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New Release: Dusk's Warriors by Emerian Rich

10/8/2017

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People often ask me how I got into writing about vampires, especially when I’m a minister’s kid who was brought up with a strong knowledge of religion. To tell you the truth, it was really a natural progression.
 
When I was in college, I read my first vampire novel, Interview with a Vampire by Anne Rice. In her series, she talks about vampire cults that are always looming in the background ready to pounce or deal out justice. I became so interested in those vampire cults I started wondering what their religious practices might be. Were their beliefs based on Christianity and the bible? Or were they more occult-based? What would their ceremonies be like? What would be their reasoning behind killing the guilty, drinking blood, and making others of their kind?
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And since Anne didn’t write it, I felt myself compelled to. Thus Severina was born. She was a poor, Rio de Janerio native whose family was killed by such a vampire cult. They claimed her family’s deaths prepared her for a life serving God under the vampire religion. They were to be innocents who, after a weeklong ritual and turning, would then be vigilantes for God. What better training would there be for creating a vampire religion than being brought up studying theology and cult groups? I won’t quote you statistics of how many of the top cults in history have been started by minister kids, but at least I created mine in books instead of leading hundreds to follow me to death by Kool-Aid.
 
I became immersed in the ritual of it all. I wrote ceremonies and prayers and doctrines of faith. And a vampire cult was born. Just that pebble of an idea from Rice’s tales led me to create my own world and religion.
 
My point to all this is…explore ideas you might not think will lead to anything. Let yourself write ramblings with no purpose (you think) or make up lists or organizations. You never know when they may be the spark that starts your first book.

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Dusk’s Warriors by Emerian Rich
 
Heaven has opened up and welcomed the vampires of Night’s Knights into a new reality. As they struggle to find their place in their new world, trouble brews on Earth.
 
Demon servant, Ridge, is causing havoc by gathering up all the souls on Earth that have been touched by immortality. When he injures one of the Night’s Knights crew, he launches a war between the vampires of Heaven, the Big Bad in Hell, and a mortal street gang of vigilante misfits.
 
Will Julien, Markham, and Reidar be able to defeat the evil that’s returned, or will they once again need Jespa’s help?
 
Praise for Dusk’s Warriors:
“All hail, the queen of Night's Knights has returned! Emerian Rich's unique take on vampires delights my black little heart.” ~Dan Shuarette, Lilith's Love
 
“A world of horror with realistic characters in a fast paced thriller you won't be able to put down.”
~David Watson, The All Night Library
 
Praise for Night’s Knights: 
“Fresh, original, and thoroughly entertaining.” ~Mark Eller, Traitor
 
“Emerian brought the Vampire Novel back from the dead.” ~C. E. Dorsett, Shine Like Thunder
 
Available now at Amazon.com in print and eBook
 
https://www.amazon.com/Dusks-Warriors-Nights-Knights-Vampire/dp/1544628803
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Emerian Rich is an artist, horror host, and author of the vampire series, Night’s Knights. She is the hostess of the internationally acclaimed podcast, HorrorAddicts.net. Under the name Emmy Z. Madrigal, she writes the musical romance series, Sweet Dreams and she’s the Editorial Director for the Bay Area magazine, SEARCH. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and son.

You can learn more aobut her books at her Amazon author page, or check out her website at www.emzbox.com.
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Chasing a Dream

10/4/2017

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He wanted a fantasy, so I gave him one
​and then some, his deepest dreams.
But a fantasy was all he ever wanted.
Nothing real.
Nothing lasting.
Just a dream.
 
She was only a dream,
but he’ll never see that light.
Ever chasing the horizon, chasing
ideas, thinking they’re people.
But people have hearts. Souls.
 
The steadfast, devoted wife was
a fantasy, too.
If I could make him happy, so was I.
In my head, it was real. But that’s all.
I was.
A joke.
 
Where did he put all that love I wasted?
I’d like it back now.
A heart-shaped box, maybe…
Or did it merely vanish into the ether,
a slow dissemination of my soul, misplaced.
Misdirected.
 
Or maybe love isn’t real after all.
Just another dream.
One I chased far too long,
ever chasing the horizon,
ever playing the fool.
 
Who am I?
Am I someone?
Have I ever been someone?
Or just a pawn, something pretty
to have, to hold, and to screw?
 
