel most of what I have written in that line really works. They just don't fit, and I don't find my own lyrics and songs to be that inspirational. They do work in certain ways, but not always.

Just one more step of development I guess.

I'll try a little harder today, to get moving. Sorry if this is a rambling mass of whatever...but this is what you get. You get one draft in my blog, that's all!

"I write reams of this shit every day, haha!" -- John Cale loops that in one of his songs, I love it.

Peace, Out.

One Year On, Two Years On...& the Question of the Use

I do wish for a bit better feeling than the one I have going right now. As it stands, I can look back from the end of July and see some definite steps forward, and really positive ones at that. But I still don't feel it.

Two years ago, I gave up smoking (read this as, buying $7 packs and sucking 'em down in two days...I now bum on occasion) and went back to the gym. Well, I've never really been in a gym, per se...but I went back to trying to get myself into some kind of condition, and I have to say I rather like what happened there.

I am not a weightlifter, and I have no interest in it. I primarily swim, and except for the past month as I recover from Giant Cyst Removal (you DO NOT want to know more or see pictures), I've been hitting the pool and the sauna. I meditate in the latter, and do whatever it is they say you do, when it's your body and your weight is being moved, worked, etc.

Result? I am 27 pounds lighter than when I started. I was never overweight, but the muscle is back, and I feel better than I have in about 20 years. I have not grown tired of it, though I do get pissed that I have to be very careful about this ice cream scoop sized hole in my lower back. It is healing though, so all good.

Now, about one year and a little more away from something else: Zoloft. I noted in my last blog that one of my writings, about "Post-Zoloft Psychosis" is still getting regular reads. People seem to be wanting to find out about it, and how it is going.

Well, here's where that lies: after about 14 months off the little blue pills, I find that life has returned to a semblance of "normalcy." But I am NOT normal...normal sucks, normal is boring, normal is far too mundane. Especially where I live.

I'm sorry...but you know what, Pennsylvania? With rare exceptional cases, we could lop off Pittsburgh, Philly and a portion of Harrisburg, and we could say you live in 1954. One of my old colleagues liked to gripe that the vast majority of Pennsylvania thinks, "Kennedy is still president."

No...it's Eisenhower. Hate to say that, but a lot of folks really do live in the past around here. I won't get into the political/religious/social whatever's about it, but you know what? The world has changed, beyond your door, beyond the county line, and even the state line. 

For all the people who sit glued to their iPhones, laptops, i-This and i-That (I admit, it seems my laptop and I are connected, too), there is still a non-nostalgic view of life. Instead of looking back, you still live it! The "Way it Used to Be" is OVER!

Now, that is an example of what I feel, post-Zoloft. My feelings are returning. They were always there, but I will tell you this: they are heightened once more. Not in a bad way (most of the time), but they are there, and they do again exist.

For the most part, my everyday life is all right. I do still feel the highs and lows, ecstatic and crushing respectively, and they are not always fun. I do not have delusional behavior, such as certain people do suffer when in the throes of the higher aspects--you will be relieved to know I do NOT consider myself a deity, an enlightened being or someone who lives with a view that I am a cut above. 

I am Me. Deal with it; I have to every day.

The upper and lower case emotions, feelings, etc. are 95% of the time pretty much okay. These are no different than what any person deals with; so I think for the most part what I am contending with is mild in comparison.

The darker side of it is not always so accommodating, however. There are days, were it not for the sun coming right through my bedroom window (and my cats jumping on me to alert me that the food dishes are empty), I might not get up in the a.m. Sometimes that move out of bed is near-impossible.

I write of this in my forthcoming novel, "Parasite Girls." One of the characters, Sora suffers from Bipolar Disorder, and we have talked of this here. I have a relative whom I shall not name, who is in the throes of it. 

You want to know how bad it is? In a black mood, she physically attacked her husband...she was at Maximum Rage (and I honestly don't think she realizes what she is doing)...he locked himself in a bathroom to let her run...she went THROUGH the door to get at him.  Yes, THROUGH it.

