Grandmother's Scar Promise
April 1, 2005
Yesterday I felt sick, looking at the wound on my grandmother’s back that was beginning to scar. Doctors cut her from just below the neck, all the way down along her spine, until the bottom of her tailbone. It scared me to look at a wound that I may have some day, due to my extensive back problems from my cliff diving accident.
Doctors told me I would never walk again, but I proved them wrong. One told me that if I ever could walk again, I would be back in a wheel chair by the time I am 50. He said that my pelvis and hip would deteriorate over time, seeing how my pelvis had a four-centimeter transverse gap that left one leg longer than the other.
They told me to never have kids, that sex would be a painful experience. And it was, especially when I was gang raped after my accident. To prevent myself from fornication, I pierced my pussy ten times, but one ripped out.
Delirious with morphine and lortabs in a West Virginia hospital, I remember doctors and nurses warning me that my pussy would never be “tight like a virgin,” as the four-centimeter break in my pelvis happened in the bone fusion just underneath the clitoris. The first vaginal piercing I had, my hoodie, showed up in the X-rays from my accident, confusing medical practitioners from the small West Virginia town. Of course, I got my first vaginal piercing to prevent myself from having sex.
See, I was dating an older guy at the time, and I knew he was interested mainly in sex. Having had my heart broken by the one of the captains of the basketball team at my last college, not finding out that he cheated on me continuously until after I transferred to another school, so I was not up for fucking. My desire for sex dropped even more when I learned that less than a half-hour away, a campus had earned the honor of “highest concentration of STDs per capita in student population throughout the entire country.”
Thus, I went back to my first artist to have my clit pierced. Sure, I was only 17, but I had been to him the previous semester to get my tongue pierced, my bellybutton pierced and to get a tattoo of a navy and white yin yang engulfed in psychedelic flames on my hip. Okay, so I might have used my roommate’s identification, as she was 19, but we were both Polish, had the same cut and color of hair and eyes, and were the same height and body builds.
Yeah, my mom cried when I told her I pierced my belly button, but when she came to see me in person was when the real drama began. My parents and I were eating at Ponderosa, me sitting across from dad and next to mom, when dad said, “what’s in your mouth?” Mom yanked my mouth open, began screaming and crying, making a total scene out of the ordeal in a public place.
She didn’t find out about the tattoo until later, but we’ll skip that for now. The main thing is that I got my hoodie pierced, which set the stand for all kinds of excitement. At a religious school of 800 students, word spreads fast when something as outlandish as a clit piercing happens, especially once the football team found out about the ordeal from the quarterback.
No, the clit ring did not prevent sex too much, as it only made my boyfriend more excited, but it did create a nice excuse. The excuse became a comfort to me, a strength almost, but not for a while longer. I had to truly feel the pain to feel the comfort.
After the accident, I learned who my true friends were, and there was not many of them at all. My friends turned their backs on me, being only 19-years-old and a senior in college. They wanted to go out dancing and to the bars, not pushing me around in a wheelchair.
My boyfriend at the time wheeled me around campus, so I could finish up my last year of college. As time went on, and I began getting stronger, he started to become more and more controlling, which I did not like. Family and friends said that I was only a shadow of my former self.
Breaking both of our hearts, I ended the relationship, deciding not to date anyone else for a very long while. When I finally did decide to date again, the only other friend I had decided to marry the guy – and not even invite my brother and I to the wedding. My parents went to the wedding though, along with another friend I looked up from the past – who was asked to be a bridesmaid only to piss me off, as I had an apartment across the hall from her.
I found comfort in a tattoo artist, someone who would apply pain to me as I ordered, something I could control. First, I picked out a cherry tribal design for meat above my crotch. Horror halted work, when I found a pea-sized lump in the flesh of my vaginal lips.
Mom saw my tattoos at the doctor’s office, before I went in for exploratory surgery, another very loud public scene. After finding the lump was scar tissue from my accident, I wanted to cover the scar I had on my labia by putting a tattoo over top of it. The cherry in the middle of a length of tribal, extended down the side of my right vaginal lip.