I am alone.
I understand that now.
I always have been alone,
and I always will be.
No matter what man pretends to love me.
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Cover Reveal: Tales From the Lake 4

10/3/2017

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Coming this Halloween:
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Table of Contents:
​Joe R. Lansdale, "The Folding Man"
Jennifer Loring, "When the Dead Come Home"
Kealan Patrick Burke, "Go Warily After Dark"
T. E. Grau, "To the Hills"
Damien Angelica Walters, "Everything Hurts, Until it Doesn’t"
Sheldon Higdon, "Drowning in Sorrow"
Max Booth III, "Whenever You Exhale, I Inhale"
Bruce Golden, "The Withering"
JG Faherty, "Grave Secrets"
Hunter Liguore, "End of the Hall"
David Dunwoody, "Snowmen" 
Timothy G. Arsenault, "Pieces of Me"
"​Maria Alexander, Neighborhood Watchers"
Timothy Johnson, "The Story of Jessie and Me"
Michael Bailey, "I will be the Reflection Until the End"
E.E. King, "The Honeymoon’s Over"
Darren Speegle, "Song in a Sundress"
Cynthia Ward, "Weighing In"
Michael Haynes, "Reliving the Past"
Leigh M. Lane, "The Long Haul" 
Mark Cassell, "Dust Devils"
Del Howison, "Liminality"
Gene O’ Neill, "The Gardener" 
Jeff Cercone, "Condo by the Lake"
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Excerpt: AFTERMATH

9/21/2017

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No one offered the deviant breakfast, and luckily he’d had the insight to stay quiet about it. Ken and Jack had both fallen into foul moods, grumbling and snapping over every little annoyance.

“What the hell is taking so long?”

“The eggs are too dry.”

“Do you have to eat so goddamn loud?”

Everyone should have taken that as a cue to tread carefully, but it wasn’t enough to keep the beady-eyed Info-Corp and the white-clad nurse from getting into it again over the spiritual implications of society’s fall.

The rest of the group watched anxiously while the two went back and forth.

“I’m not going to argue with you,” the nurse said numerous times, only to be pulled back into the debate by another snide remark.

“It’s idiots like you who get in the way of everything good in this world! You probably jumped for joy when everything went to hell!”

“Who’s the idiot?” the nurse scoffed.

Info-Corp crossed her arms with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Only one of us is going to hell, I’ll say that much!”

“Whatever,” the nurse said with a show of indifference.

“Why won’t you take an ounce of responsibility for what you’ve done?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Info-Corp stood. “I have half a mind—”

Ken cut her off mid-sentence with gunfire to the ceiling. The deafening blast echoed through the cavernous space while bits of plaster and dust sprinkled down from the scarred dome, causing everyone to stop what he or she was doing and turn to see what the enraged police associate would do next.

Ken surveyed the mass of surprised, horrified people, just as stunned at what he’d done. He holstered the gun, took a few deep breaths, and then straightened his jacket. In an obvious attempt to redirect everyone from his explosive display, he said, “Time for a bathroom run. Who needs to go?”

At first, no one was willing to step forward, choosing instead to look among one another to see if anyone else would volunteer. Safety in numbers. George weighed the risk of grouping off with a loose cannon against showing weakness against a man who’d clearly let his limited power go to his head. Someone there needed to offer a show of strength, even if the move was a dangerous one.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he gave a nod, but he failed to disguise the fear in his voice when he said, “I could use a pit stop.”

With his company as a buffer, and with looks of relief washing over their weary faces, both the Mart school associates joined him.

“Anyone else?”

No one else responded.

“Grab a light if you want to see where you’re going beyond the tunnel,” he said specifically to George. “The northern shuttle garage is a big one, and I’m not going to hold your hand through the dark while you pick a corner to piss in.” With a newfound huff of annoyance, Ken started for the south pedestrian tunnel.

George and the two others followed.

The sound of rain became prominent once they entered the tunnel. A drop of water leaking through the cracked ceiling landed on George’s forehead, serving as a sobering reminder of a future without social order. No structure meant limited sustainability, which in turn meant even their claim on the Food-Mart ensured only a finite supply of food and water. Even more, without the deviants’ cheap labor and their constant work on the ever-crumbling infrastructure, the fierce weather would destroy the integrity of their underground world sooner rather than later.

If they wanted to survive, they would need to find a new approach to their way of living. They would need to start from scratch. With so few of them, the prospect was daunting. Who among them had carpentry skills? George sure as hell didn’t. Did any of them know even the basics of farming, canning, or animal husbandry? Would their self-appointed leaders guide them to their demise before they even had a chance to gain a new foothold, or would the Food-Mart collapse in on them, a refuge turned tomb of cement and dust, before they could regroup?

