I woke up from a dream. A crazy, insane, unbelievable dream. I entered a parallel universe, a world made of my darkest fantasies. I traveled to another dimension. I landed on a foreign planet. No matter how I say this, no matter how I describe this… My weekend was an adventure.
My best friend offered to do something fun for the 4th of July. We hesitated between visiting a friend in Boston, her mother in Florida, another friend in L.A., or just the two of us would have flown to Mexico or Aruba. And then, she found something else we could do: go to the Hamptons.
I had never been to the Hamptons. All I knew about that part of Long Island came from movies and TV shows. Artists, athletes, socialites, and entrepreneurs lived there in their big summer houses, drove big sports cars, and sailed big boats. Women wore casual beach clothing that consisted of Gucci, Pucci, Massoni, Louis Vuitton, Yves Saint Laurent, and Dior… Men exhibited their Rolexes and drank twenty five year old scotch in Baccarat glasses. Wherever you went, you saw money and private parties. Everyone knew each other. Everyone owned a condo on the Upper East Side. Everyone belonged to a very exclusive part of society.
And I never thought I’d witness such eccentricity in real life.
Well, I was wrong.
Everything I saw in movies and TV shows is true.
The best part of the trip? Sunset beach in Shelter Island.
Sunset over Sunset Beach
The place reminded me of St. Tropez, France. Same scenery, same crowd, same atmosphere. You bump into celebrities at every street corner. You pay twenty dollars for a cocktail. You look at everyone and everyone looks at you and tries to figure out how wealthy you are and where you come from. Cannes can be like that too during the Film Festival. I basically don’t need to fly over 6,000 miles to visit my family on the French Riviera.
St Tropez
There was this woman who stood by the bar at the Sunset Beach hotel and drank a Corona.
Sunset Beach Hotel
She looked thirty, but I knew she was older. She got work done. She wore Gucci sandals, white shorts and a Massoni blouse, Dior glasses and a Vuitton clutch. She walked to the bathroom and kept staring at her reflection while she finished her drink. She looked like nothing could reach her. She looked like she floated in a bubble, sheltered from the rest of the world. I watched her from afar and she entertained me. I noticed her fake tan and her hair extensions. She represented everything you see in a magazine. She was fashionable, blonde and good looking, and she had money.
Sag Harbor
My friend and I stayed in a share house not very far from Sag Harbor. I loved that little town. Seafood tasted delicious. And of course, when we watched the final of the Eurocup in a very cute bar, I gave a hard time to all the Italy supporters (I was outnumbered, but no harm was done… ;))
For five days straight, I laughed. I people watched and I made up stories. I ran into work colleagues and I met insane characters. The Hamptons couldn’t have been better than Miami or Los Angeles.
I lived in the fast lane. I enjoyed myself, I partied hard and I barely took a break. I also walked into a glass door, and I got hit by a frisbee in the collarbone. I didn’t hurt myself. There’s something about being on vacation: I’m too relaxed to worry about physical pain.
Over all, the trip was worth it, and I made priceless memories. Not sure though whether I’d do it again… because Vegas awaits me this winter so I can celebrate my 30th birthday.
So… I got pinkeye. Yeah, not fun. I also had the opportunity to go to a concert of the Jackson 5 4 at the Apollo in Harlem.
The story of my pinkeye is by far not as interesting as the concert. 😉
The Apollo theater is one of the oldest and most famous music halls in the U.S. and is known for featuring almost exclusively African-American performers.
The Apollo is located in Harlem on 125th st. The theater is actually very small – and very cozy.
The overall experience is definitely a must do. Just because the Apollo is a legendary location to see great performers, and just because it’s something you don’t get to do that often.
Seeing the Jackson 4 definitely brought back all the memories of my youth. My first ever tape I bought at the store was Jackson 5 Greatest Hits. ABC, I’ll be there, I want you back… Oh wow, I missed Michael Jackson’s moonwalk on the stage for a few minutes. His brothers paid him tribute during the entire show, and it was touching to see Jermaine cry when he sang Gone Too Soon.
I gotta say, I was a Jackson 5 fan mostly because of MJ. I grew up with his music, and watched his evolution from the King of Pop to tabloid star.
Of course, his death saddened me. But what I witnessed yesterday proved to the world MJ and the Jackson family marked history forever, just like The Beatles. We get to see and listen to so many performers, but who’s truly making a difference out there?
The Apollo’s motto is “Be Good or Be Gone”. I saw legends. I saw true artists. I saw sweat and tears, and real singing and dancing, without special effects, crazy make up and insane costumes. Thanks for the journey. I had a blast.