Next, we decided to pierce my inner lips together with a two-inch barbell I had from my first tongue piercing. At a party, the barbell pulled through, so I put two slave hoops in place of the one barbell. Now, I had three vaginal piercings.
When I graduated college, the artist offered to give me anything I wanted, as far as art went. As mom had discovered some of my other work, she agreed to let me get a tattoo on my left middle toe. I got a heart for her, as she loves hearts, but somehow it transformed into what has been called by some to be a “squashed ladybug.”
With time, my tribal also expanded, wrapping all the way up, around and down the sides of my vagina. With a total of four cherries, as I was conceived at the Cherry Festival in Traverse City, two intertwined above my pussy, while one cherry guarded either side. If I could not have the feel of an “un-popped cherry,” I could at least still preserve my cherries, with each addition of art being an excuse to not have sex.
Two droplets splash where each piece of cherry tribal meets together, and tiny spermies swim up from the top. The artwork, at just this point, was described by Phil Anselmo, lead singer of Pantera, Down and Superjoint Ritual, as “outlandish” when I met him in Wisconsin while touring on Ozzfest 2002. Of course, though I may have showed him my pussy, I did not sleep with him – though he was more than willing.
At the end of the tour, I was dating an artist. For one of the last shows in Phoenix, he had both of my outer labias pierced, saying “now you’ll always have something to remember me by.” With the addition of my nipple piercings just before I left on tour, this totaled nine, 14-gage and larger piercings in my body, eleven if you counted my ears that I got pierced when I was seven-years-old.
My titty painting airbrush artist for a boyfriend broke my heart after I moved to Key West with him, being his model for Fantasy Fest, Mardi Gras and on Ozzfest, go figure. In order to control the pain and prevent myself from being a slut, I pierced my hoodie again, going the opposite direction. It was like there was a metal cross in my clit, how holy, number 10 or 12.
After a breakup, sex is almost necessary to prove to yourself that you are still cute and worthy of love, especially with the way my heart was broken. Thus, I failed at the no sex thing. The night that Drowning Pool and Damage Plan began their tour in New Orleans, I had three more piercings added to the collection.
It was weird, because I was one of the first people to find out what happened to Dave Williams, lead singer of Drowning Pool, as I was at the hotel when his body was found. A guy actually brushed past me as I was walking in with the other Harley Girls to get a room, yelling “we need an ambulance to the gold bus out back, now!” Grape and Tattoo Tommy from Rob Zombie’s crew told us what had happened, as I watched this large mass of tattoos and piercings sobbing about how he had never seen a dead body before.
Of course, history tells the rest of the story, and it repeats itself, as Dimebag Darrel got blown away. See, that first kickoff night, Stevie and CJ of Drowning Pool told me, and I have it on record, that “something bad is going to happen, we just don’t know what.” I even took pictures that night, as it was my first time seeing Vinny and Dimebag, but those were stolen, along with all my equipment and work since I was 15-years-old.
Perhaps it was a subconscious calling for me to get my piercings that night to memorialize the first and last time I would see Dimebag, perhaps even the last time Pepper saw Dimebag, but I met my new artist that night. His slave said to me, “you must meet my master.” The next thing I know, I get 12-gage piercings in my triangle, going underneath the entire clitoris, and two inch-and-a-half long surface piercings on either labia, totaling 13 or 15.
My last piercing came from the same guy with metal devil horns implanted into his forehead; tattoos, scarification, piercings covered his face, neck, ribs, balls and basically his entire body. You could practically fist his earlobe. He pierced my freshet, a.k.a. taint, a ten-gage piercing for my tenth vaginal piercing, total number 14 or 16.
The entire piercing process was caught on film, as we had just gotten back from filming the House of Shock in New Orleans. However, I never even got to see the film, as the asshole who filmed it stole all the footage and refused to answer any of my phone calls. I guess the whole thing was never meant to be, because that piercing wound up tearing out anyhow.
Picture if a guy was fingering a girl and put his finger towards the back of her opening, while resting his thumb on the taint, and that’s where that 10-gage piercing went through. Weird as can be, I went to the bar with a my devil twin, astrological sister with the same birthday (May 3) who also has a vaginal tattoo, and I saw a hoop in the toilet as I went pee. Later, at my Leprechaun’s house, my astrological opposite (November 3), I discovered that my piercing had ripped out of my twat, though I never really felt it happen.