Aftermath is available in Kindle and trade paperback.
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Sense8: Dangerous Minds

8/29/2017

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I recently started watching the second season of Sense8, an original Netflix series that revolves around eight people from eight strikingly different walks of life who become psychically tethered to one another*. While I’m often excited to analyze television and film, being one of those people who adore symbolism and social/political commentary, a straight analysis won’t do here. Granted, I’m only five episodes into the second season, but that nagging question won’t stop: Why the hell was such an exceptional series canceled?
 
Maybe I’m being preemptive in my presumptions, but it seems to me Sense8 might have rocked the boat just a little too much—and I mean that in the most bittersweet of ways. The series is too real, too bold, too beautiful. It said everything everyone else floundering haplessly in this nightmare world of bigotry and ethnocentrism was too afraid to say; it spotlighted courage, standing up for ones fellow human beings. A few of my favorite quotes:
 
“Who am I? I guess who I am is exactly the same as who you are. Not better than. Not less than. Because there is no one who has been or will ever be exactly the same as either you or me.” S2, E1
 
“If I didn’t take people where they hired me to take them, I wouldn’t expect them to get back on my bus. We expect leaders to take us where we want to go. The problem, it seems to me, begins when they don’t. When things do not improve and yet these leaders keep expecting us to get on their bus, I think this is when leaders become something else: politicians.” S2, E3
 
“Your life is either defined by the system or by the way you defy the system.” S2, E4
 
“There’s nothing as expensive as being poor.” S2, E5
 
The first encourages people to embrace difference in an intricately divided world. The last three speak directly to the average lower- or working-class adult: Why do you continue to elect people who don’t care about in interests of the common man? Why do you let corruptions, corporations, and greed continue to rule your lives? If you don’t do anything to change a system designed to feed the gap between the rich and the poor, then the masses will remain poor.
 
We have become the elephant bound in place by a thread of yarn around the ankle; we have been taught to believe we’re virtually helpless, and so we are. We’re taught our place from nearly day one, and we’re taught to conform, or we’ll lose even that. We’re taught to spend our money on the newest gadgets and vehicles at the expense of ever really getting ahead financially, and we’re taught to value those things we think we need to much based solely on how others value them. (Note those others defining said value are typically among the leisure class—people who don’t work because they were born into money, the people who rule this world.) We’re taught it’s better so seem than to be, and we’re taught not to rock the boat.
 
Too many people are still too afraid to jump alongside the boat rockers. A series like Sense8 didn’t have a chance. It was just too brilliant. Too powerful. And sadly, the people who need to watch this series the most probably never will.
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* Capheus “Van Damn” Onyango, a matatu driver in Nairobi who is trying to earn money to buy HIV/AIDS medication for his mother.
 
   Sun Bak, daughter of a powerful Seoul businessman and a burgeoning star in the underground kickboxing world.
 
   Nomi Marks, a trans woman hacktivist and blogger living in San Francisco with her girlfriend Amanita.
 
   Kala Dandekar, a university-educated pharmacist and devout Hindu in Mumbai who is engaged to marry a man she does not love.
 
   Riley Blue, an Icelandic DJ living in London who is trying to escape a troubled past.
 
   Wolfgang Bogdanow, a Berlin locksmith and safe-cracker who has unresolved issues with his late father and participates in organized crime.
 
   Lito Rodriguez, a closeted actor of Spanish background living in Mexico City with his boyfriend Hernando.
 
   Will Gorski, a Chicago police officer haunted by an unsolved murder from his childhood. (Wikipedia)
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Excerpt: AFTERMATH

8/7/2017

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THE RAINFALL had increased at least twofold, the sound of it like an army barreling overhead, threatening to break through and send a deadly flood of water, mud, and bodies from above. The tunnels had never felt so threatening before, but now George couldn’t get through quickly enough. The walls seemed narrower than he’d remembered, the ceiling lower. Might the pressure set against them by the unforgiving elements have caused the passage to begin to cave? Would the walls bow in before they burst, or would they just crumble and collapse without warning?

The sound of Maggie’s cries fell in time with the beating rain, filling George with a deep sadness. The poor girl was sure to starve—or freeze—to death on her own. There was no question. Neither Ken nor Jack deserved the badges and guns of their station. They were a disgrace not only to Police-Corp but to the whole of humanity. Forget fighting that deviant; he wanted one good shot at both of those pathetic excuses for men.