So, there's a pretty good example of the extreme side of these illnesses and disorders. My own dark side is a sight more laid back than that, but it has its moments.

When I feel the tension building inside, it does so slowly, and I've been able to kind of detect it and defuse it. Not always so easy, though; it can be black, and not fun. There are triggers, and each of us has to figure them out.

So far, I have done pretty well at it, but again there are times when I will admit I am not the person you want around when it's going down. 

I will also tell you I am not the person you want near you when you're having your own bad day. Sometimes, I just don't want to hear it. Not saying mine is worse than yours, but it feels that way.

The let-down where I begin to move in the darker direction usually comes from exhaustion, lack of sleep, lack of food, and so forth. I try to obey the law of nature when it comes to me. That sometimes does not put me on the same "clock" as the average person.

Tension again comes when I move too fast, or try to "multi-task." I have since learned that multi-tasking is the WORST FUCKING THING any of us can do!

Everybody says it's hip to be a multi-track minded person...NO. I used to be good at it; I could think on different tracks and projects, and juggle the plates well.

Not anymore. Age is part of it, but also my capacity for juggling is not there any longer.  I am not a person who has to focus 100% on one thing and one thing only, don't get me wrong. It's not OCD stuff; I just have to do things a little differently.

Story of my life right there.

What comes along with the body again making the stuff that the Big Z no longer does? Well, mine did start producing Serotonin (I think that's what it is) again after years of not having to or being able to. I am for the most part feeling okay with my body doing the things it does.

I have to add to it--my physical activity is a part of the well-being, that is for certain. It needs to be done. 

My diet is vegetarian, but believe me I'm not a flesh-of-dead-animals nut! What you eat is your own damn business. This works for me.

Ah...you know this fits into what I want to talk about next...wait for it...

SOCIAL MEDIA.

Yeah...we are connected to it aren't we? I admit as much as the next person. I am not one of those people that's against it, but I'm seeing over the years just how that can be death of you. The things you say, post, etc?

Learning that lesson, believe it.

My Facebook Newsfeed is interesting...I will tell you a lot of people that are my friends are NOT on it, because of the content and the stuff that people consider newsworthy to put up there. I admit...I confess...I put shit up there that most of you would scratch your heads and say, "Wha....?"

I'm working on it...each day I try to work on everything, I really do.

Now...one thing that may have estranged me from "friends," is the perception, and it is often incorrect, of when a person posts something...what is the intent behind it?

A joke? A deeply-held political view? An emotion that must be released, right this second? Or how about this one...ARROGANCE?

I am pretty sure that I'm wrong, but some of the things people put up make me feel like if you said that to my face, I'd be like...WTF?!?

I try not to even look anymore. So what else does this say?

Even with a bright sunny day and less humid, oppressive weather, I cannot feel that good about it. Some days I get it, and it's alright. Others, not so much.

As I write, a letdown is coming, and I try to not think too much about what it is doing to me. You don't need drugs to feel this way...some of us are to quote George Carlin, "paranoid on (our) own."

This is the world I live in. It's not a terribly depressing place on its own, but has its moments. I do my best, each day. I am not a devotional person, meaning I do not feel the need to ritualize my life. There are things I do, on my time that work when they do. I do not expect things to be handed to me; I do what I need to, in order to make those things happen, but it's nice when the universe is cool and lets you see something that says to you, you're doing it right.

Just as I've said, these blogs are not edited, hardly. I don't go back and check for grammar or any of that. You get Me, in the raw unadulterated form when I write on this blog. If anything, I am honest, heh.

NOW...a little shameless plugging:

http://www.behance.net/torygates

Again, on this page you will find a proof of Chapter 1 of "Parasite Girls." The update is thus: Mitch Bentley of Atomic Fly Studios is working on the cover, and soon I hope that we shall have something to share as we get ready for the launch. 

There are also audio tracks from my radio work (my prime income source for the moment), plus other writings, and bits. Hope you'll take the time to check them out.