If you follow the posts on this site, you know how much I love Greg Sisco. Who’s Greg Sisco? The most genius writer/cinematographer/actor/stand up comedian I’ve seen in a long time. You don’t know him?
O.M.G.
First, let me paste his profile and bio here (from Goodreads).
There are two personality traits I can recall possessing for just about as far back as my memory will serve. The first is a love of writing and the second is a malicious sense of humor.
Since childhood, I have been the person who roots for the bad guy in movies and laughs when Bambi’s mom gets shot. I take interest in the flaws of a character far more than the heroic characteristics, which have a tendency bore me. I find humor in places I’m told I really shouldn’t.
I started writing short stories and screenplays shortly after I learned to construct a sentence and haven’t stopped since. As a high school student I wrote and shot home movies in my spare time while performing stand up comedy weekly at a talent show. I also wrote short stories with titles like Teacher Slayers (for which I am still astounded that I was not expelled).
My writing is typically bleak and violent with a fun, satirical edge that should tickle the funny-bones of anyone who is as sick as I am.
Okay. If his bio didn’t make you jump off your seat, I’m adding more.
Sisco wrote two excellent books I devoured, and I’d read again because they’re that good. Truth. Sisco didn’t give me a dime for this review. I am such a fan of his work, I did it all by myself and without duress.
First is Thicker than Water.
Vampire stories are like zombie stories. They have been rehashed one way or another, recreated, done and redone to the point of causing nausea every time I even heard the word “vampire”. I expected nothing from this novel but something gripped my interest and didn’t let go. I had the opportunity to glance at the first few sentences of Chapter 1 on Greg Sisco’s website. And I loved what I saw. I immediately ordered the book on my Kindle, eager to read more of it.
Sisco’s impeccable prose transports the reader into a horrific yet inviting world. He narrates the tale of Loki, Thor and Tyr, three vampires, three blood brothers, who share everything, from hunting, robbing and killing their victims to fighting each other mercilessly. They know no fear, no sorrow, and no compassion for the human kind. They only want to feed and enjoy their eternal condition the best they can. And enjoy it they do. Yet, Tyr meets this girl, Eva, and falls for her because she’s stronger than any other human he met before. He saves her from a certain death, and promises himself to find her again. He also cuts all ties with Loki and Thor after Loki expresses his huge discontentment at Tyr’s decision to spare the six-year-old girl’s life.
Vampires aren’t supposed to fall for humans. Vampires aren’t supposed to break the code. Turning Eva into a vampire is out of the question. Tyr knows the danger of loving Eva. While he struggles to find his path, far from Loki and Thor who live solely to cause havoc on earth, he tries to understand what binds him to this girl who thirteen years later is now dying of cancer. Eva means nothing and she means everything. She’s the end and the beginning of a new life for Tyr. After reuniting with Thor and Loki in Las Vegas, he has to finally decide what to do with her before resuming his chaotic existence among his bloodthirsty brothers.
Sisco’s created a world full of wit, twisted humor and captivating imagery. He left me hungry for more and convinced me vampire tales aren’t so old fashioned after all.
A great read to recommend to any horror fan.
Second is One Night Stan’s (free at the moment).
I’ve been a follower of Greg Sisco’s work for a lil while now. I knew right away when I clicked on his website url I’d find something interesting, but when I actually started reading his work, I realized he was a true gem. I’m not someone who gives compliments for the sake of being nice. I hate being nice actually. It’s way too much work. But hey, this guy deserves recognition because he’s gifted. He’s funny, smart and crazy. His stories belong to another world, a malicious, witty, hilarious and addictive world. His words are better than alcohol, drugs and great sex combined. I loved Thicker than Water, and I loved One Night Stan’s.
What would you do if you got a hold of $250,000 by accident after spending all your paycheck money at a cheap strip joint because you’re too lame to get yourself a real girlfriend? I’m not a guy, but I imagine I’d keep it. If it no one claims it’s their dough, why bother looking for a legitimate owner – possibly mobster or serial killer – fate decided of my future and I’ll end up on a sunny beach sipping a cool fresh fruit margarita with my toes in the whitest sand you’ve ever found… Does it sound too good to be true? After too many drinks, no, it doesn’t.
One Night Stan’s takes you on a ride, and what a ride. It’s bloody, it’s gruesome, it’s gross, and mostly, it’s funny. Greg Sisco achieved once again a story meant to be read and re-read. I’d love to see the One Night Stan’s movie. I’m pretty convinced it’d become a cult-classic.
So what are you waiting for? Move your a** and buy this book.
Alright. Are you sold yet??
