Rain

I know this makes me weird and gets me a lot of strange looks, but I love the rainfall.

Right now, in my little corner of the world, it's raining.  It's been raining all day, and was raining most of the night.  I love the sound of the rain as it drops over the ground.  The rhythmic pattern of the tattoo as it cascades on the earth is calming, soothing, serene.  Occasionally, a car will splash through and ruin the illusion.  Part of me is tempted to go find a secluded area somewhere and just ... listen.  There is nothing so placid, so peaceful to me as the sound of rain falling in a yellow wood somewhere.  That not being possible, however, I try to just let the sound of the rain drown out everything else and bring me that sense of ease and rest that nothing else can.

With the heavy overcast and leaden skies, the world feels more like it does in autumn than summer now.  Autumn is my absolute favorite time of year.  The softness of the light and the subdued earth- and jewel-toned leaves as the world prepares for sleep, the crisp, cleanness of the air, the cerulean skies when it's not raining, the way the very earth itself sounds -- it's the time of year to which I look forward most.  The sound of the leaves skittering and rolling away on the breeze, the gentle caress of the temperatures as they begin their decline toward the frigidity of winter, the crunch of the grass beneath my feet ... it makes me long for time when I don't have to work during the day, for a place where I can be alone when I need to, for the joy of just being in the embrace of the drowsy world as it readies itself for a long nap until spring.

The soft padding of the moist ground, not yet frozen, feels so joyous and friendly.  I can forget how full of hatred and destruction the world is in autumn.  I can ignore, briefly, the pressing matters of living which hold no regard for seasons, days and months.  I can be at rest, listening to a crackling fire and smelling the embers.  I can feel the anticipation of nature as it either scurries to make ready for winter or slows toward its slumber.  I love the sight, the very essence of how light is refracted from our yellow sun, during those months when things smell so clean, so fresh, so wet with new-fallen rain.

The rain brings so much to mind as it runs its course from heaven to splash and dance upon the ground before running into tiny rivulets and chasing away to become part of a larger one.  I can watch for hours as it pitter-patters out of the sky, leaving a clean smell, a newness to the places it goes, and I wish when it does that it would never cease, never slow, but continue its soft, steady beat until my mind has solace.

I sit and listen, smiling briefly in my tormented soul.

Then I get a damned sinus headache and have to go get my Excedrin.

Stupid life.

Technorati Tags: life, random thoughts

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 3

Just joining us? You might want to start at the beginning.

The air outside fairly tinkled with the crisp, biting cold. The ground felt brittle and crunched beneath their shoes, transferring cold directly to their feet. Their breath billowed out like huge plumes of dragon's breath in front of them, the slap of the sudden frigidity taking their breath away. Dillon slapped his hands against his upper arms, his flashlight casting a beam of red light across the underside of the tree canopy over them.

JD shone his light around the front yard as they descended the wide steps at the end of the broad porch in front of the old Victorian, laced with its gingerbread decorations and beautifully coordinated colors. The lace curtains hung like specters in the frosted windows, draped like ancient cobwebs to each side of the black openings. The dead leaves and dried grass protested their movements, announcing loudly their approach as they moved down the walk toward the edge of the yard.

The quiet street was poorly lit at best, with a single, yellowing old streetlight languishing in its ornate light post a few houses down. Most of the other houses in the neighborhood were newer than this one. JD wondered if, at one time, this was all one property for the wealthy 19th century family that built the old Victorian. His red beam illuminated the hedges lining the sidewalk beyond, now barren of leaves, its dense tangle of limbs defiantly trying to shield their depths from view. To their right, a gargantuan, ancient old Maple and its companion, a massive and equally aged Oak, stretched their limbs out over the greater portion of the yard, their intertwining branches casting mysterious, sinister shadows over the yard.

A slight breeze rustled the debris on the ground, and from the corner of his eye JD saw Dillon jump in start. He stifled a giggle, and began to move toward the side yard to the right. The houses across the street and in adjacent lots were quiet, some lit warmly with amber glow emitting from curtained windows, or were dark and shut up, as though they didn't want to face their strange, old neighbor who would share her stories of yesteryear.

JD panned the beam around the yard slowly, casting its red circle over the shrubs, dried and sleeping, along the side of the house beneath the tall, narrow windows which bayed out into the yard. The baleful windows reflected the light back at him, with a creepy shifting of shadows and illumination of the interior of the house's maw.

"JD ... why is the light red, dude?"

"It helps your eyes stay adjusted to the dark," JD said softly, almost absently.

"What ... what the hell we lookin' for, dude?"

