Author: Anita Marie

Brain Pain

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mybrain

There are people who make me think too hard in a good way:

They’re funny, strange they know cool things like where to buy Bacon Cupcakes and are double jointed or have glass eyes that they’ll pop out in front of me just so I can see how it looks when they’re not wearing one.

And then there is the rest of the population.

They shoot dogs, wave their angry little fists in the air and screech about how the world sucks without realizing the world does indeed suck the big one when someone is in your face waving their little fist in the air and screaming about how the world sucks.

My Grandfathers were two men who could not be more different- both in looks and temperament.

Do you know what they had in common?

When someone hurt their brain they would look at that person in frank amazement and make them talk some more. And then they’d get around to telling us this truly fantastic story about this crazy person who is free to roam the world and live among normal people and isn’t it great that people with Mental problems don’t get locked up like they used to back in the Dark Ages?

By the time they were done painting this picture of this bitter, or angry or mean or human by biology only- you wanted to meet them, you wanted to see them and all their oddness in their full glory.

When people hurt my brain all I want to do is take a can of  Draino, pour it into my ear and burn out every trace of the offender.

I hate it when people hurt my brain.

And if you’re going to do it, I want say.” Hell. At least be interesting while you’re doing it.”

There are better uses for Draino- and my time and I do love a good story.

Temporarily Yours

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cemetery iowa

Before he died my friend and I talked about writing.

To be exact, he told me he was dying and then  he told me he had about a year if he was lucky and then we talked about writing.

As a writer and in his conversations he didn’t toss off clever phrases and he didn’t put little spins on the language. He didn’t play with the language to impress.

What had was the gift ot undertand  people. He understood how we were connected together through our experiences  and friendships. He could map them and tell stories about them.

He could have been another F Scott Fitzgerald I think.

I was not in a position at the time to do much writing. But what I was still able to do was face death.  I hate death and I won’t let it chase me away from being near the ones I love who I am soon to lose or have lost. So sure, I can talk about the future with a dying man.

So like  I said we were talking about writing.

He wanted to write the next great American Novel and I said I was writing a story about Werewolves because I wasn’t brave enough to write about Racism. I told him I didn’t think it would fly because every time I brought it up I heard the same thing. ” I’m not racist. I hate everybody. Racism doesn’t exist anymore.”

” You know who says that? ” I asked my friend.

My friend, who was a big burly Scotsman who could tell one hell of a good story said. ” Sure. Racists. The ones with their heads up their…”

” Yeah well. I’ve already been tracked by Homeland Security and harassed by White Supremacists . It’s not fun. I’d like to avoid it in the future. So. I’m going Rod Serling and I’m going to write about Werewolves instead.”

” So what’s the problem? You tell a good story about monsters.”

” I think my problem is it should be about racists. Human ones. And the story isn’ t going to let me make it into something else. So I set it aside.”

” Don’t. Write it Anita. Whatever it takes. Just write it.”

My friend died a few months later.

I am still trying to finish that story.

Because I can.

And I won’t stop until I stop.

amm

 

Makes Your Wonder, Doesn’t It?

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wpid-img_28014873506784.jpeg

Sometimes I get messages via text or email from various friends who see something snarky or mean on somebody’s Facebook ‘wall’ and are convinced it’s about them.

That sends some friendship groups in little tizzies and they will spend hours going over it via email and then they go on rounds of  “un-friending” each other.

I think it’s silly.

So I’m posting this just because.

And NO it’s not about you….it’s about you.

The one with the big attitude and big mouth.

snarksnarksnark…let the fun begin.

Does Anybody Do It Anymore?

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sideshow

Much like the rest of the population I moved to Facebook Land a few years ago, and I think that it’s no coincidence that when I did that I stopped blogging.

At the time I thought it was ok because I could do more ‘serious’ writing off-line which sounded good but it didn’t happen that way.

I got caught up in the world of chit-chat, miscommunications, talking cats and looking at pictures of people’s dinners.I knew I was in trouble when I started to think that looking  pictures of someone else’s cheesecake was cool.

What I didn’t take into account was that blogging was what I did to keep my skills up- it was my daily writing practice. And in doing that I had to think in complete sentences. As much as I love LOL Cats, you can’t exactly communicate like a human adult let alone write like one when your world is all about quips and tweets coming from the cute faces of kittens, puppies and in some cases infants.

I’ll be honest, I got some enjoyment when I got yelled at- on line– by people because they couldn’t  flame posts on my Facebook page.

I saw a fire, I put it out. What can I say.