Okay. I’m pulling one last trick from my sleeve. I wrote earlier Sisco also made movies. I watched his most recent and appraised flick, called Jesse Thunderwake: American Icon.
Sisco tells us the tale of Jesse, an aspiring writer/director/actor/singer who dreams of becoming a star. But when he decides to undertake the filming of his project Death By Love, nothing goes as planned. Jesse has to deal with a difficult cast, an impossible director, a crazy producer, and a life of his own that quickly turns to hell as his dreams shatter day by day until the unimaginable happens, and he finally meets fame.
Sisco’s wit is once again on point, and his attention to detail makes you want to watch the movie over and over again. Jesse has become my American icon.
Thanks Mr. Greg Sisco. Your genius made me fall in love with your art once again.
Alright, time to open the vent. I got a lot of stuff to complain about, but should I really wash my dirty laundry in public? Eh, why not? I promise, it’s going to be more funny than painful.
I love my parents. I really love them. They’re the best. Always prepared, dedicated and ready to help me whatever I need. I call them, they pick up the phone and lift my spirit in no time. They come visit, they wash, clean and cook for me.
What can I say? They’re really awesome.
Yet… when they stay over for longer than a week, I start feeling antsy.
First, they remodel my house.
Second, they make comments every time I go out.
Third, they don’t let me watch my favorite shows on TV.
Fourth, I can’t walk around the house in my underwear.
Fifth, I can’t sleep late on weekends because they want to go for a walk.
Sixth, my fridge is a freaking nightmare because they buy all that crap I don’t eat, and the stuff I eat, they don’t buy.
Seventh, they call me in the middle of the day to ask me what time I come home.
Eighth, they can’t watch movies in English because they don’t speak English.
Ninth, they always want to talk and they never leave me alone.
Tenth, my mom makes weird comments about my personal life and these comments really throw me over the edge.
I could go on and on and on about them but the truth of the matter is, I love my parents when they’re 3,000 miles away. I have a friend who still lives with her parents and she’s over thirty years old. I have no clue how she does it. I would have already shot myself in the head a million times if it were me.
So here we go. You feel my pain now, don’t you?
Sigh. Can I escape to a deserted island until they’re back on the plane?
How not to worry. How not to think all the time about what I should say and what I should do. I retype every message I send, I reread every word I write just to make sure I don’t sound too crazy or too obsessed. But who’s in my mind?
Only me.
I just should forget about it. I can’t. It’s hard. I’m awkward.
I’m losing control and I’m scared.
But maybe words are simply superfluous.
Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires. Francois de La Rochefoucauld
I’m not a cat. I can’t see that well when it’s dark, and I especially cannot work on documents when I have no source of light in my office. My only window is a poster of the view of the Manhattan Skyline from the East River. Therefore, if I don’t have artificial light, I’m screwed.
You know I wish I had the power to create my own light. Nothing sounds more exciting to me than this idea. I get to do it in my stories, so why couldn’t I do it in real life?
Ah, yes, the magic of fiction.
Let me share with you a little memory. One day I was asked to supervise the review of evidence in a warehouse located not very far from work. I at first rejoiced at the idea of going on a field trip. I love to be out of the office for a day, especially when I don’t have to return to the office after I’m done.
For eight hours my schedule was set. I had my sandwich, my bottle of water, my phone charger and my Kindle. Nothing could go wrong… Or so I thought.
The warehouse was equipped with motion detector lights on every floor. Anywhere someone went, the light would turn on. After a few minutes of inactivity, it would turn off.
The team pulled a table in the hallway and started reviewing the evidence. I sat down on a stool and began reading a book.
Five minutes passed.
Sudden darkness.
“Can you watch the light, please?” someone from the team said to me.
I nodded.
Wait. Unless someone moved, the light would eventually go off.
No way I’d walk a marathon for the rest of the day. NO WAY.
It took me a few tries to finally position my stool right under the motion sensor, and every time the light would turn off, I’d raise my arm and it would turn immediately back on.
Over eight hours, minus a one hour break, so seven hours total, I raised my arm more than eighty times. The effort wasn’t the problem, but try to picture me sitting perfectly still on a stool while reading a book and waving my arm at regular intervals like a robot.
And, I get to do that in my office too, because… I don’t move when I work.
Eureka! What could prevent the light from turning off?
A flying monkey.
A clown on a unicycle.
A flying monkey on top of a clown on a unicycle.
A bunch of stray cats in heat.
A five year old.
Well, I need something that can hold ten hours without fading. I don’t think any of the above mentioned ideas can resist that long without a break.
Help George Lucas, I need R2D2!
Who else is great at building robots?