"I don't know yet."

"How can you not know?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dude, do you know what you're doin' or don'tcha?"

"What are you yammering about??"

"Everytime I ask what we're doin', what we're lookin' for, what you're tryin' to see, or any o' that crap, you gimme 'I dunno'. What the hell DO you know, JD? How the hell you gonna solve shit if you don' know whatcher doin'? Did you get ANY trainin' on this crap before you started doin' it?" Dillon narrowed his eyes suspiciously at JD as he finished his tirade.

JD sighed, shaking and lowering his head.

"Dillon, please listen," he said slowly. "I don't know what we saw in the house. It could --"

"Coulda been a GHOST, THAT's what it coulda been!"

"Keep your voice down, Dillon. It's late. I was GOING to say, it could have been anything. Neither of us were watching the screen directly -- YOUR fault, might I add -- when whatever happened occurred. I CAN'T know what to look for until we get some kind of clue as to what it is I'm looking FOR. Understand?"

"So you don' know shit, do ya?"

JD shut his eyes and shook his head with a pained expression.

"We know the screens flashed, and that's all."

"We're lookin' for ghosts, though."

"No, we're looking for explanations."

"But it could be a ghost."

"I don't think so."

"But you don' know that, right? For sure, I mean?"

JD set his jaw. "Not yet, no."

"So it COULD be a ghost. Right?"

"Okay, if it makes you feel better, then it could be a ghost."

"I thought you said you don' believe in ghosts."

"I don't."

"You just said it could be a ghost though."

"No, you were insisting it was."

"But didn't you just say that?"

"Do you WANT me to slap you?"

"I'm jus' sayin' is all, you just said it could be a ghost."

"Listen closely: It's not a ghost. I don't know what it is precisely, but it's not a --"

There was a rapid crunch on the ground, and they stopped to listen when a sudden jolt against both of them on the back and a tiny "Boo!" whispered in the cold dark.

Dillon screamed. He screamed loud and long, like a movie murder victim, and JD's heart stopped cold as he whirled quickly with the flashlight, trying to shine the beam on Dillon. Dillon had jumped so hard he fell backwards, crashing into the skeletal remains of a bush, the snapping branches and skittering gravel and dirt as his feet kicked and his arms flailed lost beneath his terrified wail.

JD snapped the light around and shone it directly on a face, laughing and eyes watering with the tears squeezed from them.

Dillon's cry of fear finally faded into echoes ringing down the quiet suburban street, and the sound of the uproarious laughter came through.

"Wendy!" JD snapped. "What the hell are you doing?? You nearly scared Dillon to ... uh-oh."

Lights began to snap on in the darkened houses around them. Curtains parted in those with lights still on, dark silhouettes pressing faces against panes and cupping their hands around them for better visibility.

Dillon was nearly weeping, whimpering in the clutches of the bush's claws, floundering to get up, his breathing shallow.

Wendy was still in hysterics. Her long auburn hair cascaded out from under her watch cap, and in the dark only her face was visible in the dimness above her black turtleneck sweater under a dark jacket. She tried to speak but couldn't form sentences.

"C'mon," JD whispered in mild panic, "we've got to get inside. Someone's going to call the police."

Dillon still couldn't speak while he slowly extracted himself, twigs and branches tugging viciously at his clothes. Wendy nearly fell over, weak in her laughter, as she followed behind JD toward the front door, unable to draw a breath.

They stumbled inside, and JD shut and barred the door behind them. Wendy's green eyes watered and she wiped them with her sleeve, leaning hard against a wall in the foyer while she began to collect herself.

"Oh my God, Wen," Dillon said, throwing his hands outward in disbelieving disgust. "Oh my frickin' GOD, Wen. I can't believe it. Why, Wen? Why you gotta hurt me? Why?"

Her laughter was just subsiding when she started again, and she collapsed against Dillon's chest, hugging him tightly.

"Naw," he said in playful faux anger, not returning her embrace, "naw. Don't EVEN. No way. You scared the shit outta me, Wen. I'm so not huggin' you. Naw."

She clutched him tighter, still laughing but a bit more in control.

"Aww, poor Dilly," she said, her voice captivating JD immediately and pulling his gaze away from the sidelight, where he'd been watching for police. Her voice always pulled him from whatever he was doing. Her touch, her voice, her very scent -- he could not resist her, could focus on nothing but her when she was near. It was slightly annoying to him. He was always very, very focused. He could be so intensely focused, in fact, that he could tune out everything else around him. It was how he got through school, how he did his work, how he said his prayers ... but he could never block out Wendy.