When that happened, it dawned on me that I had reached the point where enough is enough. My vagina had reached its metal capacity. Now, it was time to think about the removal process.
This shit takes time, and I want it to be special. See, I had told myself and hoped that I would keep all of it in until I met the right one, a man worthy enough of putting me on a nine-moth bed rest while getting me pregnant. Though doctors say I may never be able to have kids, I think that if I can prove them wrong on the whole walking thing that they can be proven wrong again; however, doctors warned me that if I could indeed get pregnant, that I would most likely have to be on bed rest for most of the time, as my muscles, tendons and ligaments have all be compromised.
Time keeps passing me by, and I have still yet to meet that guy. For a split second, I thought I did, and it was amazing. Just before I got that last piercing, I thought I met him, and he told me not to bother getting another hunk of metal jabbed through the flesh of my twat.
“All these piercings, you got for me,” he said, sniffing my body from head to toe like an animal. “I know I’m attracted to you, as your smell is intoxicating to me, better than any drug. Each and every jab of metal pierced your skin for me.”
I cannot even explain how I felt when he said that, and I wanted more than anything to believe it. Of course, time tells all, like the fact that he had a girlfriend. I could not stand in a second position, so I got that last piercing as a reminder of all the fake people that try to persuade you in life.
So here I write, on April Fool’s Day of 2005, almost a month away from my birthday. Yesterday my grandmother made me promise that I would take all of my piercings out for her, but I told her it would have to wait until a special day, my 25th birthday. I wonder if it’s possible to meet that special someone in the last little bit of time?
They say when the woman takes the sword that she is playing her male role. My swords are my pens and my piercings. I have stood alone so much in the past, so I am beginning to accept that I will stand alone in the future and eventually die alone.
No matter what happens during the life in this world, none of it can be taken with you. The older I grow, the more I understand that, though it is not always an easy lesson to hear or learn. What is given will be taken away.
I guess perhaps I should not rely upon a guy to free me from the spell I put upon myself. The piercings were for my control, so I should decide when they come and go. The thought had entered me before I saw my grandmother, but she simply confirms the notion.
Though I will give myself a month of hope, I realize that some things are not meant to be. Many have told me that not everyone is meant to mother, and perhaps I am one of those people. I continue to hope the contrary, but I have failed up to this point with a few different guys.
Failure perhaps is the wrong way to view it though. Perhaps I am just now getting to the point where I feel comfortable in meeting someone capable of forming a family with. Afterall, the piercings were meant to be a chastity belt, so taking them out would just be a liberation, opening myself up to that possibility that time will eventually tell that outcome of.
Energy and Entertaining
Time passed, and I found myself as a hermit, being reclusive inside a house, only leaving during necessity. The point of this was to teach myself to live without blood. Off the land and the animals, energy could be mustered, and large crowds were not the only way to find power.
Sure, I escaped every now and then, when I could barely take it, getting a quick rush from a crowd, even if it was the simple joy of trick-or-treaters. Any excuse to be around people with excessive life force oozing outside of them was an excuse for me to gather that excess inside of myself. It was true; vampires really could live without blood.
As I learned blood was not essential, but it really made things nicer. Even in a crowd, every now and then, I could not help but sneak a quick bit, acting like I had tripped on something, grabbing onto the nearest person and quickly biting them before they knew what was going on, distracted by me fumbling over myself. That trick was one that I had learned from Brad, as it was his classic move that made me laugh every time.
Finding that I had become so reclusive, it was probably essential that Brad came to visit during the hurricane, encouraging me to drink blood a little more often than I had been. Together, we had decided that powdered blood was not worth the trouble, agreeing on that back at Mardi Gras when there were so many victims that the troubles of dried blood seemed futile. Sharing my secret of absorbing pain, we figured how to will pain into us, which encouraged him to volunteer in New Orleans for a cheap buzz from needy people and animals, volunteering at the zoo and soup kitchen.