Each day is a day, and you do what you can with each one. To borrow another colleague's phrase, "That's it, that's all."

Updates, and New Steps Forward

Well, it has been a while, hasn't it? An awful lot has occurred since my last post, and I'll try to keep it concise. I'm not very good at that, as my posts are all one draft, not the edited, sculpted crafted work that is my writing.

"America Drinks and Goes Home" is going thorugh my iTunes and headset. Jean-Luc Ponty's version...my old school friend Jeremy sent me two boxes of CD's after he burned everything to computer...thank you, for turning both me and my friend Alice onto him. "King Kong," for those who don't know is Ponty's album of mostly Frank Zappa compositions. Works for what I'm doing here.

So...first a brief medical update: on the 1st, I underwent minor surgery to repair the old cyst issue in my leg which I wrote of earlier. The sebaceous cyst on my jaw is gone, and the one on my back is gone, kind of.

These things are not cancerous or dangerous, just there. The one on my back was the largest my surgeon had ever seen. The healing process is a long one, because it must heal from the inside out. So it's keep it clean, keep it bandaged, and stay outta the pool. I will not bore or gross you out further; I'm okay.

Now: it's time to shamelessly plug things!

https://www.facebook.com/ToryGatesMedia?ref=hl

The above is my new Facebook page: Tory Gates Media is a hub, which will direct you to the various places that you shall find my work. This includes the ReverbNation page of the Dharma Fools, and this:

http://www.behance.net/torygates

Behance is a site that is primarily used by graphic designers, so far as I can tell, but I fell in love with the site. Here you will find audio tracks from music projects (more as time goes on, bear with me), snippets of audio projects specifically for radio (in particular, WITF, Radio PA and others), and my writing.

Up at this point are rough cut openings for "Parasite Girls," "The Drifters" and "Time the Healer." I am very interested in what people think of these. As I say, apart from "PG" they are works in progress. I shall put up more as time goes by.

I appreciate the feedback, good or bad. I need to know. I am thankful to friends interested in the Young Adult and Anime worlds who have taken the time to check my stuff out. Their thoughts are constructive and useful.

This is a long, slow haul and an exercise in patience. I was talking with a friend recently, and at times you get a feeling that you've been braked to a stop. It's like, okay, I've done all this, but I don't feel like I'm moving at all.

Sometimes you have to take a break, stop, etc. Not much you can do at times, but you also have to know the limits, and that sort of thing.

So that is where we are: now, one last thing:

I have noticed in recent weeks, that a blog post I wrote over a year ago is getting slow, but steady traffic. It is the one I wrote about Post-Zoloft Withdrawal--the title included Psychosis, and that was partly a dark attempt at a joke. 

In my life, and my family's that took a pretty dark turn recently.

I am interested that so many people are still reading that blog about what happened to me when I went cold turkey on the Big Z. I think it's time to write the "Year After" blog, and I will do that soon. It has been a rough year at times, but in other ways it has been better.

I hope it will help.

"Can you tell me where I am?"

Well, the past few days could have been a damned sight better, but now I am starting to see a whole bunch of things come home. One of them is part of me, and it's the one that I've tried to avoid.

I'm going to add a link at the bottom of this blog, which is by Stephen Fry. It is about four days old, but in it are some chilling and very sad details of what he tried to do to himself last year.

I've been there...not gone to the extent he did, but in the planning stages, and facing down a bottle that would send me straight to oblivion and whatever afterlife there might be.

Just so you know, this is NOT on my to-do or "Bucket List." Forgive me, but I fucking hate the latter term! If you have to fill a bucket with all your dreams and delusions, then you are not living life! You are still fantasizing about it!

As Henry Rollins said, "DON'T THINK ABOUT IT! JUST DO IT!"

At the same time...do we realize you cannot always just do it?

The process of life is one of hurry the fuck up and wait a while. I've been doing that. I'm waiting a long while for work, and my prospects are few. I keep plugging away in the hope that the luck will change, and I'll find employment in a field that actually values my presence in it.

That said, I've had to take the step of seriously considering selling the one thing I have that would give my future stability: my land.

