"Book Club Meeting" by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara

Since the beginning of this blog on August 1, 2010, Saturdays has been a day to celebrate BryonySeries author and Irish vampire character Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, and all things Irish.

Read this post about Ed as author, how he connects to the BryonySeries, and what he's written (so far).

And then read this piece of literary nonsense and fan fiction from Ed's third novel in his Ruthless series, called "Recovering Ruthless."

CHAPTER 8: BOOK CLUB MEETING

 

 

It was a small building that housed the Beulah County Sheriff’s Office, so the interrogation room was also the conference room. The room was what you might expect from any of the police detective movies or TV shows that air constantly in the “Who Done It” genre. Four chairs faced four chairs with a rectangular table to present evidence and a two-way mirror facing the suspect’s side. By force of habit, Marsha and Matt sat side by side with their backs to that mirror. They waited impatiently for a third person to start their book club meeting. On the table was a copy of the novel “Staked!”

 

              “It seems we’re in for a hell of a Christmas,” Marsha commented dryly. “According to the book, Beulah County will get national television coverage because of a whole bunch of things we can't explain.”

 

              “One of the rare times the county is part of the country,” Matt added, making a sour face. “Hopefully the whole thing quickly fades away. The medical mystery of John-Peter’s death shouldn't be too much of a problem in that it is a medical mystery. They'll be a whole bunch of ‘no comment’ replies to that. But the missing body of John-Peter and the sixty teenage girls with branded backs that just appear in the basement of Eircheard’s Emporium…” Matt shook his head. “At least we know to schedule extra dispatchers for Christmas.”

 

              “Are you’re worried about the State auditing our department and – maybe – arresting some of us?” Marsha asked. “I mean, we’re all fugitives in some fashion.”

 

              Matt shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll audit, but it I’m guessing it won’t be my problem. I’m not getting reelected, and that Pike fellow will be in office by the time they do. It’s not like they’re going to find any records that will incriminate anyone. All they might decide is that ‘Sheriff Matt’ didn’t bother with records. All fine with me. Beulah County never bothered with county sheriff elections.”

 

              “I guess a ‘no last names’ policy comes in handy now.” Marsha stared at the book. “Can we do anything to save John-Peter?”

 

              “Nope. Ed warned me that everything has to be consistent with the book or we’ll be messing with something he calls ‘deep time’ and we’ll all get as crazy as he is.” Matt slumped in his chair and sighed. “Anyway, I don’t see how we could save him. John-Peter dies in Ed’s imagination as it’s collapsing. And Ed Calkins and Kellen Wechsler are already dead.”

 

              “If we do nothing, nothing in the book happens,” Ed said, suddenly appearing in the room.

 

              Only Marsha was startled, and just a touch at that.

 

              “There isn’t a single word about the ‘Rules of the Damned’ in ‘Staked!’ either,” Marsha said continued. “Why would a book about Munsonville vampires omit such an important contract between the living and undead?”

 

              Ed laughed. “Don’t you understand? It’s not important. The book is about me, not law enforcement. In fact, the whole trilogy it's about me.”

 

              “This is a part of a trilogy?” Matt held up the book. “By the same author?”

 

              “Of course. Do you think she’d only write one book about how ruthless I am? Look at it from Melissa’s point of view.”

 

              “John Peter’s mother?” Marsha asked.

 

              “Yes. In the first book, ‘Bryony’, she gets introduced to me and I ask her to marry me. She didn’t say yes. After that, she falls in love with the vampire John Simon, who eventually dies for good. So then she has to marry Kellen Weschler at the end of the second book, ‘Visage’ in order to save her son’s life.”

 

              “How is that all about you?” Marsha persisted.

 

              “Don’t you see?” Ed proclaimed. “None of this would have happened if Melissa had married me in the first book. My marriages have no sex or ceremony, so she never has to sleep with a vampire. Also, she gets some of my luck and probably never falls in love with John Simons. The trilogy is a cautionary tale to young women. If Ed Calkins asks you to marry him, it might be the only time he does so. Now, The Goddess herself disagrees with this, but she only writes the books. That doesn’t mean she understands them.”