I was told I was interfering with their ‘freedom of speech’ and that I shouldn’t be stifling open conversations. I should be encouraging it.

I’ve learned something  from blogging- oh and a tad bit about our ” Freedoms” because so many people were interpreting their ‘freedoms’ in this area incorrectly and the real answers were there out in public for anyone to see.

Sad to say I can F*&@! up your “freedom of speech” on my Facebook page because it’s MY Facebook page. And if you want to have an open vibrant conversation, get your off your heiney or computer  or phone and go have one.I consider myself a force of nature but I couldn’t stop you from doing that.

I’m pretty sure that when you restrain someone against their will it’s ACTUALLY against the law.

So when I got messages about comments or posts disappearing from MY Facebook page my simple answer was: If you think that’s mean you should see what my editor friends do to real writers. And they get paid to do it. I wish I got paid for doing that to some of my flamers but no.

I did it for free.

I chalk it up to a cheap thrill.

” But nobody will “like”  the stuff you post on your page…they won’t care what you think. They won’t look at it. No one will know what your opinions are. Don’t you want to be heard? I was asked when I refused to let my mode of communication be shamelessly used like the town floozy.

Well.

Before I moved to Facebook people DID.

And then I let Talking Dogs do it for me and anyone else who showed up on my newsfeed.

What kind of writer does that I started asking myself.

I guess we all know the answer to that.

It’s been fun, but it’s time to get real.

So Let’s Do It.

 

 

Did You Feed The Dog?

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wolf

 

There’s this story about choice- and the choice presented in the story is do you feed the good wolf or the bad wolf.

I feed them both because they’re both important to me, I need them both.

I just happen to love one more than the other.

Senza Fine

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Photo By: Ostephy

Photo By: Ostephy

 

ONCE upon a time

a little old lady who smoked too much and drank too much and swore too much  met  the Devil on the path that led into the deep dark woods behind her house.

It was just before sunset when she saw the Devil, who did indeed have horns and eyes like a wolf’s and a head of long black hair that smelled faintly of tomatoes leaning against a Maple tree covered with flaming red and orange fall leaves.

Her name was Enid Oddworte and the Devil didn’t tell her its name but the Devil fancied Enid. She felt it in her dry aged bones. So it didn’t matter to Enid what its name was.

All she cared about was that in all of the world  the Devil wanted her kiss.

But everyday the Little Old Lady said no.

“Why would you want a kiss from me?” she asked in her wine  soaked voice as she took a long hard drag off of her cigarette. Then she  blew a thin line of smoke over her shoulder and tossed her thin dark hair out of her watery dark eyes and smiled.

It was not an honest smile.

The Devil shrugged and it’s tail twitched from side to side, just like a cat’s. ” I don’t know Enid. I just know what I want. And what I want is a kiss from you. I would give up Hell, I would give up trying to get back into Heaven I’d do anything for a kiss from you.

Enid, who was usually a little drunk on her nightly strolls would walk away leaving the Devil with nothing more the  the scent of unfiltered cigarette smoke and expensive perfume.

And it’s heart-because the Devil did have one. Sort of. Would ache just a little at the sight of her carefully picking her way back to her house in her platform shoes.

Then one day Enid said yes.

Yes she wanted a kiss from the Devil.

So she kissed the Devil’s slightly warm lips and the heavy scent of her cigarette smoke filled the woods behind her house and the smell of tomatoes and dark wet earth chased it.

For a little while.

Then the Devil put it’s hands on Enid’s shoulders and it pushed her back.

It’s Wolfish orange eyes blazed and she could see herself in them, burning.

Enid looked up at the Devil and whispered, ” I’d give it all up for you, if you asked.”

The Devil asked. ” What would you give up for me Enid?”

” My soul, my heart my life. I want this moment with you to last forever…”

” Mio ” the Devil said. ” My name is Mio Andira. And you Enid are my true love. I can deny you nothing. Nothing. If you want this moment to last forever. It shall. For you my love.”

And because The Devil- whose name id Mio Andira, was good to its word -Enid’s moment with her one true love on the trail that led into the deep dark wood has lasted forever.

You can see it for yourself- every day just after sunset- you can see Enid unable to leave the trail- unable to go back to her house or forward into the deep dark woods.

She is rooted to that spot, the very same spot where Mio Andira declared its love to Enid.

But she is not alone.

 She has two things with her…because indeed Mio loved her-  she has is that kiss that still burns just a little on lips and the endless scream- the one that started when her true love promised her forever

and gave it to her.