This is my retirement, and hopefully it can remain there and we'll see what happens for the time in between.

I have long dreaded being in the place I was 20 years ago, when I was still paying my dues and watching the world pass me by. I eventually made my way up into that, and am back down yet again.

But I'm not done yet.

I am awaiting the results of the cover idea for "Parasite Girls," and then eventually we will get that out there in the eBook world. Meanwhile, I am looking for the follow-up, and I have plenty to do with there. But what one?

More and more, I think a lot of my stuff just is not ready, yet.

http://www.behance.net/torygates

Here is a new site, where the proof opening to "PG" shall be found. Also, the opening bit to "The Drifters" is here. See what you think. There will be more eventually.

Now...back to that darkening set of clouds on the horizon: I'm seeing it manifest elsewhere. Without going into dramatic detail, one of my relatives is suffering greatly from something I've written about in "Parasite Girls," but I can't even begin to describe what some are facing.

And what it does to those around that person, well you can pretty much tell.

I am sympathetic, and somewhat empathetic to the deal, because I'm in it. Sometimes I look further, and realize I am losing the ability to get beyond my own issues.

Even with all the optimism in the world, it's hard to find a future. I don't see much of one, and yet I have to say to myself that I will secure one somehow.

I see little hope for advancement in my chosen field, and even less in others. I find myself also wondering just how I am to progress in other areas. For all the idealism that things are improving, some of us are not.

One reason involves the technological changes--the world got ahead of me. One of my failings is a lack of aptitude and understanding of the computer age. As much as I'm interested in them, and enjoy what they can do, I don't understand how they work. 

My mind is not that scientific. It is not that analytical. I wish it was, but then I'd wish too much.

I have opted out of a lot in recent years, and it's got nothing to do with personal issues with others. I just don't want to be bothered.

Stephen writes about that in the blog...some of us really do like our own company. He does not seem to unless he's busy.

I am a person that does not mind his own company, but going home to just my cats (though all know how I love them) is not good. I go home home to a shack I rent, and the devastation I plus the animals leave, well, you can imagine why I'm at my Office all the time.

The need for human contact is there, and I suppose that's why I'm here now. Problem is...I am having a very hard time interacting with the people that I SHOULD BE.

Nothing anyone's done, please understand. But I don't feel a damn thing in common with my colleagues...at all.

Is that why I write? Is that where these novels of angst, depression, abandonment and odd fantasy come from? I suppose I am writing because I am writing the world I wanted to see, and never did.

I still don't see it.

The title of the blog is from a Gordon Lightfoot song, "End of All Time." It's ended up in "The Drifters," and kind of fits. My own songs just do not for this story.

I must move on...I do at times with for the company of others, and perhaps that one that while we should not think about all the crazy stuff people do, but where is that contact, that comfort and familiarity? I don't see it here. I don't see it anywhere.

Anyway, here's what Stephen wrote:

http://www.stephenfry.com/2013/06/24/only-the-lonely/

I know how he feels. I know how my relative feels, and yet I can't even go there because I don't have that.

"Parasite Girls" -- A Small Taste...

Well, here we are...approaching Memorial Day Weekend, and I come face to face with numerous matters.

Regular readers of my blog will note I don't blog very much anymore. Back in the day of Myspace (soooo 2006, right?) I used to do it fairly often. Right now, I don't have the time to speak of. 

I have to admire regular bloggers, like my old college friend Joanne (Tahoma Beadworks & Photography), who can do so fairly often. How Amanda Palmer has time to do voluminous blogs on her site, with her touring, music, this and that. She must not sleep.

Sylvia Plath's journals, especially those of her high school/college years are incredibly descriptive. Her ability to recall subtle details and put them in at the end of the day was remarkable. 

But we're here to talk about "Parasite Girls." My first book is ready to go; we'll be putting it out to the e-Reader market this summer, and I am hopeful that this is a good enough story, touches on enough issues that need to be done, and make for a beginning.

