Mehitobel Wilson: writer, reader, chronic curmudgeon.

Tomboy bombshell cowgirl; lover of funk, attracted to roadsides.

Besotted with spots.

Friend to sleaze.

Admirer of filthy films, fleshy steaks, Hong Kong rap, new felt and pocket-knocking 8-balls; prefers 10 gallons of hat and 4 fingers of Jack.

Procrastination here breeds urgency there. Urgency begets sharper fiction. The dream: hone it to a splinter, and sink it deep.

So I'm here.

Listen:

It's bated breath, not baited breath. Bated, dropping the initial vowel from "abated," ie, paused.

I may pique your interest. I will not peak it.

When standing in line, you are in a queue, not a cue.

When gaining control, you take the reins, not the reigns.

Thank you.
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 1:08 AM

I took my camera with me to Horrorfind. I took three photos while there. All featured this fellow: We don't have wacky slugs like this in Georgia. Here, we have mosquitos. In MSP we had earthworms. In Ithaca there were slugs, but they weren't fancy leopard slugs. Upon researching this slug, which was about 4" at the time, I learned that it is limax maximus Linnaeus, the Leopard Slug, indigenous to Northern Europe, pestilent in Australia, making a progressively strong showing in the USA. I also learned that he may well have survived a trip to GA and lived a happy life in one of my many fish tanks (I was thinking of converting a couple to herp tanks, maybe one into a frog OR SLUG tank.) Shortly after taking this photograph I learned that slug slime does not come off with soap and water. Or with coffee, or any other chemical I applied. I hear vinegar does the trick, but vinegar wasn't available just then.

I also took my camera with me to the living room last night, and here's Eike. Compare: the photo in which Leatherface is threatening to make her ears even was taken July 12, which was her 3-month birthday and the day that I brought her home. The photo in which she's sitting pretty is from August 27, about six weeks later. I'm glad I didn't grow that fast. No wonder she's clutzy sometimes: she's got a completely different body every 3 minutes.






























I have to write more so the photos don't eat the 27 August entry. I thought of something: I have really, really low blood pressure, okay? I'm supposed to eat salty things to keep it at a normal, healthy pace. (There are medications that can do this, too, but my doctor said, "Pickles are cheaper.") If I run low on salt, and my bp drops far enough, not enough blood gets to my brain and I get really, really stupid - like, can't understand speech... and, can't remember that I need salt to fix the problem - and eventually I'll faint. Now, though I'm generally pretty tense, I'm not the most invigorated person in the world. "Leopard slug" describes me in many ways.

But... I really wake up when I'm furious. I write better when I'm angry, I speak more clearly and make better points when I'm arguing than when I'm just chatting, etc. And I have a QUICK temper. It occurs to me that maybe my body DIGS it when I get angry, because it raises my blood pressure and literally keeps me conscious (& upright?)

There. I have a good, solid medical excuse for OUTRIGHT RAGE now. That rocks.
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 2:36 PM

It infuriates me that day-job and money (and the day-job is reponsible for the money, and for the offensively small amount of it) cause me such stress. Look at me, I'm ambulatory, I'm bright enough, I don't even have allergies... I should be glad that I have a job. I'm going to need to take a second one, or start selling off some of those limbs, come October.

Just when I was about to spring blood from mine algae-tinted ocular gem-bulbs, one Maria Cotto delivered unto me GODZILLA: DESTROY ALL MONSTERS MELEE. I promptly chose Destroyah to DEMOLISH CITIES WITH MUCH MAXIMUM GLEE.

Thank you, Maria.




posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 11:02 PM

I have a big, big pile of delicious books to read. Birthdays ROCK. Fuck reviewing, birthdays are where the books are.

STIFFS: The Secret Lives of Cadavers, Mary Roach. (courtesy DJS.)
THINGS THAT NEVER HAPPEN, M. John Harrison. (Courtesy C.M.)
APPALACHIAN GALAPAGOS, Whitman and Ochse. (Courtesy W.O.)
GRAVEYARD PEOPLE, Gary A. Braunbeck. (Courtesy P.M.)
FROM BENEATH THESE FIELDS OF BLOOD, Braunbeck Also. (Courtesy G.B.)
PEACEABLE KINGDOM, Jack Ketchum (courtesy D.M.)
SEX AND VIOLENCE IN HOLLYWOOD, Ray Garton (courtesy G.C.)
TALKING SMACK, audio, Brian Keene (courtesy B.K.)
and, uh, a lot more, like paperbacks from Geoff, and hardbacks that I hid from Eike so they wouldn't get chewed.

