Studly Doright and I have been watching Blacklist on Netflix for several weeks now. Studly is way more into the series than I am. Most nights I sit and play Words With Friends while he watches the escapades of Raymond Reddington. Occasionally I’ll comment on something that’s happened on the screen, but for the most part I tune it all out.
But during last night’s viewing Huey Lewis turned up in an episode. I love Huey—his music, his voice, his adorable face, so I watched every second of the episode. It was sweet. I mean really sweet. The episode was a tribute to cast member, Clark Middleton, who passed away in 2020 from West Nile Virus. I had to wonder if Clark, like his character, Glen Carter, was a fan of Huey Lewis.
I think perhaps he was. A good man with good taste.
Wedding at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, the sequel to Mayhem at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort, is currently being edited and revised a few chapters at a time. And while nothing is set in stone, I’m fairly sure there will be no major changes in plot or characters as we get ready to publish.
The confusion comes as I work on writing the third book in the series—Reunion at the Happy Valley Motor Inn and Resort. I’ll be in the middle of a scene and think, “Wait! Can this happen? Didn’t they already do something that would negate this action?”
And then I’ll remember that no one but me would know and if I needed to I could change the scene in the book that’s being edited and revised. Of course my editor might want me beheaded depending on what elements changed and while I’m not terribly good looking I’m certain I look better with a head than I would without. Maybe.
One thing I do know is that I really need to come up with shorter titles for my books.
Postscript: I always underline titles of books in my posts, but the underlining doesn’t appear in the finished product. Why? It’s frustrating. Carry on.
Life can be so hard. People do bad things out of greed or ignorance. Others judge their fellow humans based on race, religion, skin color, gender identity, and a whole host of other categories. Wars are fought. Innocents die. No one ever really wins.
It’d be so easy to become angry, embittered, jaded.
But then, you have lunch at a vegan place where they know you by name. Where they care about you and are glad to see you. Where they do stuff like this:
And for a little while, all is right with the world.
If anyone in my sphere of acquaintances noticed today that I was wearing just one earring, all I have to say is thanks for not saying anything, because I would’ve freaked thinking that I’d lost one of my favorite pieces of jewelry.
The earring was right where I’d left it, in the little bowl where I keep my go to pieces. Whew!
For future reference, though, had I neglected to put on a blouse or jeans, I’d have appreciated a heads up.
I’m a sucker for a good vampire tale, having cut my teeth on Bram Stoker’s Dracula—the book, not the movie. I believe I first read the tale in junior high school, and afterwards immersed myself in everything having to do with vampires.
As a result, I have no patience with tales that stray from Stoker’s vampire lore. Vampires drink blood. It’s the only food they can ingest. Garlic, crosses, and holy water are absolute no no’s for a vampire, and any film that allows a vampire to scoff at such things is just wrong. Wrong, I tell you.
Vampires have no reflections and are most commonly killed by having a stake driven into their heart; although, the sun can burn them to a crisp if a stake isn’t at hand. Of course the problem with that is in luring the undead into the light of day. Good luck with that.
I have been known to yell at the screen or a book when the rules aren’t followed. And sparkly vampires? Don’t get me started.
The Netflix limited series, Midnight Mass, is a vampire tale; although, I don’t believe the word “vampire” was ever uttered. I might be wrong, though. The story covered at least two of the rules; I won’t say which two, but the scenario never included any mention of garlic or reflections in a mirror.
And as for crosses and holy water, well, I need to watch the whole thing again to see if they toed the line. It is, after all, titled Midnight Mass. They may have skirted the holy water rule on a technicality, but I’m fairly certain there were crosses involved. And how am I supposed to handle that? Am I going to allow (gasp!) an exception to the rules?
Where I come from, when one is feeling low they might say they’re down in the dumps. Now the dumps can be a mighty sad place to be. We throw our trash into the DUMPster. It’s hauled away to the DUMPground, where it’s unceremoniously DUMPed into massive holes and covered up along with the trash of others.
I’ve been to the dumps. I’ve hauled detritus from a derelict house, parts from an old truck, the carcasses of unfixable motorcycles. And I have to say I’ve never found the dumps terribly depressing. Instead, I think they might be a place where the slate gets wiped clean.
Today I found myself feeling a little unloved, unnoticed, unappreciated. I’d almost say I was down in the dumps. Except that would be a happier place than what I was experiencing.