 

              “Aren’t we straying from the point here?” Matt asked irritably. “You said earlier that if we do nothing, none of the events in the book happens – and I’m wondering if that would be a good thing.”

 

              “It would not,” Ed said. “Some time before November, a pair of werewolves maul the entire town of Shelby, Munsonville, and a good part of Thornton. I was wandering alterative timelines looking for something else. Don’t ever wander in alterative timelines, but I had my reasons. Anyway, I did not stick around to see what happened or who got eaten or killed, but the number was high enough that no one left alive stays in Beulah County.”

 

             Matt sat straight up. “Sounds bad. What do we have to do?”

             

Ed looked confused.

 

              “I’m not sure,” Ed admitted. “I know it’s mostly you, Sheriff, who prevents it. I only have a supporting role, providing logistics.”

 

            Marsha’s fist came down hard on the table. “Damn you, Ed! Think!”

 

              Ed scratched his beard and thought.

 

              “I know it has something to do with a raid on Kellen Wechsler, but not at his home or business. Does that make sense?”

 

              “Arcadia then?” Matt asked, brightening.

 

              “Why, yes. You must have read ‘Before the Blood’. It was/is/will be The Goddess’ greatest work that didn’t include me. Since it was a prequel about Munsonville vampires, her omission begs the question ‘why’…probably the greatest literary mystery of all time.”

 

              “We’ve already raided Arcadia,” Matt reminded him, trying to keep Ed focused, by far Martt’s most difficult task as sheriff. “Remember? You were there when we found the room where Kellen keeps his redheaded, maiden victims. We were enforcing the treaty outlined in ‘Rules of the Damned.’ Kellen didn’t have the proper paperwork for some of them and we were able to recuse some of them and ticket him for…”

 

“Sounds really dangerous…not like something I would be in on…interrupting Kellen while he plays with his food,” Ed said, looking shocked.

 

Marsha leaped to her feet. “You moron! You were our hostage! We threated to stake you if Kellen didn’t stand down!”

 

              “I doubt that.” Ed protested, shaking his head. “We wouldn’t be still friends if you forced me, and I can’t imagine agreeing to something…”

 

              “It was your idea!” Matt and Marsha shouted in unison.

 

              Ed grinned. “Ah, another ruthlessly clever idea of mine that worked.”

 

              “Yes, yes, you’re great.” Matt waved away that topic. “Here’s the thing that’s really important, Ed. Did we already do what needs to be done?”

 

              “I’m not sure? Where in the book are you?”

 

              Marsha snorted. “We both finished it, of course!”

 

              “No, I mean what page number are we living right now? Wait, another way of asking, what day is today? Is it before Halloween or after?” But Ed answered his own question with a glance at the calendar hanging on the wall. “No. More has to be done. But the sheriff is already inclined to start that by himself. The real problem is the dream. I know what you’re planning with Trudy, and I understand. But don’t do it till she’s had the dream.”

 

              “I don’t see why anything else has to be done,” Marsha complained, clearly frustrated with Ed.

 

Seconds later, she wished she hadn’t said a word as Ed went into a long explanation about the thing they already knew.

 

             “It was a crazy but landmark treaty between the living and the vampires made between the Beulah County Sheriff’s office and the recently empowered ‘Council of the Damned,’” Ed said. “The treaty would limit the killings of living people to those fatally involved in a suicide or murder/suicide. Such people would be teleported out of their own time using a vampire-enhanced enchanted dream such as Trudy could provide. These people would then feed the vampires and let nature’s ‘autocorrect’ handle the missing corpses by letting the intention play out in the time of origin. In this way, bodies of the suicides and homicide would be found without a suspicious lack of blood. In exchange, vampires would no longer fatally feed on anyone else or risk the wrath of the ‘Council of the Damned’ and be subjected to the penalties mandated by the ‘Rules of the Damned.’”