Thing is, Eike takes a lot of supervision. I can hardly read, much less write. It's Monday; it took me nearly a week to read a 3-hour book (the Garton.) (I guess Ray might be bummed that a lot of his time went into 3 hours' worth of mine, but I read way too fast, when not being bounced upon by a dawg.)

Robert agreed to dogsit the Eikepup if I needed nights for work, which I do. As of now, she goes to bed at 11pm, leaving me 2 hours to do everything I'd normally do between getting home and going to bed. Two hours, two hours during which I'm exhausted (for the Eikepup is a thousand times more animated than I am) is not enough to brew up a thing, or even to relax for long enough to do so.

I can not FATHOM these baby-having people.

Thank Robert, then, for the next story I actually write.

Thank him for the novel, too, since he's a big help, on all fronts.


posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 1:50 AM

Whoa, Mars kicks ass tonight. I stood outside with the Eikedog and stared at it for far too long. (Is there such a thing?)

The dogs next door are barking a lot. It worries me. Is someone slinking around out there? Wake up and woof, Eike.

Horrorfind was a blast. I now have entered into an agreement that I must keep, though I'm nervous about it. I feel about it the same way I'd feel about quitting smoking: lots of anxiety and resistance, full knowledge that it's the right thing to do, a temptation to cry like a toddler and scream, I DON'T WANNA.

Geoff and Deb (and Devon, and the Reddawg, and sweet Ravendawg) fed me sick amounts of seafood upon my arrival. I still have mercury poisoning. It was worth every minute and I'm very depressed that, somewhere halfway into a bottle of Jack, I forgot to ask if we could go up and eat a second rounds' worth. The con itself: Friday night was spent with the Borderlands Books crew. This evening gave me one of the best convention conversations I've ever had; it was great. Saturday, I'd told Necro Dave that I'd be at the table at noon to sign DANGEROUS RED, and at noon-thirty an emissary was elected to wake me up and remind me of this.

Once at the table with Dave and GAK, fun was had. Books were sold and signed. I missed every single reading, since I was at the table, but I did get to squeeze a gooeybrained skull for hours and hours (I miss him), talk to GAK, see my long-lost separated-at-birth brother Vince motherfucking Harper (who also fed me), spend stupid money on toys (Elsa and Boris and Harryhausen, oh my - and Sister Vigilance, not a toy, but a painting), and meet a whole hell of a lot of people, too many to list.

Gary Braunbeck's nephew Eric is the coolest kid on the planet. Any kid that gets damn near misty over a lifemask of Karloff, and whose favorite band is AC/DC, wins the prize. Gary's a great guy, too, and even better: he's got new books out. Lucy Snyder is a doll, and I was happy to meet her. Let's see, hm, I got to see Lee again, though usually in passing; met Teri Jacobs, who has a hell of a lot of stamina - I think she went out to a club every single night; met Wrath White, who doesn't believe that I saw his movie; saw ol' Pic, who's got too many new things out AGAIN; spent much time with the lovely Maria; was inadvertantly rude to another Eric, I think, who was trying to make a valid comment on one of my stories and I gave him a short answer (this is normal for me, not intended to be rude, but he doesn't know me); teased Dallas; touched base with Dave Whitman; very, very nearly berated one guy for talking out of his ass - my restraint was severely taxed; met the truly sweet Roger Range and petted his pretty, pretty first baby (by "baby" I mean "book from Endeavor Press"); really, met a kajillion people and had an all-around good time. There were a ton of people there that I didn't meet, too. There's only so much a girl can do (especially if she's spectacularly territorial and, once seated in a proper chair, refuses to leave.)

I came back with so much crap that I had to stop at Walmart and buy me a good, solid Dale Earnheart duffel bag just to hold the books/monsters/Sister Vigilance.

Horrorfind is a really great convention, two in one, almost - fans had one, and the writers had a con within the con. There were FAR more writers, publishers, and friends there than I'd expected. I thought I'd know maybe five people there. Instead, it seemed about as populated as WHC.