With the rain and its echo against the hard cement walls, it was difficult to discern how close she was, and the farther he went, the tenser his body grew. He couldn’t stop the mental picture of the ceiling giving way, trapping him, perhaps badly injured, within the confines of the fallen slabs. Perhaps he wouldn’t even have an inch to move. Maybe he’d drown in a sea of mud. What would that feel like, earthy sludge filling his lungs? Would he struggle long? Would he lose all sense of time and space, destined to spend his final moments suspended in the ruins?

The mental image stopped him for a moment. His lungs grew heavy, the air feeling thin and stagnant. A wave of lightheadedness sent him staggering to a wall, and he leaned against it to keep from collapsing. His heart raced. Pins and needles tingled through his hands and feet. He pushed forward, certain each step would be his last.

Breathe … just breathe….

Should he turn around instead of pushing forward? Maggie’s sobs captured his attention. She needed him to reach her. No one else would. One step after the last, his numbing feet staggered over one another. He couldn’t give up. Not now. As if in response to his determination, the rain pummeled even harder. Joining in the effort, his heart hammered against his chest in rhythm with the heavy beat. Cold air seized his lungs.

Just breathe….

He let out a sigh of relief when his light washed over Maggie’s huddled body.

Maggie turned, blocking the light with an arm. “Go away!”

“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I’m not going back!”

He knelt down when he reached her. “There isn’t anywhere else to go right now. It won’t be forever. I’ll figure something out.”

“No, I don’t want to go.”

“It’s better than roaming these halls on your own, don’t you think?”

She shook her head. “I don’t like the policeman.”

“I don’t like him much either.”

“I remember now where I saw him before. I don’t think he should have been made one of the police. You should have picked someone else.”

“Picked someone else?”

She nodded. “To be one of the new policemen. You’d be much better at it than him. They should vote you to take his place.”

“I don’t think it works that way. We can’t just vote any person to suddenly become a police associate.”

“Why not? You did it with him.”

George looked down the hall to ensure no one else had followed then leaned in close and spoke in a hushed voice. “He wasn’t always a police associate?”

She shook her head.

“What was he before?”

She followed his lead and whispered, “He was the plumber Repair-Mart sent when the toilet broke. Mommy said he broke more than he fixed, and she didn’t want to pay. He got real mad and yelled at her until she gave him her credit card.”

“You sure about that?”

She nodded. “Why did you make him one of the Food-Mart police?”

His thoughts became muddled, the shock of having not assumed the obvious hitting him like a heavy blow to the head. “I don’t think anyone did.”

“So how’d he get all that police stuff?”

Feeling weak, he sat down beside her and took a few seconds to catch his breath. “That’s a very good question.” Both possible answers looped again and again through his mind: Either he’d come across a dead police associate whose uniform was a decent fit or he’d killed someone for it. Neither diminished the fact that the man was a fraud, a liar, and no more suited to carry a gun and handcuffs than anyone else there.

And what about Jack? Was he a fake, too?

What did that mean for the group? They deserved to know the truth, but would anyone believe him if he said anything? Maybe Maggie had the right idea after all. Moving aimlessly through the district was a dangerous strategy, but was it any worse than living under the rule of a man who’d claimed authority that wasn’t his to take? How long could the rest of them possibly last under his tyranny?
Did he really want to find out?

Maggie’s safety was now his biggest immediate concern, but he wouldn’t likely be able to live with himself if he didn’t at least try to help the rest of the group. He also needed to consider how he would feed the two of them after they’d abandoned the stockpile. They could try returning to the district housing and breaking into other apartments, but there was no guarantee they’d be successful in bypassing the well-locked doors. Even if they did manage to break in, there was no telling whether they’d find any nonperishable goods for their effort.

They would need to go back, stay long enough to dethrone the impostor police associates, grab what they could carry, and then leave the district in search of a deviant camp. It would be a gamble, but it was time to play the odds.

Although his pulse continued to race, his lungs began to relax and the pins and needles in his extremities started to abate. Why the air suddenly became breathable again was beyond him, but he was grateful nonetheless.

He turned to Maggie. “I have a plan, but I need you to trust me.”
​
About Aftermath: Beyond World-Mart

When all seems lost, when all the world has crumbled away, what will rise in its place?

In this highly anticipated conclusion to the World-Mart trilogy, George once again travels beyond the district in search of possible surviving family. What he finds along the way, however, changes everything he thought he’d known about the world—and the end of the world—as he knows it.