 

              “We know that, Ed,” Matt said in a strained voice as he, too, was nearing the end of his patience. “What Marsha meant was, how does bringing back the vampire Susan Betts help? Is that in some book that you forget to give us to read?”

 

              Ed shook his head. “No. It’s definitely not in any book or I wouldn't have forgotten it. Like I said, I’ve been searching alterative timelines and it all gets really confusing really quickly. It has something to do with defeating Kellen Wechsler who may or may not have turned her. Now, in ‘Before the Blood,’ Kellen tells Bryony that Susan committed suicide after giving birth to someone you know as Grandma Sue Barnes, the founder of Sue’s Diner. Now in ‘Call of the Siren’ also by Denise Baran-Unland…”

 

              “Ed, please,” Matt pleaded, rubbing his forehead. “We’re not her to analyze or review books that haven't been written yet. Can we get back to the matter at hand? Why do we need to rescue another vampire? It seems to me that in ‘Staked!’, Kellen and you are both goners. Are you saying that the book gets it wrong? I know you’re still here, but…”

 

              “You’re right,” Ed admitted. “With time travel, even if it’s not the deep time that made me crazy, the person facing you might have already been killed in your past but not his or hers. With vampires, there’s another dimension. It’s one thing to kill a vampire, but you have to finish killing them or they just reanimate.  That’s why we needed Professor Cornell Dyer all these years. Now, in ‘The Phoenix,’ another book by the goddess, Kellen hires Cornell to…”

 

              “Stop it!” Marsha shouted. “We’re not interested in your book reviews! If anything is SOOOOO important in these other books, why didn’t you give us those to read, too?”

 

              “I shouldn’t even have given you this one.” Ed spread out his hands. “Marsha, Matt, try and understand how dangerous this is for me to bring a written work into the past it’s been written about. But trying to stay on topic, I’m almost positive Kellen survives being stabbed and cremated. He had plenty of time to plan, and he knew Melissa meant to kill him on John Peter’s birthday. You both read that in ‘Staked!’ You also know that Melissa didn’t inherit any money. It's because Kellen moved all his funds into the future.”

 

              Matt now felt more willing to take the psychotic vampire at his word.

 

“Ed, I knew Susan Betts was important. I just didn’t remember why,” Matt said, more calmly this time. I also remember a name connected to all of this, and possible controlling it as well: Lord Lawrence Girard.

 

              “Who’s he?” Marsha asked.

 

              “One of the werewolves.” Ed answered Marsha and then disappeared in a puff.

 

“Must be a younger version of himself,” Matt mumbled. “In the versions we’ve seen lately, he forgets he can do that.”

Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, Receives a Birthday Limerick

Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, BryonySeries author and Irish vampire character, reads the birthday limerick WriteOn Joliet member Recapper Jenny presented to Ed on Calkins Day (Feb. 13) 2026 at The Book Market in Crest Hill.

Are You a Member of the IVA?

Don't answer that question too quickly.

The IVA is the acronym for the Irish Vampires Association and I first learned of the IVA in 2011 when Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, and first official Irish vampire, called me one day and told me the IVA was very angry.

Shortly after this, Ed sent me an explainer of the IVA, which I should not reprint here due to the fact the IVA is a highly secret organization. 

The question of whether someone is or is not a member of the IVA is addressed in Ed's Ruthless trilogy: "Ruthless," "The Fifth," and "Recovering Ruthless."

But since you should know how to answer correctly if you're ever asked, here's Ed's explanation of the IVA to the Irish Vampire Mob in "Ruthless."

First anyone can join the IVA even if they don’t think they’re a vampire, they just have to think they’re Irish, which isn’t helpful here. 

Second, every IVA member is also an office holder, holding whatever office he or she thinks should belong to him or her. The budget for that office is the same as the members’ dues, which also isn’t helpful. 