"I can't believe you did that. You're such a bitch, dude. You scared me so bad, I gotta go change my drawers."

Wendy was still hugging him close, her face turned toward his now, cheeks pink and flushed from her uncontrollable laughter.

"I'm sorry, Dilly," she said, stifling her laugh, "I would've sworn JD was going to hear me coming."

JD shook his head. "Dillon was yapping. I couldn't hear anything."

"Did I scare you too, baby?" Wendy said, tilting her head toward JD and winking, smiling broadly. She was so sexy when she did that. He hated it; it made him melt.

"Uh ... no. Don't be ridiculous. You didn't scare me, DILLON scared me."

Dillon laughed. "Scared YOU?? Dude, if it was up to you I'd still be out there gettin' killed or whatever. You just -- took off, left me there!"

"I didn't 'take off', I just saw you were all right. It was only a bush, Dillon."

"DUDE! If Wendy was, like, a vampire or a werewolf or somethin', you'd've so left me there ta die!"

"Well, it was only Wendy."

"Only Wendy?" she said, laughing in shock. "Well, it's always nice to see you too, Jaded!"

She called him "Jaded" whenever she felt he was being too intellectual, too distant, or too ... JD. It also irked him, and she knew it.

"What do you guys have so far?" she continued, still holding Dillon around the middle, laying her head against his chest. His arms went around her now, as he calmed down.

"A ghost!" he said excitedly. "A GHOST, Wen! There was this flash, and JD didn't know what it was, an' --"

"Oh, sweetie," Wendy said slowly, stroking his jaw gently. "No, no ghost."

Dillon was confused. "Huh?"

"It was me, love." She pulled her flashlight out of her jacket pocket and shined it at him playfully. "I flashed this at the window while you guys were arguing to make you come outside and get me."

"You did ... it was jus' ... aw, SHIT."

She giggled again.

"JD didn't know, though." She eyed him devilishly. "He only thinks he knows everything."

JD shook his head.

"You might've ruined a whole night's work, Wendy," he said quietly. "I am trying to conduct an investigation here."

"Dude, we ain't doin' NOTHIN'. We're sittin' around, watchin' boring ass nothin' happen. It's dull, dude. And now that we got Wen messin' with stuff, we ain't even got what we thought we had."

He looked confused for a moment, then looked up at JD. "Yeah. That."

"I told you it wasn't a ghost, Dillon. I never thought it was."

"You thought it was a CAR, dude."

"Yes. So?"

"You were wrong."

"So were you."

"I was?"

"Yes."

"But dude, I don't think I know everything."

"I don't either."

"Sure you do. Just like that Bible thing."

"What Bible thing?"

"You know, where you was sayin' the Bible said somethin' it don' say."

"What are you -- oh, you mean about the spirit being absent from the body?"

"Yeah. You couldn't even remember that, man."

"You couldn't either!"

"That's 'cause it don' say that."

"Say what?"

"That there ain't no ghosts, dude!"

"What are you guys talking about? Did I miss something?"

"Dillon, I can't remember the chapter and verse, but if you read the book of Thessalonians you'll see --"

"Which Thessalonians?"

"Not this again."

"You guys, what's going on??"

"Dude, it's not there, that's why you don' remember it."

"It's there, Dillon, it's there. It says that to be absent from the body is to be present with the --"

"No it don't."

"Yes, it does."

"No, it don't. It says that it's BETTER to be absent from the body and present with the Lord. Second Corinthians 5, verse 8."

JD stared at Dillon, who was sitting on the bottom step of the stairway, tying his shoe. Wendy was watching JD, who was staring agape at Dillon. She smiled.

"Your turn, JD. We're waiting."

"You knew it?" JD said stunned. "You knew it all along and you didn't correct me?"

"Dude, I told you it wasn't there. You didn't listen. You never listen. You jus' ... kept talkin'. That's what you do, man. That's why nobody calls you back, dude."

"JD? Your response?" Wendy said, giggling.

"Wendy, please," JD said irritably. "Why didn't you tell me you knew it, Dillon?"

"Dude, you told me. You already knew I knew. Er ... yeah. You knew ... I knew. Wait ... you knew, and I knew, so you knew that I knew ... yeah. You knew I knew."

Wendy giggled.

"How did I know? How was I supposed to know you knew?"

"You asked what I studied, dumbass. I told you."

"You told me but you never indicated you ..."

"JD, you're a dick, man. If you paid attention to people like you pay attention to all the gizmos you got in the pub, you'd know."

"The pub?"

"What pub?" Wendy said. "You have a pub?"