How funny is it that the average person thinks him to be helping when he’s really only doing it of his own selfishness, feeding off of the very chore? What’s funnier still was the sight he described to me, other vampires blending in the mix, feeding off of what they saw as worthless wastes of life. Trying to clean the territory, perhaps making himself the supreme being of the place, he encouraged those kinds to leave.
When even the mass of a crowd began to not thrill me, Brad suggested to find new meaning in life, look past the boring and mundane to find something new. The little excitements seemed to take precedence over the major. I found myself meandering through hospitals for a new buzz.
Up here for enough time to wreck havoc and attempt to return my good spirits, Brad returned to New Orleans after Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, giving me the details how my former homes were gone, bubbling under 25-feet of water, homes of both Keyser and the lesbian landlord. I could not help but laugh at my brother, his will to damage those who had damaged me by calling the winds. My brother was my keeper.
Others were also my keeper, as I was invited to meet up with bands like Soilent Green, the band whose guitar player Tony White had helped guide me to the Masonic Cemetery where I would find my cat as a result of intervention, and Crowbar, the band that Pat had joined, the one who held my hair outside the Dixie; both bands shared the same drummer, Tommy Buckley. New Orleans may have been damaged by a storm, but it did not forget me, and neither did its people, who I felt barely knew me. When Corrosion of Conformity came to town, they scheduled one of their first tour stops in Detroit on the first tour with Stanton Moore, a drummer I had first met on the Jam Cruise when he was playing with Galactic, but they came back to town again with their original drummer, asking if I would be at the show.
It was nice to see old friends, especially ones who helped me gain energy. At first glance, Norris could tell, as I was not dressed in my usual ensemble, more casual and hiding amongst the crowd, blending in while still sticking out. I was casual, as I had given up my quest of being a Black Widow.
Resorting to the basics of energy, I found I could survive from music, as the basics of which was a heartbeat. Controlling a heartbeat through sound was energy, and the addition of a crowd was only extra energy. The combination of the two was intoxicating.
With help from many, I had tried to expand my musical horizons, and even Norris had helped me out with this earlier by having tickets set aside for me to see Hank Williams, III. At that point, it was closest I had come to listening to country, and I liked what I had heard. Hank III and the boys, both in his band an in Ass Jack, had a knack of blending the hard hitting heartbeats with country twang, a uniquely powerful blend that made heart beats quicken to the point where excessive energy was shed in the crowd, enabling the power inside of me.
Woody had truly allowed me to hear country, putting on Dwight Yokum. With his fangs drawn on the COC bus, he displayed how the dosey-do beats could provide a playful smile of swing. Once dancing occurred, energy was shed, and it was there for the taking,
Mike confirmed once again that vampires could live without blood, as he prided himself on being a vegetarian vampire. “If I really need blood, I jump in a lake or the ocean and take victim a tiny sea creature, as I don’t think they’ll be missed as much as a person or someone’s pet.” Sensitive vampires were amazing creatures.
Still, Norris, Tommy and Russ shook their heads, wondering why to bother with being sensitive? Why not let the killer within roam, just keep it in check, like every full moon. Of course, they were werewolves, really only letting the beast within out once a month; for vampires, they needed that blood lust on a regular basis, and it was hard to keep it in check each evening.
Pepper shook his head at me, also agreeing not to fight the beast within, to let it roam as it pleased when necessary. “You’re not human, no matter how hard you try to be. Sure, you might die eventually, but you’re the Black Widow; don’t forget it.”
Passing his hand over my face, it made my eyes closed. In a blink, he showed me my past, the killing I had done without ever being suspected, all the hearts I had broken. As my history played like the reel of a movie, events were placed together, seemingly strung together purposely; it looked as if something else was controlling my life.
“There is something more waiting for you, something else for you to find.” With those words, another picture formed in my head, one that I had not been aware of. There was a mass of people wearing black robes with huge hoods that covered their faces. They raised their arms to the air and an image of me appeared in the center of a circle.
One robed figure pushed me, and I fell. The scenery of West Virginia appeared, as the sight of me in the hospital. Was Pepper suggesting that somebody had been responsible for my cliff diving accident?