Third, the member must initiate him or herself and tell no one about it or that he or she is a member. If someone should say something, he is immediately expelled, which is helpful because anyone who says he is a member, isn’t. 

Fourth, a member must never hurt or kill anyone he suspects might be another IVA member. The Irish Vampires Association loves whacking a vampire as much as any other vampire association, but we have so few targets since anyone could be a member.

Happy Saturday!

BryonySeries Irish Books and Ribbits at The Book Market

Be sure to pop into The Book Market in Crest Hill soon and check out the BryonySeries Irish vampire display.

We've curated seven books perfect for young adults and adults that are connected to Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, author and Irish vampire for the BryonySeries. (Ed may also be a member of the Irish Vampire Association, but the IVA is a secret association. Not even the members know who's a member).

Ed authored four of the books in our display, and he appears in all seven of the books.

Plus, we also have special prices on Cindy's Irish-themed Ribbit-Ribbits when paired with BryonySeries book purchases (while supplies last) - and a very special "pot of gold." See Janet Staley, owner of The Book Market for details and pricing.

Here's a peek at the books:

Denise M. Baran-Unland's Irish Genealogy, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara: I'm not Irish. And this series of short, humorous essays by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, do not chronicle any part of my real genealogy. But they make for amusing reading.

Ruthless, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara: Ed Calkins is bleeding to death and has seven seconds to create a son for a couple with the help of two others, who both live in his imaginary version of ancient Ireland and ruthlessly battle myth and his unruly imagination while time traveling.

The Fifth, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara: Vampires in Munsonville elude the control of both the living and the dead. And five particular vampires cause most of the trouble - while five living beings are working to keep Beulah County safe. Can these five living players bring law and order to the undead world? Or will vampires consume the blood of every living creature till there are no more?

Recovering Ruthless, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara: What will it take for an alcoholic to quit drinking, a compulsive gambler to quit betting, a vampire to quit biting, a farm to reemerge, a leprechaun to stay married, and an ancient order to reestablish? This is the story of a ruthless recovery.

Bryony, by Denise M. Barab-Unland: Grief-stricken after a terrible loss, Melissa and her family move to a remote fishing village to start a new life. Little does she realize that the dreams she's having are far more sinister - and have repercussions far beyond those dreams.

Visage, by Denise M. Baran-Unland: While grieving the abrupt end of her blood bargain with 19th century pianist John Simons, 18-year-old Melissa flings herself into a relationship with a college music professor, a man with a shady reputation and an uncanny resemblance to John.

Staked!, by Denise M. Baran-Unland: A teen music prodigy lives in a remote fishing village, works for a newspaper delivery uncle and a funeral director stepfather, has a princess in his mirror, and his father was staked by his best friend’s father. That's the old normal.

Maybe one of these books is right for you?

And for an extra bit of Irish luck Ed Calkins-style, consider pairing the book with a ribbit - or maybe even the entire pot of gold.

Happy Tuesday!

When Vampires and Brownies Run Newspaper Routes

 Enjoy this excerpt from Ruthless by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara.

The boo0k is part of the BryonySeries and is based on Ed's experiences (real and imaginaries).

When it’s my turn, I back my van to a large cloth bin reinforced with a light metal frame. Each bin holds about a ton of scrape paper. In no time, I’m dumping the baskets into the bin and throwing the empty basket into the back of my van, where the brownies can reload it without being seen. Unloading alone might take me four hours and a sore back, but this way, I filled the first bin in minutes. The recycler gave me an empty bin before taking the full one to be weighed with a forklift. I’m out of papers when I filled that one. The brownies peek through the rear window as the man in a jump suits counts out two twenty-dollar bills.

I jump in the van and speed off, lest the other people hear the brownies raging at the unfair payment for so much paper. Explaining that this paper is actually money would take hours. In their time-scape money, valuable metals are worth only what the metal is worth. I’m tired of explaining it. It took my hours to explain “writing,”  so I capitalize on that.