"I don't have a pub. What pub, Dillon?"

"You know, that little room over there with all your tweety crap in it."

"Oh, the parlor?"

"Whatever. The haunted room."

"It's not haunted, it was Wendy."

"Whatever."

JD drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was trying to process everything he'd heard. Most of the time, he didn't give a lot of credence to Dillon on factual matters, but he'd just been humbled by his longtime friend. Wendy considered making a smart-ass remark, but refrained.

"SO ... how's the stake-out goin', boys?" she smiled, swinging her arms and rocking on the balls of her feet.

"It was fine until you disrupted it," JD said solemnly.

"YOU ... you're a bitch," Dillon said, waving his hand at her dismissively. "I ain't talkin' to you no more."

"Aw, I'm sorry, Dilly," she cooed, hugging his arm. "I was just having some fun with ya. Forgive me? Pleeeeeease?" She batted her eyes at him.

He shook his head and grinned. "I hate you. I so hate you. You scared the shit outta me."

More eye-batting. "Pwease? Pwetty pwease?"

JD ignored the banter as they laughed and cajoled. He focused his senses ... somewhere in the parlor, there was an audible beep.

One of the instruments said something was happening.

Technorati Tags: fiction

Ready to go on to Part 4?

Ghost Hunters, Pt. 2

Just joining us? You might want to start at the beginning.

"JD, seriously, don't fool around, man ... what was that??"

Dillon sounded worried, and JD wouldn't take his eyes off the monitors. He was watching to see if there was a repeat of the flash, something he could record, measure. He wasn't really sure what had occurred; he only knew it couldn't be a ghost.

"JD??" Dillon said, his voice trembling.

"Relax, Dill," JD said impatiently. "Keep quiet. I want to see if it happens again."

Dillon was moving his head rapidly back and forth, his eyes crawling over the other screen. He had no idea what he was looking for -- but if there was anything to be seen, he wanted to be sure he saw it.

"Man ... aw, man ... what do we look for? What am I looking for, dude??"

"Be quiet I said!" JD snapped. Dillon fell silent, but JD knew it was only temporary.

"Just ... be still, okay?" he said more softly. "It's nothing for you to be afraid of. It wasn't a ghost."

Dillon looked at him nervously. "How d' ya know, dude? How?"

"Because there are no such things as ghosts, Dill. I already told you that."

"Aw, dude," Dillon groaned, "gimme a break. I'm supposed to take your word for it?"

"Why wouldn't you?" JD said, never even looking over. He kept watching the monitors, watching the instruments, listening ... he wasn't really focused on Dillon at all.

"Because you're a jerk, that's why," Dillon said chuckling.

"Oh, really?" JD said casually. "Well, I think it was a light from a passing car. I don't see any indication here of any changes in --"

"A CAR? A freakin' CAR?? Do you seriously think I'm gonna fall for that, JD??"

JD shook his head and snorted. "Believe what you want, Dillon. It wasn't a ghost. Nothing else here indicates anything happened. No sounds, no changes in temperature, no EM readings ... just a flash. And that could've been something wrong with the camera, or an external light shining in the room, or --"

"Yeah, a light from hell. From SATAN, man. C'mon, JD, you can't seriously believe that crap you're spewin' right now. You can't."

"You need to think more rationally. When you hear hoof beats, look for horses, not zebras."

Dillon slowly turned his head, his face completely incredulous.

"What in the hell are you talkin' about?" he said, his voice strained. "We've got a damned spook or somethin' flashin' shit at us, and you're tellin' me about ZEBRAS??"

JD shook his head. He set his jaw, took a deep breath and looked Dillon square in the eye.

"Dill, listen. It's a metaphor. What I mean is, when you see something that can be ordinary or unusual, don't go for the unusual first. Natural, logical explanations work best. In my metaphor, I said to look for horses when you hear hoof beats. In the Americas, horses are a normal part of the wildlife, so when you hear the sound of hoofs, you should go ahead and think it's horses until you have a really good reason to think it's something else. Don't think it might be zebras until you know it's not horses, because it's much more likely for --"

"I know what it means, numbnuts," Dillon said lazily, cutting him off. "Really, JD, you think I'm a moron, don'tcha?"

JD sat staring at the side of Dillon's face.

"You said you didn't -- oh, forget it. Listen, you don't really care to hear this for some stupid reason, but the fact is that I've been on a LOT more of these cases than you, and I've never once -- not even ONCE -- failed to find a logical, natural, rational explanation for everything going on in the situation. AND, I've been able to document it, and provide that to whomever called me. And they felt better and accepted the explanation. I've never been called back to a location ONCE, EVER. Investigations closed, period."