I have a lot more in the can, believe you me. Recently my agent and I parted ways after a four-year relationship. Just didn't work out. Add to it, the six-volume "Sweet Dreams Series," a young adult/anime/time travel series is too big a step for a first-time author. It needs more work, and I need to show the world what I am capable of before bringing it out.

Anyway...here is the beginning...while this may not be word for word, here's the proof of Chapter 1 of "Parasite Girls." It's short, hopefully to the point and gives enough of an idea to make you want to keep going.

Do let me know what you think...

Chapter 1  •  Mima’s World

     “So you need to tell me,” Mima said, “just why you’re here.”

     Aidan lit a Gitanes and leaned against the apartment deck rail. The sounds and smells of Tokyo drifted up to the second floor, but he did not take them in. Instead, he smiled and gazed through the French tobacco smoke at his host.

     Mima regarded Aidan through the bangs of her short hair and rimless glasses. She wore an old sweatshirt, the cuffs frayed from years of wear and washing; the logo was not of a university from Japan, but an American one. Black tights wrapped themselves snugly about her muscular thighs and calves; Mima’s girth was wider than the norm when it came to Japanese women. That mattered not at all to Aidan and even less to Mima, who danced to the beat of her own internal drum machine.

     “Well,” Aidan replied as he carefully flicked the cinders into a smokeless ashtray, “I have a layout in mind for the book as we discussed earlier. I also felt a change of pace was in order.” He hoped that would be enough. 

     “Whatever you have in mind,” Mima replied as she took a step closer to Aidan, a smile on her face, “you’re welcome here for as long you need. I am so grateful to see you again.”

     “I appreciate that.” Mima, he knew was appraising him behind her sun-darkened lenses. They’d not seen one another in years, and his long-lost friend was taking stock: Aidan’s brown hair remained, but there were now streaks of grey, far too soon. His blue eyes were the same, but Mima detected the changes around them. Aidan was not himself, and while Mima picked up on that, she didn’t ask.

     Mima had changed too, but in her these things were subtle. Only months younger than himself, Mima appeared ageless. She was a little heavier, chunkier perhaps than Aidan recalled, but from what he saw pass through the apartment earlier that morning Mima was in shape in more ways than one.

      “Anyway,” she said, “I must get back to work. Got a project to deliver this week.”

      “No worries.” Mima ambled barefoot into the main room of her apartment while Aidan took his time with his guilty pleasure from the first Paris assignment. Skyward, Aidan’s eyes passed over the high rises that surrounded Mima’s apartment building.

      Aidan had experienced many worlds, but Japan was still unfamiliar territory. As in any other foreign land, he would immerse himself in it, become part of it and yet remain Aidan Connor.

      His cigarette finished, Aidan carefully stubbed it out and slid the butt inside the blue pack. He stuffed this in the breast pocket of his shirt, switched off the curious device Mima provided him and brought it through the sliding door.

      “You can leave that out there,” Mima commented from his right. “The rain never comes in; it’s cool.”

      “Okay.” Aidan set the ashtray on the black wire table between the matching chairs, and slid the door closed. He turned and again found himself inside Mima’s world—or was this her universe?

      The apartment was small, even by Tokyo standards. It was one room with a cramped kitchen to the far left, plus a door that led to a tinier bathroom. Against the far wall, just to the right of the door was Mima’s futon, unmade with a nightstand next to it to hold her lamp and clock radio. Before this, a TV rested beside an Xbox with about twenty game discs scattered around the console.             

      There were also other odd gadgets of the kind that could only be dreamed up in this land, including a robotic toy dog. The floor was bare, hardwood and without rugs.

      On the other side of the door was Mima’s workspace. Beneath an overhead light was a large table that doubled as a desk and drafting board. Mima’s Gateway and Toshiba Satellite laptop were linked by a USB hub; also attached was a laser printer, scanner, router and two external hard drives. The power cords for all of these snaked off behind the table into not one, but two surge protection strips, the plugs attached to the only power outlets on this side of the room. Two file cabinets and a wall-mounted rack for discs made up the rest of Mima’s “office.” Mima was hunched over on the high stool, focused on the ad design she’d talked of nonstop since meeting Aidan at the airport the night before.