“This paper says, brownies get breakfast,” I announced. “This other paper says, Steward gets breakfast.”

My mythical friends are skeptical.

I know where to feed them, a place where I can bring them in and let them pick out what they want without having to explain anything. Eircheard’s Emporium in Jenson (thirty minutes west of Munsonville) is owned and managed by a powerful leprechaun that easily passes for a human, down to his clay pipe and broken teeth. He’ll know how to please brownies for a double sawbuck. My companions have nothing to fear from Eircheard, but to me, it’s “buyer beware.”

I made sure no other customers were in the store before I let the brownies in. Eircheard scolded me because my small friends were making him close his door to other, more promising patrons, but close his doors he did. I gave him the twenty and kept close watch on the value of what he allowed and disallowed.

Eircheard also kept watch as he sat behind the counter, puffing away.

“There are twenty-four brownies,” he reported. “Shouldn’t there be twenty-five?”

I actually don’t know what became of the last brownie. He was there when they were using their unearned brownie points. Eircheard listened to my denial suspiciously. He’s not from the same realm as these brownies, so he doesn’t trust them. He’s from a later time in Tara, when humans were less respectful of magical creatures and sacred hills of Tara in favor of other human structures.

“Does paper say brownies get honey?” they asked the Eircheard after selecting butter, soda bread, and jam. He nods that it does. To my count, even the small jar of honey left two dollars and thirty-three cents.

In the back of my mind, I hear a little angel ask about the breeders. What do they get? Aren’t they worth at least the change? Isn’t bad enough for the females that they are called ‘breeders’ rather than wives?

“Oh, look at pretty rocks!”

A brownie noticed a bag of aquarium stones in the back of the store. To his ancient eye, they looked quite valuable.

“Those magical stones are not for brownies but breeders. They make breeders more beautiful,” I fudged. Then looking at Eircheard, I added, “But that’s the last thing the paper gives.”

Eircheard nodded, “I can deliver them myself, if you give me the coordinates to the time-scape.”

Now Eircheard could use the portal here instead of traveling so far. I, of course, decline. There are only two beings I fear, and he’s the other.

Joyful and jumping, the brownies take their treasures into the big white wheel box. Honey over bread is like steak and lobster to the sidhe.

We were on our way to Munsonville when it hit me. Do I have a place to live? Homelessness is common among new vampires but it’s hardly a problem. I somehow know that if I can’t find a place to lay my undead head, I can always return to the place and time when I died and stay put until it’s time to wake. Time-scape required memories always seemed to come as needed, but it’s hard to make long-term plans.

Short term plans…did I have money? A vague memory nagged of someone stabbing me with a knife and taking my wallet. Wasn’t I shot? I should eat. I look to where I left the other double sawbuck, but it’s gone!

“Steward too fat!” Ramon poked his finger at my belly.

His fingers seemed to puncture the very memory. I wish it were the way it happened, making me guiltless in the eyes of my Little Angel. I’m bleeding, and I look down. This Thornton Times is too bloody to deliver. Where would I get another Thornton Times? Where are my Daily Posts? Or my Munsonville Weeklies? I heard the voice of John telling me not to worry, but it’s Ramon.

“Paper should say, ‘No food for Steward.’ Ramon should keep paper till Steward not so fat.”

“Maybe another time,” I told myself, then glanced off the road long enough to look at Ramon, “There once was a brownie quite bad. His greed got the Steward real mad…”

“No! No pretty words. Steward gets paper. Brownie no steal babies.” Ramon put the twenty on the dashboard.

That’s how you do ruthless. I haven’t forgot about you there, still spying on me. I’ve already told you, if you really want to understand Ed Calkins, you have to read, and then reread, Robert Frost’s poem. And if you want to believe in Ed Calkins, you have to step through the mirror. Instead, you’re going to follow a man and his brownies delivering papers? Can you see why I think you have too much time on your hands?

