Being devilish does not always come easy because I am by nature a peace loving individual. Seriously! I really am.
But avenging evil …
That sh*t is second nature.
I think the settling of scores is what made writing Savannah Dawn so much fun; that and the fact that Savannah Dawn is an odd ball who seems to have one foot grounded here on earth and the other in some unseen realm and I can relate to that. Either way I take full responsibility, the devil did not make me do it.
Here is a little snippet leading up to that dish
best served cold. Have a read while I polish my horns.
We saw Mama’s fella, Mr. Cartwright at the Piggly Wiggly the other day and I stared right at him. Under usual circumstances, we ain’t allowed to look at him much less speak but I looked him straight in the eyes. I nearly peed my pants when I saw they were the same gold-flecked eyeballs that made me have nightmares after Papa died. I called him an adulterating son of Satan and Mama grabbed me by the nape of my neck. Before he could put his jaw back in place she made a quick apology and dragged me to the car, saying the same sixteen words over and over, “I cannot believe you Savannah Dawn! I have never been so embarrassed in all my life!”
That wasn’t true. Mama had been plenty embarrassed before. Maybe if the whole town knew the truth about Grandma, how she laid out on the bathroom floor in a stinking mess… maybe my remark wouldn’t have been so humiliating.
Maybe if she knew what Mr. Cartwright had done she would be madder at him than she was at me – so I told her.
By the way Kelly Mack does a great job narrating and the audio version is available at iTunes, Amazon & Audible.
I can’t accurately account for the years that have passed but I can tell you when I think of Door Number Four (or IIII) I am still proud of this quirky, surreal, sci-fi love story. It still intrigues me. And secretly I would love to see it in film.
I was digging in my archives for another project when I happened upon this narration sample of Door Number Four narrated by Christopher Lane.
I confess I still giggle a little when I listen to it.
Another truth, sometimes when I meander through the woods picking berries, soul-searching or conversing with the wild animals, I wonder what really became of Donald S. Crowley. And sometimes…
Sometimes I think I hear Tetra seductively calling to him. “Donald, come.”
As if your constant assurance could overcome my cynicism…
As if the invisible boulevard would never rise up and beckon.
<> | <> | <>
The street lamp glows in the bleached mist only three floors below us.
I blow streams of smoke into the black night and hum to the drone of the unseen road.
Be steel my bleating heart!
Be quiet! Be silent, hard steel.
As if wearing your tee shirt made us lovers.
I bought the photo above from Pixabay for a cup of coffee because I did not have one that resonated with the poem I wanted to share in this Tuesday’s Tell All. I took the photo below which eventually became the book cover for Getting Me Back.