      To Aidan’s left was the low couch that became his “guest room,” beside which lay his open suitcase. His Sony Walkman, jean jacket and the case that held his ancient Minolta camera rested atop the jumbled pile of clothes.

      Aidan sat here now, looking at the wall above the bed. Mima adorned the pale blue walls with her original artworks, sketches, doujinshi and anime creations.  There also was a pair of wildly colored abstract canvases, not of Mima’s hand.

      “Those are Sora’s,” Mima commented. She did not look up as she guided the cursor across the screen.  “We’ll be seeing her tonight,” Mima added. “Sora is very excited to meet you; I’ve told her so much about you.”

      “Oh, God,” Aidan joked as he unclipped the battered leather case that held his camera, “just what have you told her?”

      “Only the good things.” Mima turned and giggled; this and the screwed-up facial expression that accompanied the sound never failed to make Aidan laugh. “There is nothing bad about you, Aidan,” she went on as she turned back to the screen, “but considering some of the scrapes you’ve been in, I would imagine you’ve acquired a few habits.”

      “Yeah.” Aidan tried not to let his voice change, but he failed.

      Mima turned again. “You okay?” 

      “There’s a lot of stuff to talk about,” Aidan admitted as he drew out the Minolta, “but I still need to piece it together before I can really explain.” 

      “No,” Mima said, “I am sorry. I get the idea what happened in Kabul was pretty rough. You don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.”

      “It’s all right,” Aidan replied, “I will soon enough. The main reason I’m here I think is to get away from that. Not run from it, mind, but to think about from it from a distance. Then maybe I can go back, you know?”

      “I do.” Mima slid off the stool and came over to sit beside Aidan. She watched as he broke down the camera for cleaning, and noted the care with which he handled the instrument. “Like I told you,” she said, “you’re welcome here, Aidan. You were dear to me back then; you still are.”

      Aidan set the pieces down in his clothes. “You were,” he replied, “and are too, Mima. Stuff has to change, and some of it is me; I’m working on it.”

      Mima slid her arms around Aidan’s shoulders. “Take all the time you need, Aidan.”

      He reached up and felt his friend’s thick arm, and the hidden strength within as Mima gave him a squeeze. “Thank you,” Aidan said. “I’ll try not to be too depressed during my stay; you’re good for changing that.”           

      Mima grinned, made an odd but cute, “Nyah” sound before rising and heading back to her table. “I am flattered,” she replied as she resumed her work. “Unfortunately, that does not get this finished. I’d like to see the outline down before we hit the streets.  We’ll go see Sora this evening and find if we can get her out. That cool?”

      “It is.” Aidan drew out the camera’s cleaning kit. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean by getting Sora ‘out,’ though.”

      “That will depend,” Mima explained, “on which one of Sora is available when we get there.” She continued to sketch across the extra-large mouse pad with a slow, deliberate hand, and said no more.

      The statement made Aidan pause. Mima’s comment about Sora was a fleeting one and sounded like she said it fairly often.

      As he carefully wiped the Minolta’s lens, Aidan wondered what was up with Sora. She was a talented artist, easy to see by the depth and originality of those paintings. 

      Aidan then reminded himself that when it came to people, everyone had a story, and there was always much more than what they thought they saw.

###

Well, there you have it...hope you liked it...the rest is coming this summer...

"Parasite Girls," Updates, and "The Drifters" Prologue

Well, it has been a while since I have blogged, and there's much to bring you up date on.  So, the short part first:

My upcoming debut, "Parasite Girls" is finished.  It will soon become an eBook, and available through Amazon.com for eReaders such as Kindle and others.  I will also put it into the KDP Select program, which will let readers borrow the book.

Tomorrow my intrepid friend Alice will introduce me to a fellow in Harrisburg who may become my cover designer.  We need a good one, and I like what I have seen.