OK, I’ll be merciful. If you really want to, I’ll let you watch me eat without making fun of you. Not so with the brownies, I realize. So before I can head to Sue’s Diner in Munsonville I have to drive in the opposite direction to the Happy Hunting Grounds funeral parlor in Thornton, about an hour west from Jenson.

By the time I get there, it’s afternoon and the place is conducting a funeral, but brownies are really good at sneaking in somewhere. They know where the portal is (in the door mirror of the women’s restroom), which might be a problem if anyone was ever brave enough to use it. I pull up under the pretense that I’m redelivering a newspaper. The funeral staff waves me away before I can get out of the van, but the brownies are gone.

Now, you get to watch me eat. Are you happy? I drive back to Munsonville and parked in front of Sue’s Diner. Once inside, I realized I don’t want to be seated.

“Hello number eleven,” I charmed the hostess/manager, whom I married when she was waiting tables. See what happens when you marry Ed Calkins? But don’t underestimate her. She used to work for a veterinarian in Shelby (this is her retirement job), and she is very, very smart.

“Hello husband three, the only husband I don’t hate now. Can I get you a seat? I’ve got something to tell you and I think it’s important.”

“Actually, I wanted a ‘to go’ order, liver, hold the onion. Could I possibly get it raw? I’m going to cook it much later.”

“Ed, I can’t sell raw food.”

“Extra rare then?”

“That I can do. You’ve been working on that program too hard. Are you getting enough sleep?”

Suddenly, I knew where I lived. It’s a studio apartment within walking distance from here. I also know the apartment is somehow bigger on the inside then on the outside. I know, too, that I am hiding the location from everyone expect Ruthie, wife number eleven, and even she is not to see the inside.

As I’m standing there, she’s telling me about a man on the phone waiting for his food earlier this morning. She heard the name, ‘Ed Calkins’ and started eavesdropping. He was bragging that he busted me, something about Shoppers found in a dumpster in my area. She’d heard him say, “We’re going to make an example out of this guy,” but his boss was objecting loud enough to be heard, saying that anyone can dump anything in someone else’s area and that only the serial numbers could prove it was Ed. Later a phone call came while he was eating. Apparently, they sent someone to check those papers and it was a different account, so they dropped it. The guy, who must have been deaf because his phone was turned up quite loudly, tried to insist that Ed was also dumping for other accounts and this was one of them. The other voice called the man Jake, and said it was too far of a reach, that if police were going to get involved, they would want evidence.

“Watch your back, husband,” Ruthie concluded. “These guys are really out to get you. What did you do to them?”

“I know too much.”

When I was alive, I feared Jake would have to disgrace me, not just get rid of me. But now that I was a vampire, I could easily deal with him. I wouldn’t bite him, he’s not my type, but I could bite his wife or mistress, change them into vampires, and compel them to make his life miserable. I would have much fun exposing him as the hypocrite he always was. I can only wish Trudy would be here to see that happen.

But the voice of my Little Angel is as much a part of me as my being a vampire. She wouldn’t approve. More than that, subjugating people into vampires isn’t healthy, as most vampires are killed by other vampires and no one has better a motive then a subjugated vampire. Better I write his limerick in every bathroom stall I find until the words became so popular that when historians seek its origin, they will trace it to the ruthless Ed Calkins, and Jake’s name will live in infamy. Yeah, let history right things. I’ll set the brownies to writing in bathrooms…after I teach them to write. I’ll have to teach them what writing is first. I’m in no hurry.

Ruthie gave me a hug as she handed me my food. I smelled her neck and felt an urge stronger than I’ve ever felt. Hell, if I maul her, I’ll be “Ruth-less.” Listen, ye who spy on me. When I make a joke, you laugh. Never mind, I can’t even laugh at that one.