"Ever stop to consider that the people just didn't call you back?"

"Eh?"

Dillon turned in his chair to face JD, his elbow resting on the table's edge in front of him, eyes dancing in the dim glow.

"Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, those people didn't call you back? Doesn't mean they didn't go 'head and call SOMEone -- just means it ain't you."

JD's brows knitted over his eyes. "Why wouldn't they, unless they no longer had a problem?"

"You ever go back an' see if they do?"

"Do what?"

"Still have a problem! NOW who's a dumb-ass?"

"I never said you were a dumb-ass," JD snapped.

"You don't hafta, JD ... you show me you think that, dude."

"Dillon," JD sighed, "this is hardly a time for a 'I'm feeling put down in our relationship' moment."

"It's not just me, dumb-ass," Dillon said, settling back in his chair and returning his gaze to the monitor. "It's Wendy too. And I ain't about tellin' ya how bad you treat me ... even though you DO. I'm about tellin' ya that the people who do have a problem after you leave ain't callin' ya back 'cause they know you ain't gonna believe 'em anyway. I bet they're callin' other people -- people who don't try to make 'em feel stupid for even bringin' it up, and don't try to make 'em feel like Springer show rejects for bein' afraid.

"You're kinda full o' yourself, J-bird, and it comes through real bad sometimes. You should work on that, dude. At least pray about it or somethin'."

"I'm not ... I don't act like ... I've never ..." JD stammered, shocked. He'd never considered the idea that he never got repeat business because he came across arrogant, aloof and superior. He just assumed the problems were resolved with his sound, documented, identifiable explanations and left it at that.

He'd never even made a follow-up phone call to anyone. Ever.

"Okay, I don' see nothin' now," Dillon said, sitting back, eyes darting around the monitor carefully. His words brought JD back from his self-examination, and he shook his head to clear the thoughts swirling there.

"I don't either," he said slowly. "But, that's not to say there isn't anything we can do to follow up. C'mon."

"You're kiddin' me! We're gonna DO somethin'??"

"Well, we need to identify what that was. The houses here are large and secluded; we can have a good look around without getting too far away, and we can make sure things are copasetic in the general area."

"Make sure things are --"

"Make sure things are all fine outside. Grab the flashlight."

Dillon rummaged through a duffel bag under the table where the equipment was set up. He found two MagLites, each with a red filter over the fronts, and handed one to JD as they headed for the door.

"Whoa, whoa," Dillon said suddenly as JD approached the foyer at the end of the central hall to the majestic old house. Behind them was the staircase that wound up the three floors, accessing all the sleeping quarters and eventually the Widow's Walk. In front of them the gorgeous, richly inlaid wooden floors ended at the double front doors, flanked with side lights and topped by a Tiffany glass transom. The foyer stretched up two floors, a huge and sparkling crystal chandelier tinkling above them at its center.

"What?" JD said, stopping, his hand in mid-air as he reached for the door knob.

"You meant we're goin' outside?"

"Well ... yes. How else are we going to see what's there?"

"Couldn't we ... I mean, can't we just shine the lights outta the windows or somethin'? I mean, it's ... cold. And ..."

JD raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"Well ... JD, if there's a ghost, it's prolly out there, dude."

JD shook his head, tried to remain patient, and was mindful of his words.

"There's no ghost out there. If there was a ghost, Dill, it was in the parlor. Do you want to stay here while I go check outside?"

"The ghost was in here?"

"I said IF there was a ghost. There's not, though."

Dillon quickly glanced over his shoulder as he hurried to join JD at the door.

"I'm cool. I'm ... yeah, I'm cool. Let's go."

Technorati Tags: fiction

Ready to go on to Part 3?

Ghost Hunters

The two of them sat huddled in front of the softly glowing LCD monitors, the black-and-white images casting eerie light over their faces and clothes. The house was cold, and the open curtains showing the darkness outside let the chill penetrate deeper. The ancient Victorian had been beautifully restored, but that didn't include insulation or double-pane glass in the sashes. It didn't include new window casings, either, so that the blistering wind from the northeast whistled in through the gaps around them. The thick, opulent decor simulated the time period of the house perfectly, with rich mauves, oriental area rugs over pristine wooden floors, delicate tables packed with articles of pewter and nickel, each covered with a fantastically woven doily. Tiffany glass lamps sat in the midst of each and a large light fixture, designed to simulate a gas light from the Victorian era, was mounted low in the center of the room.