Legal matters, such as the "Doing Business As" or dba are being put in place, and I have a few other similar bits to deal with.  But it's coming together, and I hope before summer you will have my first in your hands.

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Followers of me on Facebook, Google+ and other areas will know that I embarked on yet another manuscript, which I finished yesterday.  "The Drifters" is one of a long line of YA-type stories with my own twists.  There is kind of a theme with my stories of this genre but I think they're interesting and entertaining.  

Bear in mind, the first draft with me always is bad.  Holes in the plot to fix, character stuff to firm up, and it is a long process with me.  No one despite what they may say ever gets it right the first time.  

In the meantime, along with my hours and hours devoted to hammering away on my laptop, I do have other things to do.  I hope to have other news from the more mundane world one day, but in any case, this is how things go, and we have to roll with that.

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As much as I love what I do, making a living is not a practical consideration, at least not yet.  Some of us are finding themselves at a crossroads at mid-life or a little bit past it.

I'm 47.  I'm not old, and I certainly no longer feel it.  I've made a point of trying to, not so much remain young, but to maintain some kind of youth in myself, even if I by the number would be considered a boring old fart.  Well, I'll never be that.

It's life, and I do my best to remain optimistic, though it can be hard.  Anyone around me knows that.

So, I'm slowly moving forward in the ways I need to, and we'll see what goes next.  That's it.

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NOW...would you like to read the Prologue to "The Drifters?"  Bear in mind please, this bit might not even be in the book, and it will be some time before this gets out.  

The opening is narrated by the main character, and we will see much of the story through her eyes and her own recollections.  It's a strange one, to be sure...

Enjoy!

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Prologue—All Hands on Deck

            Zhac popped his head through the hatch of the Southern Cross and shouted, “It is on, mes amies!”

            We looked up from our work on deck.  Zhac’s unshaven face, his blue eyes alight with unaccustomed excitement flew up the steps, past the wheel and onto the stern.

            I’m in the middle of stitching a sail, which lies over the boat like a disemboweled accordion.  Next to me are my sister Kiku and her BFF Mari-chan; they’re folding and straightening the seams.  Our brother Kenta is forward, testing the foresail with Ariel. 

            “What’s on?” I ask, though I already know from the scratchy marine radio that blasts from below decks.

            “The prevailing winds,” Zhac announced to us, and anyone in earshot on the other boats, “are shifting.  By Sunday, we shall have favorable conditions.  We sail that day, and without fail!”

            Today is Thursday.  As I look across the deck of the Southern Cross, there’s no way in hell we’re gonna be ready for that.  “Zhac,” I politely inform him, “we’ve still got a lot to do.  How are we gonna get this sail fixed, and everything stowed before then?”

            The enormous sail covers boxes of provisions and supplies and tools, all of which has to be put away before we can even think of casting off.  My logic is correct, but I’ve known Zhac long enough to know what he views as practical is different from mine.

            “Oh, we can make it work, Nee-chan,” Kiku chirps as she jumps to her feet, her pigtails flopping about.

            “Yes,” Mari-chan chimes in, “I’m excited we finally have a date.”

            I sigh but on the inside.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my little sister and Mari-chan to death, but they are kids.  If you could see them, you’d understand.

            Kiku is your stereotypical Japanese girl, hands down.  She and Mari-chan are in their last year of junior high.  They’ve both got the cute thing going, the long black hair, all that.  They bounce over to Zhac in their summer gear, and want to know more.

            You’d think both girls were sisters, they’re that close in look and build.  The only difference is that Mari-chan is Korean.  Mariko is her given name, but everyone calls her by the familiar; she’s one of us.

            Our big brother Kenta comes aft.  He’s a year older than me.  Kenta doesn’t walk so much as glide; he picks his way across the deck in a practiced manner.  

            He is a good looker; a lot kids remark how much Kenta looks like guys in anime shows.  I can see it; he wears his hair a little long in back, and it floats about his face.  “What’s the plan, O Captain?” He calls.