An image popped in my head of Pepper sitting outside the music clubs of New Orleans, clutching his skateboard, hoping to be let into one of the shows, as he was too young at the time. The image had been planted in my head by the one with long red curly hair. “Did you used to ride a skateboard?”
“Yeah,” Pepper laughed a little off guard. “At least I did until I had a bad accident. I probably died at that point.”
Music called his body to live on. He didn’t have to explain it to me; I knew. Musical art pulled him through death.
Writing, a different art, called for me to live on after death. Just the thought of writing a book was enough to make me want to live on. It was a critical point in my life, the leap of faith.
Before I jumped, I remember thinking how perfectly my life was lining up, how all the things were falling into place. Still, I was miserable. It was leading me towards a life I did not want to live.
I did not want to marry the man who saved me, and I didn’t want the job and career that was being offered to me. Things were aligning, but the puzzle was about to fall apart. Though I was challenged, bet that I wouldn’t, I jumped, not to be cool, but because I began not to care.
If my life ended at that point, people could look back at me with all American pride and sympathy. I would be another tragedy in the news that mothers could clip out as warnings to their kids. If I‘d died, I would have spared myself from a routine I did not want to be inserted into on a daily basis.
Sure, it was my life, and I had guided it into being, but so did the other hands around me. My life was not what I wanted. This is why I hesitated, allowing the water to fill into my lungs before I decided to live again.
My life would not be the same, no matter how much I wanted it to be. The voices gathered inside my head and warned me of this, but they also prompted me. If I chose to live forever, who knows what I could accomplish.
Doomed to dwell in the shadows of action, I would keep time of the world around the immortal me. My record could not be stricken. Try as they might to destroy my body, I would live on.
This is how it happened. This is the moment when I made the decision once and for all. Either live forever or die a forgotten statistic with no impact upon the world other than the broken bones that would momentarily fuel a forgetful media.
Now that I think about it, my mom seemed to know. I could tell by the last words that she said to me before I left for West Virginia. “You better not come back to me in a wheelchair.”
In fact, my parents refused to rescue me from my own devices until it was a specific time. My mystic had told me of that before, not being able to leave until they wanted to you. Even in New Orleans, I was left and brought back, only to experience the attack before leaving again.
When I left, I still could not be instantly helped. Everyone wanted to test me to see what I would do, if I would give into the temptation of being an escort. It was all a test.
Thinking back, I remembered what my boyfriend had said before he broke up with me, the reason that I left for New Orleans. “I’m not good enough for you. It was never my choice to be with you in the first place; it was someone else’s idea.”
What would I do when attacked? How far would I go for money? Would I settle for somebody like Brad merely out of convenience?
Every single step was merely a test. “Many hear the call, but only few are selected.” Was the darkness only a way to find light?
Vampires and Werewolves
Pepper was right. As Woody, Norris, Mike, Tommy, Pepper and I sat on the bus, they pointed out to me how things could be different. Immortal life is not all that it seems.
Think in the matters of the heart. There are many who would like to consider the prospects of marriage, many that would be happy to look pretty on the arm, but how many can be trusted? Even Eminem said, “friends are only people that you think are your friends, they’re really your enemies with secret identities to hide their true colors.”
Is the temporary gain of sex and comfort enough to handle the long-term effects? Will that person still love you when you’re old, fat and grey? Is that mortal only there for their own selfish gain?
This is what sets vampires and werewolves apart. Though werewolves can have families and function normally in society, vampires cannot; vampires may never feel the comfort of the family unit. Their everyday bloodlust craving may make them notorious, but their charisma can attract the bad as well as good – often, it is hard to tell the difference between the two, as the Red Crow said, the nourishment is also destruction.
It was not me who was to be somebody’s widow, somebody wanted to be my widow. Somebody was lurking in the shadows, hoping to ride with me through the immortal life. The challenge was now for me to find out if that individual was only willing to ride in glory for the hopes of living beyond; would that person try to kill me, then cry at my death like it was the biggest catastrophe of their life – or was my death not as far away as I thought it might be, as nobody live forever?
is death forever?
