With Lace and Brocade Our Passions Obeyed

Even at the holidays, especially at the holidays, the writer's muse can run amuck.

Maybe it's the upcoming release of Burned (A Void City Novel) by J. F. Lewis (hey, I see that guy in the mirror sometimes) at the end of January or the fact that I've been working on two different books set in that universe, but there are times when I'm so in writer-mode that normal everyday things can be rendered horribly funny because I realize how one character or another would react to them.

On the way home from lunch, for example, we were listening to Bing Crosby and David Bowie singing "Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth" and this whacked out impatient driver zoomed into the lane behind us, then around and past us... It infuriated my wife... And in glow of that anger, I was struck by the visual of happy Christmas shoppers in a hollywood-like surreal moment, walking down the sidewalks of Void City as Greta, one of my more murderous vampires, drove down the street in Fang, the flesh-eating 1964 1/2 Mustang who is never far away in the Void City books, s
aw the happy people... and steered up onto the sidewalk. Since it's Christmas, the visual panned up and away as the mayhem began... but I knew what happened next. So do you.

It applies to songs, too, the wacky aspect of the muse about which I am typing. When I can't remember the lyrics to a song, it's not that I can't think of things that rhyme. I usually can and I go right ahead and sing them, but only when I'm in writer-mode do the total WTF lyrics come out to play.

I didn't, for example, have any interest in coming up with a complete set of alternate lyrics to "Walking in a Winter Wonderland", but as the title of the blog post will tell you, I do totally have complete lyrics in my head for a song called "Fucking in Designer Underwear" as sung by a very inebriated Eric.

Another excerpt:

Shave your maiden's meadow like a snowman/I'll smile from ear to ear as I go down.

Yeah, you don't need the rest of it. Really you don't. I've found that even doodles can get out of hand. I guess it's because the writer brain never really lets go of anything (or at least mine doesn't). Several years ago, I saw someone in a forum recommend Staked, my first novel, to people on a Twilight discussion board. One poster asked if the book was anything like Twilight and the response was "Yes, it's exactly like Twilight except with real vampires."

Great sarcasm like that sticks with you, so when I was fiddling about with my iPad at lunch the other day, and drawing a werewolf. This happened:

Now, I know it's not just a writer thing. I am one hundred percent certain that everyone does this. Most people, however, seem to be wise enough to keep it to themselves or share thoughts involving belly shirt-wearing werewolves in lilac sunglasses and mock anti-Twilight ad campaigns to themselves. But not writers, or at least not this writer. And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe we should all let the crazy out from time to time. I know I plan to keep doing it. How about you?



The WRITER BRAIN is like the Blob (the 50's movie monster, not Fred Dukes well, maybe like Fred Dukes. Everything that hits it gets stuck in it.) The WRITER MIND eats everything.

BEWARE THE WRITER MIND! muwahaha.....ha.

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