Travel alongside George, back through the deviant shanty-towns and beyond, to a place he’d nearly forgotten—and to another he never could have imagined existed.
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New Release: Deadly Eleven

7/1/2017

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What happens when everything comes crumbling down? Some of today's best selling authors take you to the dark side in this collection of eleven deadly tales.

Zombie Fallout - Mark Tufo
It was a flu season like no other. With the H1N1 virus running rampant throughout the country, people lined up in droves to try and attain one of the coveted vaccines. What was not known was the effect this largely untested, rushed to market, inoculation was to have on the unsuspecting throngs. Within days, feverish folk throughout the country convulsed, collapsed, and died, only to be reborn. With a taste for brains, blood, and bodies, these modern-day zombies scoured the lands for their next meal. Overnight the country became a killing ground for the hordes of zombies that ravaged the land.

This is the story of Michael Talbot, his family, and his friends: a band of ordinary people trying to get by in extraordinary times. When disaster strikes, Mike, a self-proclaimed survivalist, does his best to ensure the safety and security of those he cares for. Book one of the Zombie Fallout Trilogy follows our lead character at his self-deprecating, sarcastic best. What he encounters along the way leads him down a long dark road, always skirting the edge of insanity.

Strain of Resistance - Michelle Bryan
I was 12 years old when the world ended. For eight years I've survived in this shithole once known as earth. Fighting the alien parasite that mutated most of the population into blood-thirsty freaks, while the rest of us became the lunch special on their alien menu.

Now things are changing, and not for the better. The parasite is evolving. Becoming smarter, stronger and deadlier.

They've already stolen everything from me. My home. My family. Even the man I loved. It's time for this bullshit to end once and for all.

My name is Bixby and I'm the resistance

Strangers - David Moody
A spate of brutal murders occur in and around the small town of Thussock. The bodies of the dead – savagely mutilated, unspeakably defiled – are piling up with terrifying speed. There are no apparent motives and no obvious connections between the victims, but the killings only began when Scott Griffiths and his family arrived in Thussock...

World-Mart - Leigh M. Lane
George Irwin remembers a time before the Big Climate Change, back when the airlines were still in business, back when people still drove their own cars and the bulk of humanity had not yet been driven underground. Back when all people were still people despite their eye color or which class they were born into. . . .

The world has changed much over his lifetime, but George still believes in the American Dream. However, when an alleged terrorist act lands his wife in the hospital, George stumbles upon a secret that could mean the end of all civilization.

World-Mart takes place in a not-too-distant future, one in which the collective and all-powerful entity known as "Corporate" owns and controls every aspect of society. One held in place by complacency and mediocrity. One that could very easily come to pass . . . very soon.

A New World: Chaos - John O'Brien
There is no sanctuary.

That was taken away in the blink of an eye. Humanity went out not with a whimper, but a bang.

Jack, a sometimes humorous, sometimes philosophical ex-special operations pilot and soldier is one of the few left to struggle through the desolation left in the aftermath; seeking to survive as a new ferocious species emerges from the rubble, hungry and unrelenting. Will his special forces training be enough? Will he be able to keep his children safe and guide the few survivors through perils that now roam the world they once knew? Or will the hordes that now own the night prevail, forever removing the last of mankind from existence? Humankind was once at the top of the food chain. But that has now changed. 

This hard-hitting, action-packed series begins with Jack Walker being suddenly thrust into a world where the infrastructure which cherished Armani suits, night clubs, fast and expensive cars and watching the daily stock market are gone. Left in its place is the material world mankind built but a majority of the population has vanished; replaced by a new, savage, unrelenting, cunning, animalistic species which hunts and operates at night.

Trudge: Surviving The Apocalypse - Shawn Chesser
With his daughter, Raven and wife, Brook, away visiting her parents in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, Cade hopes his immediate future holds nothing but an easy chair, Mariners on the tube, and paring down a honey-do list a mile long.

But those hopes were quickly dashed and his life forever changed when news broke of a clash in downtown Portland between soldiers from the Oregon National Guard and hundreds of anarchist protesters suddenly turned violent and, by one anchor’s account, blood-thirsty and cannibalistic.
As the first waves of injured bystanders, Guardsmen, and rioters arrived at hospitals in and around Portland, it became apparent that a deadly new disease had been unleashed on the population.

Whether the virus was naturally occurring or an escaped lab experiment Cade hadn’t a clue, and he wasn’t especially concerned until he learned of its unprecedented virulence, unusual method of transference, and the fact that, according to the talking heads on the news, it brought the newly dead back to life, semi-mindless, and with an insatiable desire to feed on the flesh of the living.