I missed the Goldberg, though. And, this was the first convention I've attended as Bel, Fiction Writer, instead of Bel, Gothic.net Editor. It was very different, and I enjoyed being free-range.

And now, I sleep. When I come to, I'll be 30. This is pretty rad.
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 2:24 AM

I have nothing to complain about, of course. None of today's shit meant anything in the grand scheme of things.

But, tomorrow (today, if we count midnight as the legal go-time) I'm on a plane bound for Baltimore, and that meant that today was Prepare For My Absence Day.

Which also meant that:

My parents got the computer virus, so there were hours' worth of support calls (with me being support.) The virus itself (worm, really) isn't a real problem, more of a pain in the ass, but the accompanying crap - updating service packs, applying patches, teaching about firewalls - sucks.

I got assigned, at 3pm, a big project. I get off work at 5:30. I'd arranged to have Eike cared for tonight so I could do all the trip-prep junk (laundry, cutting hair, whatever - oh, packing, too) - and HAD to do it.

At 3:30pm, I got a call from the Beloved Tony, who needed assistance. Said assistance turned into a trip the the emergency room. No chance of completing the work project. Plus, now I get to decide, do I leave town as planned (my birthday gift from my parents) or do I stay and pet Tony?

More crap (Leeloo-orange hair; decapitated lion; horrendous dog allergies on the part of Eike's caretaker; vast drama on Paradise Hotel) ensues.

The good news is: Tony will be fine, and is in good hands. Ditto Eike. And a phone call to Geoff made me feel much better - hey, I'm supposed to have fun soon.

Fun????

I can hardly pronounce that.

It's been TWO YEARS since I've been to a convention. Yow.

List for tomorrow: go to work. Do work. Don't forget to get the earscrew thingies to keep my head from exploding on the plane. Don't forget to get Devon's presents out of my office (you know, the baby shower stuff I was supposed to give him in April and have never mailed.) Find ride to airport since Tony is incapacitated. Oh, and pack.

If I show up at the convention with no socks, no contacts, and no brain, forgive me. It's typical, but forgive me anyway.

ps. I swore - worse, said "fucking" - while on the phone with my mom tonight. That's the second time in my LIFE.

Yes, I was pretty stressed today. Yes, I left out all the really bad shit you don't need to see. But... yes, I'm feeling better (though guilty; I have no right to feel good at all when Tony's in hell.)
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 2:05 AM

Shopping list, in honor of DVD and the impending XBox (actually, said XBox is being purchased only for the following items on the shopping list, since some aren't available for PS2 at all):

Soul Calibur 2, release date SOON. voldovoldovoldo.
Baldur's Gate 2, out October 17. Axes, swords, bows!
Dungeons and Dragons: Heroes, out October fricking 17th. I see how it is.
Godzilla: Destroy All Monsters Melee, out now!
DVD on DVD: Dick Van Dyke Show seasons 1 and 2, out October.

EACH of these motherfuckers is $50.

I highly prefer the fighting games, but Tony and I rented Baldur's Gate and the cooperative play was really addictive. We've played it through about nine times now, a couple times each solo, plus a number of times together. BD2 is going to be the same way, then we'll be done with it, and coop-play Heroes looks as good as (or better than) yet another BD.

Godzilla: I'll get to fight, WITH MONSTERS. That's good enough, but I also get to STOMP CITIES. Yay yay! And it's 4-way, like Thrill Kill.

But it's SOUL CALIBUR 2 that's really making me whine. I've only played SoulBlade for psx, and lovedlovedloved it (to pieces; the disc's failed.) SoulBlade came out in 1997. The graphics and playability for a 1997 release were FANTASTIC. I get lightheaded thinking about how SC2 is going to be. Gimme gimme gimme NOW NOW NOW.

Voldo lust: let me clarify: he's annoying to play, because he's kind of a 'masher character, BUT he's fucking rad to WATCH. Not only does he look cool just standing still, but he goes all bendy-whirry. He was tough for me to play because I was too entertained by anydamnthing he did onscreen.