My mother and I walked along the shore of Lake Erie, kicking at seashells and allowing the water to splash under our feet. As we meandered, we talked about life, how she had no pressure for me to hurry up, get married and have kids. In fact, the only thing she cared about was my happiness, and she seemingly did not have the maternal urges that other mothers must feel towards brining a grandchild into the world.
Lecturing me on how she had seen too many unwanted kids hastily brought into the world, she expressed the concern that even if Prince Charming came along and gave me all my heart’s desires, what if he got hit by a bus and all was taken away from me. As she stressed her point, her voice raised, catching the attention of neighbors on the swing of their lakefront back porch. I struggled to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“That poor dear,” one lady said to the other. “Each day she walks up this beach, mumbling to herself, giving a lecture to the waves of the lake. It’s such a shame that she can’t come to grips with how her daughter was killed.”
“I heard about that,” the other woman shook her head sympathetically. “Such a shame, so young and so full of life, and it all got taken away from her so quickly. Didn’t she jump off a cliff or something?”
“Yeah,” the first one confirmed, “she was only 19-years-old, and ever since then, her mother has just tried to believe that her daughter has been away, off on some great adventures. I think she tries to imagine what her daughter’s life would have been like if she would have lived. Lately though, she’s been acting like her daughter’s at home with her, talking into the wind, pretending that she is right beside her.”
I was livid. How could they talk about my mother that way? Couldn’t they see that I was walking right beside her?
I wanted to storm up to them and yell, scream in their faces. I was standing right before them, and they were the ones that were blind to me. How could they be blind to me?
“Don’t leave me,” I saw my mother’s eyes glassy with tears. “Don’t listen to what they say. It’s taken me too long to get you back here with me.”
I looked at her quizzically. “What are they talking about mother? What do you mean?”
My body felt light and airy, as if it did not belong to this earth. My mother began to sob. I couldn’t stop any of it.
“I just wanted to see you again. I knew you wouldn’t leave me, that even after death you would come check in on your ol’ mom. I didn’t want you to leave this planet before me; it’s not right for a child to die before their parents.”
“I’m not dead, Mother,” I shook my head in denial. “I’m right here. I’ve just been gone for a while, but I’m back now.”
She took a deep breath, “your great-grandmother was raised on the Indian reservation, taught them English. Our culture very much believes in the spirits living on, which yours has done. Your body, however, left you a long time ago.”
“No.” I held her stare and felt my body turning into a feather. “I’m part of this world, and my body is here before you.”
“You have the same body you had when you were 19,” mother agreed. “It has not changed, and you have not been sick since. You live on due to your will to live on; you survive from the energy around you.”
“What about my friends? What about all the calls I get on my cell phone? What about my life?”
“You’ll continue on as long as you want,” my mother explained to me. “As long as you have the will to be on this planet, you will be. You wanted a cell phone, because everyone else had one; out of the blue, you had one, but do you remember getting it?”
“Don’t try to erase my memories,” I could feel the mucous growing thick in my nose and my eyes growing watery. “If I’m dead, then why do I feel pain from the words you speak now? Why do I feel at all?”
“You’re as human as you let yourself be, more human than humans. Your friends are dead, too, most of them. Others are on the edge of wanting to die, the ones that contact you the most, wanting to know what life after death is like; you’re the only one who doesn’t realize that you’re dead.”
I thought back to the big Brazilian explaining to me that I was indeed a vampire. I hadn’t believed him. I knew something was different, but this was simply too much.
“So if I’m as alive as I let myself be, then I can be other things, too? Is that why I can become invisible and travel great distances to visit somebody in the blink of an eye just by thinking of them? Is that why I can’t have children?”
“Will the dead produce dead children? That’s what everyone is wondering about you, my child. Many look to you for the answer.”
“Mom,” I sniffled, “do I really have to walk this afterlife alone? If my friends are dead, then does that mean there’s a whole world of the dead? Is the Underworld really a place?”
“Loki and the like,” Mother noted, “many have different names for those they knew little to nothing about. There are definitely different worlds on this planet here, and you just happen to be lucky enough to have people like your brother and I calling you back to visit this world here, so you don’t have to simply dwell with the underworld. You’re one of the lucky ones; you have the choice to go back and forth, to come and go as you please, almost like a Shadow Walker.”