Black Virus- Bobby Adair
Virus. Chaos. Survival. Alienated in a world where he doesn't fit in, Christian Black survives because he's different. Then the virus came, and made the world turn different, too. Now people are dying by the million. Food supplies are short. Riots are blazing through the streets, and Christian's only goal is to keep his family alive. But safety lies far from the city, and just getting out will be tougher than anyone knows.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot - W.J. Lundy
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot is a introduction into the apocalyptic world of Staff Sergeant Brad Thompson.

The Death of Kaylis - Jaime Johnesee *collection exclusive*
In a lawless future, warlords control cities and rule them with iron fists. Kayliss, the self made queen of her area, is more vicious than most.  Come along as her sister seeks to end her tyranny, wild west style.​

The Biomass Revolution - Nicholas Sansbury Smith
What would you do if you lived in a world where your every move was scrutinized by your own personal artificial intelligence--a world where everything is regulated, from power usage to relationships--a world where everything you thought you knew turned out to be a lie?

Welcome to Tisaia - The last hub of modern civilization in a world left scorched by the nuclear fires of the Biomass Wars. Surrounded by a fortress of steel walls and protected by a fierce and loyal Council of Royal Knights, Tisaia seems relatively safe to the average State worker and citizen. A plentiful supply of Biomass powers the cities and food is abundant, but security has come at a terrible cost. The State will do anything to protect its resources, even if it means suppressing the rights of its citizens and deporting immigrants into the Wasteland - a virtual death sentence.

Spurious Timur is one of the State workers helping keep the wheels of prosperity turning in Tisaia. As he starts to explore Tisaia and question his own worth, he realizes there may be more to his subsistence than he thought. When he meets and falls for co-worker Lana Padilla, he begins to understand he may hold the key to restoring Tisaia to a just and free State.

However, restoring Tisaia will come at a cost; both to Spurious and those he cares about, because in Tisaia nothing is ever what it seems. And as more of his past begins to surface, he is faced with the ultimate decision--on which side of the revolution should he fight?

Return of The Phoenix - Heath Stallcup
Humanity has spent its time enjoying the peace that can only be had through blissful ignorance. For centuries, stories of things that go 'bump' in the night have been shared. When creatures of the night proved to be real, the best of America’s military came together to form an elite band of rapid response teams. Their mission: to keep the civilian populace safe from the monsters that go bump in the night and hide all evidence of their existence. 

But during a routine mission, when things go horribly wrong, the Monster Squad finds themselves having to rebuild from the ashes of what they once were. This time they face not only the monsters, but their own government as a dark storm brews on the horizon. A storm that will threaten not just the squads and their existence, but the lives of every human on earth…

Available through Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and iTunes.
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The Adventure

6/11/2017

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Last weekend’s event was a lot of fun… and now that I’ve had time to process the rest of the story, I have a fun bit to share.
 
Rewind back to June 3rd: Tom and I got up super early to get on the road by 5:00 a.m., with the hopes of reaching our hotel in time for early check-in, a quick shower, and enough time to reach San Francisco by 5:00 p.m., where we were to meet “Mina” and her husband for dinner.
 
Having lived in the Bay Area, I knew parking was going to be difficult, so I used Google maps to find parking garages in the Nob Hill area. Of course, the first two we passed charged $30-50 for the day, and I was hoping to avoid that extra expense. By the grace of the fates, we found a parking spot on the street, so we snagged it. Again using Google maps, we started for the Nob Hill Café. About a block or two into our walk (we went around in circles a few times) the question hit me: “Did we remember which street we’d parked on?”
 
“Oh, we’re just a couple blocks away; we’ll find it,” we agreed.
 
Move forward a few hours… when the hunt for the car began. We walked in circles for two hours, with me in my hippie-vampire finest—a corset, massive bellbottoms, and three-inch heels. Finally, frustrated and exhausted, we stopped to regroup at the Hilton in Chinatown. By now, it was midnight.
 