Did I mention that LMF is breaking up? That their final show is Friday, the 15th? That, if I had the money, I'd skip my own book release to fly instead to Hong Kong for a concert? I would.



posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 3:54 PM

I'm working on a story about witnesses, and it's made me look at things.

Untrue. I look anyway. I just wanted you to know that I was working on a story.

Our neighbor, our tenant-by-proxy, has a shower window directly across from my office window. She has nine bottles of products, presumably for shower use, lined in the window. I'm fascinated by these bottles.

Anyone that's read a few of my stories knows that artifice and facade is a big theme. This is both because I participate in it, and don't. I do wear makeup, do dye my hair. I do not pretend that I don't, and I evade compliments by saying, "It's all makeup," etc. But my girlie products, makeup aside, are: shampoo. Soap. Conditioner. Ta-da! Actually, I just bought facial cleanser stuff and face lotion stuff. That shopping trip took nearly an hour. I, muscles atrophied from too much office work, brain and vanity hurting in the face of an aisle's worth of alien products, gave up and sat on the floor, staring up at the rows of bottles, waiting for their meaning to become clear. I finally gave up and bought two things with matching packages, figuring if the same people made each, they might not combine and turn into acid on my flesh. It cost over $20, too, which baffles me when I tally up the money my female roomate must spend on all her crap, or wait for a female houseguest from out-of-town to finish unpacking her bag of juices, or when I look into the window next door.

Maybe all of these girls just keep their bottles. Maybe there's a trace of juice left in each, and they are saving each last drip for a special occasion. Maybe each bottle is full, and the product doesn't work, or itches. I can't imagine, just can't fathom, people USING all this crap.

Now and then a nice relative gives me a jug of body lotion. They know I like vanilla; there are gallon jugs of vanilla-scented lotion for sale now and then, it seems. I slick it on maybe twice, use the jug as a doorstop for a month, then give up and donate the bottle to the next male friend who needs some lubricant.

Yeah, that's what happens when I spy on the neighbor-girl's shower window: I blink at her row of bottles.

One of my favorite chores of the day, speaking of eyes, is feeding my Celestial. This, also known as a "Skygazing" fish, is a dorsal-less goldfish with big, hard cups on its head that aim its eyes to the surface. These fish are usually blind, or nearly so. Mine happens to currently be in my deepest tank. He can fend for himself when eating food that sinks, but when I feed dried worms or other floaty things, I have to hand-feed him. Any fish that can see well nearly attacks my hand; hand-feeding is fun then, but not the same as feeding the little Up-Eyes. He, survivalist that he is, cowers when the great WormHolding Hand looms, and then, just when I'm starting to get really sick of having my arm sunk to the shoulder in water, he burrows into my palm and eats as much as he can. Poor little silly.


posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 2:45 AM

Crawling to Baltimore

I have a crease under my eye. It just showed up last week. Suddenly makeup kept lining up. I flexed my face around to see which expression I've made for long enough to cause a crease - glare? Nope. Snarl? Nope. Smoking? Nope. Smile? You know me better than THAT...

Robert said: "You're thirty. [Almost.] You've been chainsmoking for 12 years, have consumed approximately 987 barrels of Jack Daniels, your nutritional intake consists of coffee and anything your car a/c blows into your mouth, and you sleep about 12 minutes a day. Why don't you look like the priest at the end of DON'T TORTURE THE DUCKLING?"

The answer: NIGHT OWLS GET NO SUN DAMAGE.

The Eike dog is growing. She learned "Down" in 3 days. We're working on "don't knock over the tea" and "let go of my hand" and "stay" now.

I'm still going to Horrorfind. I'm not doing the reading, BUT I hope to be lazily planted behind the Necro table to sign books and say howdy, one on one, to anyone who wants to stop by. The good part about stuff like that is, you get to meet the person BEFORE they've read the book. This is going to be my only chance for that. Next time I'm out and about at a convention, anybody that approaches me MAY HAVE read my book, and MAY INDEED tell me how much I suck. Or, they'll tell me how smashingly brilliant I am, and I'll be pleased but very sad, because whatever they read and liked still wasn't as good as it could have been. Oh, rage.

Question: Why were Uday and Qusay together? The best I can figure is, they refused to let each other out of sight, so mistrustful were they of each other with regard to power. Keep your enemies closer, and all that.


posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 5:25 PM