“What about when you both die? What will happen then, Mother? What will come of all of us?”
“You can either live in the Underworld or move up to a higher level. Where exactly that is, I cannot show you until I am there, too. Existence is merely a cycle, and you are caught in the middle.”
“Then what shall I do now? Where shall I go, Mother? How shall I bide my time?”
“Your own desires are your own limits. Time is not endless, so choose wisely. Choose how you want to live your life and with who, but just remember that nothing lasts forever, even death.”
THE END
Chapters 1-18 Written
10:32 p.m. August 6, 2004 – 4:58 a.m. August 7, 2004;
11:51 p.m. August 8, 2004 – 2:14 a.m. August 9, 2004
6:13 p.m. August 9, 2004 – 6:59 p.m. August 9, 2004
7:40 p.m. August 23, 2004 – 11:43 p.m. August 9, 2004
In New Orleans, LA
Section 2 Written
7:07 p.m. January 12, 2005 – 11:50 p.m. January 12, 2005
8:51 p.m. Jan 17, 2004 – 11:53 January 17, 2005
In Monroe, MI
Written for National Novel Writing Month
1:17 a.m. November 1, 2005 - 3:04 a.m. November 1, 2005
1:23 p.m. November 1, 2005 - 2:45 p.m. Nov. 1, 2005
12:51 a.m. Nov. 2, 2005 - 2:25 a.m. November 2, 2005
12:38 p.m. November 2, 2005 - 2:02 November 2, 2005
12:49 a.m. November 3, 2005 -2:17 a.m. November 3, 2005
12:22 p.m. November 3, 2005 - 1:57 p.m. November 3, 2005
2:23 p.m. November 4, 2005 - 2:45 p.m. November 4, 2005
1:05 a.m. November 5, 2005 - 2:16 a.m. November 5, 2005
1:53 p.m. November 5, 2005 - 2:36 p.m. November 5, 2005
1:27 p.m. November 6, 2005 - 1:55 p.m. November 6, 2005
1:34 a.m. November 7, 2005 - 2:06 a.m. November 7, 2005
12:55p.m. November 7, 2005 - 1:29 p.m. November 7, 2005
12:19 a.m. November 8, 2005 - 1:18 a.m. November 8, 2005
1:27 a.m. November 8, 2005 - 1:59 a.m. November 8, 2005
12:57 a.m. November 9, 2005 - 1:41 p.m. November 9, 2005
12:03 p.m. November 9, 2005 - 12:52 p.m. November 9, 2005
2:09 p.m. November 9, 2005 - 2:22 p.m. November 9, 2005
1:51 a.m. November 10, 2005 - 2:16 a.m. November 10, 2005
11:50 a.m. November 10, 2005 - 12:26 p.m. November 10, 2005
12:59 a.m. November 11, 2005 - 2:04 a.m. November 11, 2005
3:07 a.m. November 11, 2005 - 3:27 a.m. November 11, 2005
1:01 p.m. November 11, 2005 - 1:24 p.m. November 11, 2005
1:29 a.m. November 12, 2005 - 1:52 a.m. November 12, 2005
12:12 p.m. November 14, 2005 - 12:54 p.m. November 14, 2005
1:40 a.m. November 15, 2005 - 2:34 a.m. November 15, 2005
12:52 p.m. November 15, 2005 - 1:29 p.m. November 15, 2005
12:35 a.m. November 16, 2005 - 12:49 a.m. November 16, 2005
12:58 a.m. November 16, 2005 - 1:43 a.m. November 16, 2005
12:54 p.m. November 16, 2005 - 1:27 p.m. November 16, 2005
1:11 a.m. November 17, 2005 - 2:50 a.m. November 17, 2005
1:11 p.m. November 17, 2005 - 2:00 p.m. November 17, 2005
1:02 p.m. November 18, 2005 - 1:58 p.m. November 18, 2005
3:41 p.m. November 18, 2005 - 4:36 p.m. November 18, 2005
1:08 a.m. November 19, 2005 - 1:41 a.m. November 19, 2005
3:57 a.m. November 29, 2005
2:36 a.m. November 19, 2005 - 3:33 a.m. November 19, 2005
12:49 November 19, 2005 - 1:40 p.m. November 19, 2005
2:27 p.m. November 19, 2005 - 3:17 p.m. November 19, 2005
7:07 p.m. November 19, 2005 - 8:07 p.m. November 19, 2005
1:48 p.m. November 20, 2005 - 2:36 p.m. November 20, 2005
1:15 a.m. November 21, 2005 - 2:07 a.m. November 21, 2005
2:12 a.m. November 21, 2005 - 2:35 a.m. November 21, 2005