Steven Spielberg. Ridley Scott. James Cameron.
Okay, the motion detector light issue will be solved as soon as I write to these guys.
And as a cherry on top, that robot could do my work too…
Today I’m celebrating the one year anniversary of the purchase of my new office space heater. I share with this thing more than love. I share my comfort and sometimes, a few sneezes.
I hate a lot of stuff, but one stands above all: SNUGGIES.
Since summer came back, and my climate control issues as well, I thought of reposting my very first guest post I wrote for Krystal Wade’s blog where I talked about my absolute hatred of the blanket with sleeves.
Enjoy.
***
DIE SNUGGIE, DIE!!!!!!
Hi everybody! My name is Johanna and I’m a writer. It’s my first time doing this… I’m a lawyer by day….. but I was born to write. I also like to spend my time blogging and tweeting. Writing is really my thing, you know.
I met some wonderful people via Twitter, thank you for all these amazing moments you gave me. It was really nice of you to be so welcoming. So….. I wasn’t really sure what to talk about in this post. My genre is more oriented towards horror and generally, dark fiction, but hey, Krystal warned me, so I will watch my language here, and not talk about zombie killers and such…. Guys, no honestly, you have nothing to be afraid of.
Alright, alright, suspense is killing me, and I’m sure it’s killing you too. I wanted to talk today about the climate issues I was having at work.
Calm down, I swear it will be interesting.
You must know that it’s probably 90 degrees outside, but inside my office, it’s a cool 72 degrees at all times, which means that sitting down for 10-12 hours a day, it goes down to 50. I see some of you nodding so this confirms I’m not the only one suffering from that condition.
It’s called being a woman.
What did I do to remedy the issue? Well, I snuck in my space heater despite being told not to, because the building where I work is “green”. Yeah, whatever, I thought. My comfort comes first. It was a happy few months until the unthinkable happened. I… witnessed my space heater die at my feet this morning. A strange smell of something burning told me that it was better to unplug it, and after much consideration for my co-workers for not causing a fire, (thank you), I discarded it. I couldn’t shed a single tear, the reason being that I was too cold to even feel sad. (sigh)
Now, what was my option? I didn’t have a sweater or a jacket with me, and my legs would stay cold anyway even if I had one. Desperate to end my battle with modern ice age, I decided to consult the oracles, i.e. Twitter, and got a response pretty quickly indeed.
A very thoughtful tweep told me to just get a snuggie. She even said “one of our co-workers has one, and since she has no dignity left, she wears it at her desk. At least, she feels toasty all day!”
Now (I see your interest for this post growing by the second), that was a good idea… in theory. You see… (Gosh this is getting hard) I have a problem with… snuggies. I… I always abhorred the blanket with sleeves…. From the first day I saw the commercial on TV. (Oh Lord please help me) And I hate them even more now. This is why…
Christmas day. I had been waiting all night for this, and could not be more eager to unwrap all my presents. I was so excited…. You have no idea. I was boiling with anticipation. This was supposed to be the best day of the whole month (well after my birthday of course). After much joy and excitement, and gifts I didn’t really care about, I was finally given THE gift. Everybody spoke unanimously. This was it. The big moment of the whole morning. I could not stay still. I felt like I was 5 again.
When I finally tore off the paper, I remained speechless. I looked at it for a long time, and then, I screamed. After tossing the gift aside, I threw myself on the floor and cried, feeling totally distraught. I could not think clearly. These images kept coming at me….
I pictured myself wandering among deserted streets… Just imagine New York City without anybody around. (That’s actually a pretty cool thought… Let me sit on this for one second. Yeah. I can totally see it. Wow, that would be heaven. Alright… sorry… Back to my story.)
Buildings in ruins, shattered windows, a door squeaking in the distance… (A squeaking door in New York?? Ok… No, that sounds fine… This is fiction after all.) Alright… you got the idea. It was just the whistling wind and me. Or so I thought. I knew I sensed a presence shadowing me but I saw nothing. The breeze kept playing with my hair, as I nervously glanced to my left and to my right, my finger slowly aiming at the safety of my gun (Picture a big gun, like in Resident Evil or Underworld… yeah.)
