So yesterday I finally felt all the strain I had put my body through in the weeks leading up to Christmas, my back ached and my knee swelled up nicely.  FINE!  I stretched out in my chair with my feet up and the heating pad on my back, expecting a day of boredom. I honestly hurt too bad to think about writing and couldn't really get comfortable enough to read my new Anne Rice novel.

When I was younger, much younger, back in the days of Walden Books, I had a collection of beautifully illustrated books. These were glorious "leather" bound hardbacks with gold leafing. They each had a silken ribbon from the binding to use as a book mark. I remember Black Beauty had a navy blue cover, Dracula had a black one, and Peter Pan had a deep green one.  I loved those deliciously heavy books with their beautiful pictures and glossy pages.

Well, I grew up and my tastes changed.  I was reading Flowers in the Attic and Interview with the Vampire.  I was stupid enough to let those illustrated books go in a yard sale.  I didn't know that by the time I had my daughter, books like that would be a thing of the past.

Sure, she reads them on her Kindle now, but how great would it have been to have given her those books? For me, those books bridged the gap between children's books and my grown up books. Now I look at her struggling to find books to do the same.

Why is it that we are so quick to shed the things of our childhood?  Are we ashamed of them?  I would love to go back and kick that younger me.  They just don't make books like that anymore and it has nothing to do with the digital age or e-books taking over the world, it has to do with money.  Books like that would cost a fortune to print and that's a shame.  I guess in more ways than one, I'm missing the books of my childhood.

So, a few people have asked me about my next project.  I try to explain, but how to you explain something that is still just a mere germ of an idea?

At first I was saying things like "it's a story about two friends that are witches, but with a dark twist."

Really?  That's the best I could come up with?

It always made them say something stupid like "Oh, you mean like Beaches meets Dark Shadows".  Um...No.

Okay...I've thought about it and I've come up with The Witches of Eastwick meets Stephen King.

You see, I've decided to stop playing it safe.  I'm just going to go ahead and embrace my dark and creepy side and make my witches sexy and the story gruesome.  

So, what does this mean? Soul of a Witch is going to be like nothing I've ever written....


Soul of the Witch 

In a small Indiana town, the watcher waits patiently...waiting to see if the stories are true about The Soul of the Witch.

It begins with two girls, the very best of friends. As children they were outsiders, but now as adults Devan and Janesa exhibit an almost supernatural power over men. When a stranger comes to town offering to tell them a magical secret, they are thrown into an old battle that they didn’t start, but one that threatens to claim their very lives.

A complex tale of evil unfolds--starting on a fateful night in the sixteenth century because of a forbidden love and a curse . . . A curse that was meant to punish throughout the following centuries. 

Can they trust this stranger? Can they trust themselves as the secrets they learn threaten to tear them apart?

Okay, I'll admit it, being an adult sucks. I hate all the responsibility, the huge list of "have to's" that get in the way of my "want to's", the high blood preassure, the creaking of all my joints, and the food that you have to eat because it's "healthy" and "good for you".  That's why I've decided never to grow up...

Now, don't get me wrong, some things about being an adult are pretty exciting, but somewhere along the line, everyone forgot to have fun.  A few weeks ago, we had a snow storm, nothing real major, but it canceled school.  Facebook was full of posts complaining that it wasn't "that bad" out, but where were the posts about snowball fights or building a snowman?  I know some people were at work, but what about when you came home?

I can hear everyone now, "adults don't play in the snow"...

Why not?  Where is it written that a grown up can't go out and build a snowman?  Couldn't reality TV do without you for a night?

Okay, maybe going out in the freezing cold isn't for you, but the point is, why do adults walk around like they have a stick up their butt?  The other day my daughter was in the car singing  at the top of her lungs and getting ALL the words wrong, I asked her why she was singing if she didn't know the words.  Her answer...Because I want to.  No being self-conscious about it or anything.  She liked the song and wanted to sing it, who cares that she didn't know the words.

First off, judging by the looks I get at stoplights, I think I'm the only adult that still sings along to the radio and I don't understand why.  Are people really that afraid of what other people will think about them?

So, I guess that's my whole point. I don't ever want to grow up to the point I can't enjoy a good snowball fight or singing in the car.  Life is too short and I don't want to spend it being serious and stressed out all the time, that's no way to live.  So, that's why I'll never grow up.

So, that is my mantra for life. I walk around like R from Warm Bodies, telling myself not to be creepy because I might scare the normal people.

See, I have a lot of twisted creativity.  I laugh at inappropriate things, quote obscure books and movies, argue with the characters in my mind, and have this annoying tendency to call people out on their crap.  All of this sort of churns together to make my own personal brand of craziness that my readers love, but that normal people find a little odd to say the least.

I often hear people say that there is a fine line between creative and crazy...I don’t really think that line is drawn in ink.  I think it’s drawn in chalk so that I can move it at any time.  Unfortunately, I don’t think the rest of the world shares my opinion.

So, that brings me back to my original mantra.  I try to pretend to be normal, to not scare the normal people that I encounter every day, but sometimes it’s just too hard to hide.  I mean sure, I can pretend that at forty I’m too old for purple hair or that I don’t consider John Lennon to be one of the greatest philosophers of all time, but what good would that do?  

Maybe the best thing that I can do for my own sanity is just to embrace my craziness and let my freak flag fly.  Maybe instead of lying and saying that I had a salad for lunch, maybe I should just go ahead and admit that I had nothing but peanut butter and gummy bears.  Maybe instead of trying to disguise my writing as romance, I should just go ahead and let the creepiness take over.  And maybe, when that person is lying right to my face about crap that doesn’t even matter, instead of politely nodding, maybe I should just go ahead and laugh in their face.

That all sounds good.  Maybe instead of hiding my creepy self, I need to just go on down the road as my red hoodie wearing-brain eating self.  Yep, that sounds pretty good.  Maybe I have a new mantra...

Don’t be normal...Don’t be normal...

I can remember watching Dead Poets Society and then for weeks afterward repeating the words Carpi Diem over and over. It lead me to do many a stupid thing.

In the movie Robin Williams tells his students to make their lives extraordinary because we’re all just food for worms.  Talk about some morbid inspiration! I remember watching that and getting chills.

I so wanted a teacher like that!  Someone that would remind me that sometimes it’s that smallest of things that makes the biggest difference and every single day is a chance to change your life. Someone to remind me to seize the day.

Today I don’t just want to seize the day, but I want to grab it by the throat and choke the sh#t out of it.