12:42 p.m. November 21, 2005 - 1:36 p.m. November 21, 2005
12:00 p.m. November 22, 2005 - 1:05 p.m. November 22, 2005
8:52 p.m. November 23, 2005 - 10:10 p.m. November 23, 2005
1:57 a.m. November 24, 2005
12:40 November 24, 2005 - 1:21 p.m. November 24, 2005
1:21 a.m. November 25, 2005 - 2:30 a.m. November 25, 2005
12:19 p.m. November 25, 2005 - 12:54 p.m. November 25, 2005
12:47 a.m. November 26, 2005 - 2:14 a.m. November 26, 2005
3:21 a.m. November 26, 2005 - 4:22 a.m. November 26, 2005
1:00 p.m. November 26, 2005 - 2:00 p.m. November 26, 2005
3:06 a.m. November 27, 2005 - 4:20 a.m. November 27, 2005
12:54 p.m. November 27, 2005 - 1:30 p.m. November 27, 2005
1:30 p.m. November 27, 2005
12:28 p.m. November 28, 2005 - 1:36 a.m. November 28, 2005
12:36 a.m. November 28, 2005 - 1:11 p.m. November 28, 2005
1:19 a.m. November 28, 2005
12:31 a.m. November 29, 2005 - 2:19 a.m. November 29, 2005
3:33 a.m. November 29, 2005
12:37 p.m. November 29, 2005 - 1:23 p.m. November 29, 2005
3:40 p.m. November 30, 2005 - 3:54 p.m. November 30, 2005
Letter from the author
This book is my experiment in reality-based fiction. Though some of the names are real people, obviously none of the events are real. None of this ever happened.
My choice to use real musicians was only to emphasize the idea of how vampires could live in reality. The choice of musicians I chose to use merely reflected my idea of what vampires would be like if they were modern day people, to give people a better idea of the image in my head that I was trying to form and could not explain necessarily with the words I wrote as description. If I have offended anybody, sorry, but please do not believe anything I write.
With that in mind, I would like to thank everyone I met along my travels, from Key West and New Orleans, back to Michigan, the times were great. To save the name game, I’m guessing that most of you know who you are, and even if I might disappear into shadows, don’t think I forget my past. To everyone who ever helped me, even if showing me a slight smile, thanks.
Specifically, I would like to thank a few people who went above and beyond the call of duty to help me, like my parents and my brother. Also included in the list are Bradley Gooch, Kristen Case with Jason and their children Ryia and Amanda, John Miceli, Jesus (a.k.a. Greg) and Michelle (my hairdresser from New Hampshire), Elizabeth Jeffers, Sheena Ann and Billy Bray (and Lily for all the eager smiles at seine me), Lonnie and Trey, all the musicians I’ve met who have taken me under their wings and offered me up advice, Joe Conte (and the whole crew), Vamptasia (my attorney), Genifur, Alexia and everyone I met on my travels along the way.
This book was first written in New Orleans with the kind offering of my roommate (you know who you are), but it was finished during November 2005, as I was encouraged again, only this time by a contest known as the National Novel Writing Month, www.nanowrimo.org, a challenge to write 50,000 words in the month of November. Though I wrote a little more than that in the month’s time, I also added to the story with other ideas that had come from along the way. For the encouragement from my family, I cannot be thankful enough.
Cheers to all – Marisa L. Williams,
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Email: thorisaz@hotmail.com