We’d run out of nearly all ideas, with only a few options left. Option one: “Maybe we could hire a taxi to drive us around the area?” I called a couple of cab companies, but none would dispatch a car without a specific destination to plug into their systems, despite our desperate situation. Tom insisted I stay there, warm and safe in the lobby—did I mention San Francisco gets cold at night?—while he took another walk around the nearby block. Despite my better judgment, I let him go. Of course, when he didn’t return almost immediately, my mind went into catastrophize mode, and every possible mugging, stabbing, shooting, beating death overwhelmed my tired mind. I texted friends nearby, and even called family over an hour away, unsure what to do next. Thankfully, Tom returned…
 
But again, he hadn’t spotted the car, so we decided to try hailing a taxi from the curb in front of the hotel so we could extend the search. A very nice, very patient man picked us up. We proceeded to drive around in circles, finding nothing. We ended up back in front of the Hilton—$40 poorer. By now, it was 2:00 a.m., so we decided to get a room and regroup in the morning. We had no clean clothes, all our luggage sitting in a hotel room an hour away, but it we’d run out of options.
 
Tom got up early to begin the search, and he returned quickly. The car had been a block away from the Chinatown Hilton; he could see it from the street corner. Unfortunately, that particular street hadn’t been lit, so even though we’d passed our car numerous times the night before, we had missed it. Luckily, it was Sunday, so the street cleaners were lenient—we received a $70 parking ticket instead of getting towed. He brought me a sweatshirt from the car so I didn’t have to don the corset for the drive, and after paying for a second hotel for the night, we were on our way. As we drove off, we saw that the Hilton would have charged us $9 to park for the weekend.
 
So… there is a tunnel on the 101 just north of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the car’s automatic lights didn’t go on quickly enough. Tom turned on the lights. We were too tired to notice when he didn’t flip them back to automatic. By the time we reached family, whom we planned on visiting for the following two days, we were so exhausted, neither of us heard the door’s warning bell as we piled our bags out of the car.
 
That evening, we planned on going to watch my dad rehearse with one of the bands he plays with. You guessed it: The battery was dead. Dead dead. Out came the jumper cables, and my stepmom gave us a jump. While we stood, waiting for the battery to charge, of all people, my abusive ex happened to drive by.
 
I noticed the white SUV slowing, and I saw him as soon as he came into view through his open passenger window. We caught eyes, and all I could do was blankly watch as he passed us. He obviously recognized me, his sight glued onto me for as long as he could possibly keep it, to the extent that his view fell completely off the road for several seconds. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, his face riddled with a look of surprise and dread.
 
We continued on to the rehearsal, but the PTSD I thought I had moved so far beyond bubbled to the surface. The emotional impact of being beaten so terribly forced out tears that corresponded to confusingly empty thoughts. Put simply, I found myself crying for reasons that were beyond me, despite having a blast at the rehearsal. I took solace in knowing my presence would haunt him far worse than his would me: Seeing me would be a reminder of the monster he hid so well from the rest of the world, and he had to live with that.
 
Of course, the car wouldn’t start after the rehearsal, so dad gave us a second jump. We didn’t run the battery long enough afterward, so it was dead again the next morning. Dad gave us another jump, and we let the car run for an hour before we started back toward San Francisco, to meet with some friends before we started the nine-hour drive back home. The car nearly didn’t start again when we stopped for gas, but after a quick scare, the engine turned over and we were back on our way.

We had a lovely visit with our friends, where we were able to take turns cuddling with the sweetest feline ever to be named Murderball. We ended losing track of time, not on the road until nearly 5:00 p.m., so we sprang for another hotel halfway along the drive home.
 
Lessons learned: 1. If you ever have plans to meet a friend circa Chinatown, park and stay at the Hilton. It’ll save you hundreds in the long run. 2. If you happen to go crazy dressing up for an event—say you might end up looking like a high-priced hooker on the morning after—keep a backup shirt in your purse. 3. Try always to look fabulous; you never know when your asshole ex might pass by and see how hot you’ve become in his absence.
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Murderball was hugging Tommy and
me at the same time. Note the claws ensuring a solid hold. ;-)
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Weekend at Nob Hill

6/7/2017

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This weekend marked the beginning of the Vampire Tours of San Francisco’s Summer of Love 50-year anniversary walking tour, and Jane the Hippie Vampire was there to help celebrate. The tour covers one block of Nob Hill, a gorgeous part of San Francisco located a few blocks from Chinatown. It begins on the corner of Huntington Park, across the street from the beautiful Grace Cathedral, and then moves to a few locations with fascinating histories of intrigue and secret underground tunnels.
I had the pleasure of spending some time with “Mina Harker,” the tour guide, and we really hit it off. She had tons of history on San Francisco, and she has similar tours in several locations across the country. Like Jane, she has fond memories of the Summer of Love, and was excited to celebrate its anniversary in San Francisco. The event was a lot of fun, and I would encourage anyone who enjoys walking tours to help continue the celebration. Mina has decided to extend the hippie vampire dress-up contest through the summer, so go out wearing your hippie vampire finest for a chance to win one of Jane’s adventures—just recently made available in print.
 