They were dressed warmly, in heavy jeans and a T-shirt over a thermal undershirt and a flannel over shirt. The watch caps they wore protected their ears from the biting chill, and their rag-woven socks did what they could beneath the Chuck Taylors to keep their toes from numbing. Light, fingerless gloves covered their hands, but because they needed to tweak instruments and knobs and keyboards, their reddened fingertips throbbed when they cupped their hands and blew warm air into them. Their words puffed out in wispy, white clouds from their mouths when they spoke, drifting lazily into the void or against the monitors.

"So," Dillon whispered, sniffing and rubbing his red, chilled nose, "now what?" He dragged his finger nails over his jaw, rasping against the three days of stubble growing on it.

"Why do you keep asking me that?" JD said, knitting his brows and glaring at Dillon.

"I'm curious is all," Dillon whispered back, holding his hands up defensively. "It's just that we've been sittin' here doin' a whole lotta nothin', and it seems like we oughtta be doin' somethin'. Ya know?"

JD sighed. "Yes, I know," he said tiredly. "I told you it would be tedious, Dillon."

"You didn't say nothin' about boring, though," Dillon retorted.

JD turned quickly in surprise to look at him. "Do ... do you know what 'tedious' means, Dillon?"

"Look, I'm just sayin', shouldn't we be doin' something 'sides sittin' here?"

"No, this is precisely what we should be doing. Watching."

"I'm sick o' watchin', JD." Dillon put his foot up on the table supporting the monitors and keyboards in front of them.

"Why'd you come then?" JD said, adjusting the EMV to his right, and watching the room in front of them on the monitor.

"You said we were huntin' ghosts, JD," Dillon whispered. "That sounded exciting. This shit's boring as hell, man."

"What did you think was going to happen? 'Ghost Busters'? A room full of flying objects mysteriously being levitated all over the house? Some apparition like on Scooby-Doo cartoons chasing us down the hall way?"

"Well ... yeah. Sorta." Dillon sniffed again, staring at his shoes.

JD looked at him sharply. "You're kidding, right?"

"Well ... no, man. What would you think? I seen you go off day after day, for months, and you never invited me once. That hurt my feelin's, by the way, just so ya know. How was I supposed to know it was like this? I thought you were, like, chasing ghosts, man. It sounded interesting."

"Dillon," JD sighed, trying to marshal his patience, "the reason I never asked you to come along before was just this -- exactly this, right here. You're bored. You have no patience. You don't like to sit and observe. It's not that we're not friends, or that I didn't want you in on my exciting, action-packed adventures, but because I knew this wasn't your thing. It's not something you'd enjoy. Didn't I tell you that when you asked to come with me tonight?"

Dillon was contemplating his navel carefully. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, you did. Jerk."

"Why are you whispering?"

"I don't wanna ... I don't know. Aren't we supposed to?"

"We're not spies, Dillon. We're watching, that's all."

"What if we ... what if they get scared away?"

"Who?"

"The ghosts, ya dildo, the ghosts!"

"Scared away? By what?"

"By us talkin', dude, whattaya think??" Dillon was struggling to continue to whisper.

"We're not fishing!" JD said. "I've never heard of a ghost being startled away by human voices. If that were true, no one would ever see a ghost, doofus."

"Oh," Dillon said, not whispering for a change.

They were silent for a moment, JD continuing to check the cameras placed strategically around the parlor in the darkness. He watched how his adjustments affected the picture, and scanned the other instruments for changes in temperature, motion, infrared light shifts, and sound. The equipment was silent and sentinel in the dark room, and he yawned, billowing a heavy cloud around his hand as he tried to cover it.

"Man it's cold," he said at length, rubbing his hands over his upper arms then cupping his cheeks.

"Hey JD," Dillon said softly, "you ever actually seen a ghost, man?"

"No, of course not," JD said matter-of-fact-ly, never taking his eyes off the instruments and the image of the room on the monitor.

"You haven't?"

"No. Why, have you?"

"I ... No, I don't think so. Why haven't you?"

"Because I'm a very good paranormal investigator, and there are no such THINGS as ghosts."

Dillon screwed his face up into a confused mask. "Whah??"

"I said there aren't any ghosts."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Why, do you believe in ghosts?"

"I dunno ... sure, why not?"

"Because you graduated from a Christian college, that's why not. Didn't they teach you about how spirits work?"

"Uh ... like what?"

JD sighed, shaking his head. "You've GOT to be kidding me, Dillon. What did you study?"

"Pastoral Care and Lay Ministry," Dillon said flatly. "I still don't get your point, dude."