Somebody or something was there watching me…
Suddenly I saw it. It was standing about a hundred feet ahead of me. I…. lost my breath for a second, my hand running to get my weapon out of the holster…. I was so scared. It was not my time…. No, not yet. I…. kept moving. I could feel the sweat running down my spine, my eyes searching for an escape route but finding none. It stayed put…. It was just looking at me. I swallowed and realized my mouth was really dry. I murmured a prayer with every step I took that brought me closer to my fate. It was waiting for me.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think this through. I wanted out of there alive, you know. So, I did it like in The Matrix. I just pulled my gun and started throwing karate moves while running (yeah I did both at the same time). I also began shooting like crazy, hitting everything but my target…. My fear gripped my guts until I felt my stomach turn upside down, making me sick to the point where I thought I would pass out but I had to keep fighting. It was now or never. I screamed like a warrior, and pulled the trigger until my index finger hurt so bad I had to stop. How many bullets did I have in that gun? (I never reloaded, that was awesome. Anyway….) I kept shooting, making a weird face, mouth open, eyes bulging out of their sockets, I sounded terrifying, until I was the last one standing…
I could have looked really badass you guys! I was supposed to be a hero. But no, that was not for me. How do you want to look cool fighting a creature from another dimension when your super sexy black duster has been swapped with an ugly pink blanket with sleeves?
Yes, I’m cold all the time so what? I have a reputation to preserve! Who gives snuggies as Christmas gifts? Like really? Where’s your imagination gone? On vacation? I just couldn’t believe this! Like I’m waiting all Christmas for this, and then…. Yeah…. Whatever.
You know what, I don’t deserve this. I’m a writer and I live for that stuff. I fight weird creatures all the time in my dreams. I can’t let this get to me. People who don’t write don’t understand. “What’s the big deal? Who cares if it looks freaking ugly on you?” Guess what? A hero keeps her dignity intact AT ALL TIMES. No matter how cold, I don’t wear blanket with sleeves. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to buy myself a new space heater.
There’s no easy solution to my dilemma, no cure to my artistic freedom. I want to escape from a world I know too damn well, but for what outlet? Running without a goal seems pointless. Achieving nothing but the simple action of being brings only tears to my soul. I have to find my truth. I have to locate the source of my revolution.
I need to build a fantasy world.
I remember the Greek mythology and Prometheus. He’s known to be a Titan and is credited with the creation of man from clay and the theft of fire for human use, an act that triggered progress and civilization. Zeus punished Prometheus as a consequence of his theft, and sentenced him to eternal torment for his transgression. The immortal Prometheus was bound to a rock where each day an eagle, the emblem of Zeus, was sent to feed on his liver, only to have it grow back to be eaten again the next day…
Prometheus became a figure who represents human striving, particularly the quest for scientific knowledge and the risk of overreaching or unintended consequences. He inspired authors and artists who saw in him the lone genius whose efforts to improve human existence could also result in utmost tragedy.
My heroes will believe in dying for a cause rather than living for nothing. If the mind can be taught the art of constant adaptation and relentless survival, anyone can achieve anything. The only enemy is the ego. Check: my heroes must learn to stay humble. But will they succeed? Not if they have evil counterparts.
So here I strive. I’m ready to sweat and bleed on paper, to show my battle scars and reopen wounds that will fuel my craziest fantasy dreams. I always start from scratch. How I felt when I entered a place for the first time. How I saw things and what they made me think of. The way people shook my hand. The way they looked into my eyes. The way they stood, sat, ate, spoke. I give my main protagonists dimension and depth. I make them either live forever or die from an evil spell. I provide them with powers. I watch them all sleep and feed their nightmares. I can sometimes tell when my characters hate me, and when they want to rebel, they usually give me the writer’s block. Yet, they always forgive me… after a few days.
Prometheus and his plight couldn’t be worse than my own MCs’ doom. To be worthwhile, the journey isn’t supposed to be easy. My MCs want to find the truth of their own creation. They want to debate the existence of God and ask a million times who came first? The chicken or the egg? Their inner struggles meet worldly challenges. The end of the universe becomes the beginning of a new mission. They seek answers. They seek a purpose. They mostly seek faith.
Backdrop: a planet located millions of light-years away from Earth.
MCs: an alien-astronomer named Azthul, a human girl carrying the fate of the world named Esperanza, and a fallen angel unaware of his condition named Beau
Number of volumes: three
Genre: science-fiction, fantasy
Do I really know where I’m going with this? Sure I do. Prometheus’s tale inspired me to be fearless. As a fantasy writer, I’m supposed to break boundaries.
Today is a nice day. Life is cool. I sound cheesy when I speak, and I stare at the sky endlessly, lost in a daydream I don’t want to end because it feels way too damn good.
There’s nothing wrong with you, and that worries me. You’re not a selfish abusive asshole. No. You’re not. Maybe you hide something from me. Or maybe you’re just that great to begin with.
You don’t make me jealous. You don’t make me mad. You don’t make me act like a bitch.
I can be myself with you because you respect my boundaries.
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
― Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
The Manicheans 