More fun news to come, so stay tuned!
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Interview With Jane

6/2/2017

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Today, I’m delving into the World of the Page to interview Jane the Hippie Vampire about the fifty-year anniversary of the Summer of Love. Followers of her story will already know she had an unfortunate encounter with a rather nasty vampire in the summer of ’67, and her life has been one dark adventure after the next ever since.
 
Today, Jane’s agreed to reflect a little about the Summer of Love and what it means to be both a hippie and a vampire fifty years later, in 2017. We’ll skip the formalities and get straight to it:
 
LL: Jane, you’ve been seventeen for fifty years now. What’s it like knowing the world will never see you as an adult?
 
JANE: It’s a blessing and a curse. I get hassled all the time at bars these days, since I don’t currently have a fake I.D., but people also underestimate me. My body might have stopped maturing at seventeen, and that might have included my brain—I dunno—but I’ve still learned a lot over the years. I’ll admit I can be impulsive at times, and sometimes I do behave in childish ways, but I’m far from the naïve young woman who practically threw herself into that monster’s cellar all those years ago. I don’t take anything for granted anymore, and I’m much better at reading people’s subtler cues. I get in hot water far less often… kinda.
 
LL: “Kinda”?
 
JANE: Trouble just follows me, man. I don’t know if it’s something about my aura or maybe just a vibe I give off, but the crazies flock to me. I mean, you’ve read some of the craziness I’ve somehow lived to talk about. How many times have you wandered into the Blue Ridge Mountains and winded up being hunted by a hungry werewolf? Or just happened to bump into an incubus that left you looking ninety for a week? Seriously, who else does all this stuff happen to?
 
LL: True enough. What else do you think has set your life apart?
 
JANE: Probably all the travelling I do. I’m hesitant to stay in one area for very long, since I do tend to leave behind a body or two wherever I go. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t condone murder, but I am a vampire. I try really hard to find people the world would be better off without.
 
LL: I can see you’ve held on to that hippie mentality. Can you say a little about what it was like to be an actual hippie during the Summer of Love?
 
JANE: It was a trip, man. Times were so different then. People were opening up their homes all over the Haight. If you really needed something, someone would eventually come by who could help you out. Everyone was helpful, so I had no problems finding places to crash. Of course, I didn’t put out like most hippie chicks—you know, the PTSD—and that sometimes made things harder. Everyone was loose—and there were expectations put on women that you wouldn’t fully understand if you weren’t there. The guys were passing around women back then like they weren’t even people, but they all took it because it was liberal to sleep with a different guy every night. It was years before I was able to get intimate without freaking out and nearly killing the guy, so I was the odd woman out in more ways than one back then.
 
LL: I take it you were able to work past it?
 
JANE: Mostly. I still get flashbacks, but I don’t let the past rule me quite so much. You’d think after so many years, a person could let go of just about any trauma, but I guess that’s not always the case. Maybe if I’d had money for therapy somewhere along the line, my head would be on a little straighter. I dunno—can a person live on human blood and keep a straight head? I think I’ve handled it all as well as one possibly could, given my circumstances.
 
LL: If you had anything else to say about the Summer of Love, the hippie movement, or your part in it, what would that be?
 
JANE: We need world peace. Really. I’ve lived to see too many wars, enemies swapped, allies turned adversaries. Our boys fight because we say, “Today, this is our enemy.” And when those boys come home wounded and broken, we say, “Good job,” and we send out the next batch. But what’s changed? It’s still ’Nam; it’s just moved around since then. The division of the people, that’s the real enemy, man. Oh, and don’t eat meat, because that’s murder.
 
LL: I’ll just interject here that the views expressed in this interview might not necessarily view with those of the Cerebral Writer blog and website. That aside, I have one last question: Can you share a little about the next episode of Jane the Hippie Vampire?
 
JANE: I can tell you it involves a whimsical magician’s assistant, a bit of Las Vegas bling, and someone from my past returning in a way I never could have imagined.
 
That’s it for now! Stay tuned for highlights of tomorrow’s Vampire Tour of San Francisco, where the best hippie vampire will be chosen by the very Mina Harker! Until then, stay groovy, friends.
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