JD chuckled. "Why doesn't that surprise me? You did pass your courses, didn't you?"

"Hey, don't get all uppity an' stuff, JD," Dillon said, swatting him lightly on the arm. "You ain't all that, y'know."

"Well, did you sleep through the part about being absent from the body meaning being present with the Lord?"

"Eh?" Dillon looked confused.

JD sighed again, less patiently. "Paul said that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord."

"Paul who?"

"Paul the Apostle, numbskull!"

"He did?"

"YES!"

"When?"

"Sometime in the first century, Dillon," JD said through clenched teeth.

"Is that in the Bible?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yyess."

"Where?"

"How the hell should I know?" JD spat, looking at his friend in disgust.

"You brought it up."

"So?"

"So, if you're gonna say somethin', you oughtta know where it's comin' from, don'tcha think?"

"Oh for ... okay, it's in the Pauline epistles, okay?"

"Yeah? Where?"

"I don't have a Bible with me, Dillon."

"No? Then how d'ya know?"

JD shut his eyes. "Trust me. It's there."

"Where?"

"Oh, for the love of ... Okay, it's in Thessalonians. Okay?"

"Which Thessalonians?"

"I don't frickin' know off the top of my head!"

"You shouldn't've brought it up, then, man."

"I'm gonna ring your scrawny neck, Dillon. All right. Fine. Okay. It's in FIRST Thessalonians, all right? No, wait -- Second Thessalonians. No, FIRST. First Thessalonians."

"Aw, well how am I supposed to believe ya now? You can't keep your stories straight, you ain't sure of the book -- I bet you don't even know if it's in there at all."

"We can put the theory to the test right now."

"Yeah? How?"

"I'll kill you right now. If you don't go to either heaven or hell you can come back here and let me know."

"Aw, now you're gettin' hostile and shit, dude."

JD glowered at Dillon, opened his mouth to speak ...

... and a flash of light lit up the darkened monitor brightly, catching the attention of both of them.

They stared at the screen, shocked and startled into silence. JD checked the other instruments. Dillon put his face inches away from the screen.

"JD ... JD, what was that, man?"

JD studied carefully, watching the room wide-eyed.

"I don't know," he said finally. Only after he spoke did he realize he was whispering.

Technorati Tags: fiction

Ready to go on to Part 2?

Giving Birth to an Idea

I've been thinking of a story for a new book.  It's been bouncing around in my head for a while, but I've not really given it any serious thought.  As I started to the other night, the tragedy of life swarmed me under, and I got side-tracked.

The basic premise is pretty simple, but I do want to make sure I present it from a certain world view.  Mine, to be exact.  That means that, to be true to that view, I have to do a lot of things that make me uncomfortable, because all of them call to the fore one of my major weaknesses: laziness.

The central character is stationed in a position about which I know little or nothing.  So, there's research involved with finding out how to accurately portray that occupation.  In addition, I need to discover the methodologies, the equipment, the education and the characteristics of the people that do that sort of thing for a living.  Since I don't personally know any, it gets much harder to do.  Now I'm faced with either finding one who's willing to talk to me about what they do, how they do it, why they do it and what they need to know, or doing a lot of blind research on either the Internet or in some other informational repository and trying to make that look and feel real.  The latter sounds easier, but like most things in life, I bet it's not.  And if it is, it's probably not the best way to accomplish the task.

Secondly, I have to find out what the character is like.  Is it male, female; shy, outgoing, somewhere in between?  What about physical characteristics?  While those aren't as important as other aspects of the character, they're not something I can disregard, either.  Personality type, responses to crises and pressure, what are the stressors for the character -- I haven't the foggiest idea at this point.  There is only a rough, loosely assembled skeleton of a person with a job.  Pretty generic, but then, the idea's pretty new, too.

On the other hand, I'm not sure of the nature of my story just yet.  I don't have an outline put together, I don't have a synopsis of any general plot, I don't even have the whole story in a single sentence yet.  I have nothing but a spark, and while some sparks can grow to enormous infernos, they can also be snuffed out by the slightest breeze or tiniest raindrop, too.

So basically, I've got diddly.  Just an idea that popped into my head a few days ago.

With other fiction I've written, I had a general idea what I wanted to do.  I knew the voice that I wanted to tell the story with, I knew the players (because they're all actual people), I knew the setting (because they're all real places, or were at one time), and the characteristics of those elements are easy to put in place because the events are actual, historical accounts (to the best of my recall).  But with a completely fictional account -- and, in fact, with all completely fictional accounts I've attempted -- I end up running out of steam, or losing sight of the story, or changing the direction in the middle ... all because I lose the grip on the initial goal of the characters, the story or the conflict.