            Ariel follows in his wake.  Now, I have to explain Ariel to you.  She is tall for a woman and has a body I have never seen on another in my life.  Ariel’s is a muscular frame, with just enough curve in the right places; her breasts are the perfect size…well, all of her is just perfect.

            As usual when on the boat, Ariel is wearing next to nothing, a colorful bikini with some kind of mini-sarong.  It’s not to show off; Ariel is the kind of woman who can make anything look good.  That’s the first thing you notice, and it takes attention from real mystery of her.

            Ariel’s voice is neutral.  It’s not feminine or masculine; her skin always has a tan.  Her features are western, with high cheekbones and a sculpted face.  She never wears makeup, either.

            She is Zhac’s partner on the Southern Cross.  They live on the boat, and have co-existed for several years if the stories Zhac tells are true.

            A face pokes out from the shadows of the cabin, a multi-colored knit cap followed by a thick pair of glasses, bangs of black hair that fall within the frames and without, plus that pale, unassuming face.  It’s Yoko, the last member of our club.  Her t-shirt is knotted at the hip and reveals a pair of ultra-tight cutoffs and skinny legs.  Yoko’s in my class in high school, and my right hand.

            We gather on the stern, and Zhac fills us in on the weather situation.  It’s mostly meteorological stuff I don’t understand, but everyone is excited, except Ariel and me.  Ariel doesn’t get excited about anything.

            Zhac details what needs to be done if we’re to make sailing time Sunday.  We only have a few weeks in the summer break, and if we’re going to do this we’ve got to get moving.  I appear to be the only one thinking of that. 

            “Let’s get to it,” I say.  When I speak, people listen, but I wonder if it’s grudgingly.  I am the type that gets things done, and properly.  What’s the point if not?

            Zhac now sits with us and pulls on the sailmaker’s gloves I was using before.  They’re like heavy gauntlets, and you need them to protect your hands.  Running big needles through canvas is not like stitching a dress; it’s hard work.  I will say this about Zhac; he doesn’t just give orders.  He’s a pro, and never asks us to do anything he would not do himself.

            I sit again with Kiku and Mari-chan, and we listen to Zhac as he goes on about the stitching and the lines we’ll need.  Kenta and Ariel lower the foresail and secure it, then go about to ensure the lines that hold us to the dock are taut.  Yoko disappears into the cabin, tasked with creating space and getting supplies stored.  She has the mind for it.

            The Southern Cross is Zhac’s sailboat, but it’s an odd one.  Technically a ketch, she boasts twin junk sails, like the Chinese vessels.  The boat is not impressive at first glance, but it’s easy to sail and handle.  That’s important, Zhac says, because conditions on the ocean can change in a snap.

            Zhac and Ariel have lived here in Tosa Harbor for some time.  They don’t work, apart from giving sailing lessons to the occasional tourist.  Kenta was in the Sailing Club last year, and Zhac offered our school the use of his boat (for a fee, of course).  Zhac has become quite the character in our village, even among the native fishermen and sailors of this part of Kochi. 

            Zhac is Canadian, but he and Ariel are both fluent in Japanese.  I don’t know how old Zhac is, but I guess in his thirties.  His brown hair is curly and scraggly, his face bears a perpetual two-day growth of beard, and his clothes are all worn and secondhand.  He always wears an old sailor’s coat even in warm weather, and a cap with some nautical symbol on it.  You’ll also find him in the company of his guitar.  Zhac’s a decent singer and does mostly Canadian songs, nearly all of which we’ve never heard of.

            His father and grandfather were sailors like him.  The stories (or “yarns”) he regales people with are entertaining, but you wonder how much of those are true.  Doesn’t matter; Zhac is a good guy, and someone we trust.

            That’s a hard thing for me; oh, and who am I?  My name is Kahori Aizawa; I’m 16 and in my second year at Manjiro High School.  Those I have described are my family and friends.  We are those who make up the club, which I am president of.  This is how it all started, as far as any of us can remember.

            We are the Drifters.  This is our story.

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Well, there you have it...let me know what you think!