My first full-length novel was a joke of an attempt to tell the story of supernatural events as they inject themselves into the lives of people that have divergent beliefs.  It didn't work; I didn't have an underlying plot of any kind, my grasp of theology was at best poor, my understanding of the occult was weak and unsupported with research of any kind, and based primarily on ideas of people that were less than credible.  So the story didn't hold together very well, I had no idea how to write a book, what the processes involved were and the basic principles of fiction were outside my scope of knowledge, too.  I was writing the story on the fly each time I sat at the keyboard.  Every chapter was a cliff hanger, and the trail of events was implausible, and the characters were exaggerated archetypes of actual people I knew.  In short, it was a piece of feces.  I am ashamed to have written it, to have wasted so much of my time on it, and now that it's been lost forever I'm grateful.

In the second piece I wrote, I got through the whole thing.  I started with an idea to tell, in a fictionalized way, the story of events as my wife and I lived through them.  But I didn't get that far; about halfway through my goal word count, I got the idea that the book was boring and lagging.  I'd introduced some characters with one thing in mind, but no real idea of how I was going to make those things manifest themselves in the story.  I wasn't working from an outline, because my life was already laid out and I was just going to retell the tale in a story form.  When I got nervous about it, though, I changed horses mid-stream.  I took the story in a completely unrelated and unexpected direction.  It was an unplanned excursion, and it showed.  I had to go back and insert internal dialog for characters, I had things in it that were only there for fluff and filler (trying to make that magic word count), and the whole thing felt like two books mashed together using the same names.  It was, again, a chunk of steaming fecal matter, and while it has the bones to be something decent, I don't know if I'm a talented enough writer to salvage it.  If I did, I'd have to pick one story line or the other though, and start over from the beginning.

Now, I'm still not a great writer of fiction.  I can tell a funny story, or a poignant one, or a weird one, or a creepy one -- but I don't know about a long, consistent one that builds, slows, builds, slows, and crescendos.  So far, I haven't done it successfully.  I haven't got the skills and/or training to see an idea go from a loose outline to a full-blown novel.  There are so many methods for writing a book, I don't know which one works for me.  And I can't do it the way that I do short fiction.  I've proven that by repeatable processes ala the scientific method more than once.  So, now I've got a conundrum.

So, at this point, I analyze myself into "analysis paralysis."  I can't move forward, because I don't know how.  I can't get the idea out of my head, because I sort of like it, but can't determine how to make it come to life.  I can't do it in short form, because the story would probably require more than a few thousand words to tell.  At least, I think so.  What am I going to do, then?

Part of me thinks that, if I sit and think about it long enough, jot down any and all ideas, I can worry about coherency later.  I can then get a rough outline and see where the little things I've jotted can fit into the overall scheme.  I need a plot, plot points, scenes, and then some people swear by the index card thing wherein they move the index cards around to strengthen the story.

I don't know.  Like I said, I've never done any of that, and that really seems to take the wind out of the sails of the joy of writing.  On the other hand, that's how most good writers work, and I need to take my cues from them.  There's a reason they're good, and published, and I'm a loser that can't even hold the attention of the blog traffic I get.  (Every once in a while, I think Stranger sends people my way.  I can tell when she does it, because I get a big spike in traffic on my Wordpress blog.  She's sweet like that, and I don't know why, but I thank her for her kindness.)

So, how does one go about giving birth to an idea?  How do you nurture it along, massaging it from vague ambiguity to solidified story?  How long does it roll around in your head?  Should it?  Should I be getting it out on paper while it's in my mind's fore, instead of taking a chance that it's going to vanish into the ether or my so-called mind?  All questions that I've no idea how to answer.  It looks like I'm going to be spending some quality time with Google soon.

Meanwhile, I'm not doing anything creative lately.  I'm not sketching much, I'm not writing much, and I'm generally just being a couch potato.  On the upside, my car's repairs aren't going to be as bad as we thought financially.  There may still be a chance, according to my wife, that I can go get that Ph.D. in theology.  (I still say we can't afford it, she's trying to find excuses why we can.  THERE's a switch for you.  Normally, she's the one talking ME out of buying something while I'm the one trying to convince HER it should happen.)

Well, I guess I'll just keep kicking this around, but if anyone reading this has any suggestions about how to get an idea to either concrete itself or go away, I'm open to them.

As always, thanks for taking the time to wade through the tangle.

-JDT-

Technorati Tags: random thoughts, writing