Almost reflexively, I drove to my secret studio apartment. After parking the van, I closed my eyes so you can’t see where this apartment is. I’ve dreaded this moment, for I’m about to learn who is missing from my life in this time-scape, which will be my home in hiding for the rest of my existence. I won’t remember people unimportant to me, but those that have become a part of me, such as my Little Angel, Trudy, my son, my long time roommate, and any that I really could call close; they would be free of my vampire time disruption. I will be very lonely, I know.

John tried reassuring me as he drained my blood. Vampires throw great parties, he said, and I’ll meet new friends and enemies. As a vampire, the enemies will be more fun than the friends. But I know already that I don’t have time for parties right now; that I’m working on something so secretive, it’s a secret even from John.

I looked around my one-room apartment and saw nothing but a bed, dresser, and closet with few clothes. I know I have more things than this. Then I see the full-length mirror. Well, to you it’s a mirror, to me it’s a portal. I can see the desk and computer tower on the other side. Oh yeah!

With hesitating, I stepped into the mirror, a narrow, flashing prism with bouncing rainbow light waves against tens of transparent sides. Walking through the portal made the view of my bed go away, but I’ll find it when I need it. Eventually a hole of illumination appeared at the portal’s far end, a chasm that expanded and brightened as I neared the exit.

The computer is off. I cold booted it and the monitor displayed “HHG”. I know exactly where I am and it’s not “now.” I’m in the basement of Happy Hunting Grounds, which has equipment for embalming, but what it’s actually used for would surprise you.

There’s a vb6 editor and compiler on this machine with a recent project in the cache. The code refers to subdirectories with pictures in them. What kind of demented pervert is working on this? My God, this is disgraceful!

“Vampires need to feed,” some voice in my head is defending itself or something else. I compiled and ran the user interface to learn more, and then I blushed at my shameful arousal. The graphic interface shows the pornography - for psychopaths.

But what’s this other code? It’s another front-end graphic interface. Programs of this type have a front end and a back end, but why two front ends? What kind of darkness is this?

A particular evil is …well, very particular and evilly wants me to rule the Kingdom of the Damned. As king, I would bring peace and harmony to all the vampires of the world. I alone could create a vampire utopia. Ending the petit feuds among them, I could unite all undead creatures to a common cause and create a standard of living that would enrich all among the shadow realms as a benevolent overlord would naturally do.

The program I’m writing will ensure that never happens.

My ruthless smile widened. I bit into my very rare liver like it was the very neck of Ruthie.

"Four Words to go Forward or Four More to Drop Back" by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara

Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara is so busy working on his second novel (buy his first one here and my Irish genealogy here) and sending me excerpts that he's stopped sending blog posts for the time being - and who can blame him?

He's also now a full-fledged member of WriteOn Joliet and read this piece to the group last Thursday evening. 

For a sneak peek of where Ed's mind (and writing) is heading, read on. 

  Four Words to go Forward or Four More to Drop Back

              Who are you and what do you want? Whatever it is, now is not a good time. You see, I’m dropping into my imagination right now, which is trickery than it might be for you. To me, imagining is like waking from a deep, disturbing, desolate, dream to find myself in the middle of something that should be important but doesn’t feel that way because of the incomplete transition. The sounds are sharper, the colors more vibrant and the consequence more enduring, but the facts confuse me and I’m unsure which concerns are from the dream, and which are of my compulsory imaginary life.

              Right now, I’m in an office of some type and everyone is angry, which is why you should go. I can feel your disembodied presence lurking in my mind. I believe you can perceive my conscious thoughts as clearly as if I said them aloud, but I can’t hear your thoughts at all but rather I can guess at what you might be feeling. I can’t tell your gender or specie, but I do know, without knowing how that you’re here for some sort of story. You’re not going to leave until it’s told, are you?

              But enough about you. Let’s talk about me.

              As always when I’m waking from reality, it takes me awhile to reckon much and I need clues to reinforce my memory. Still, I can always remember five things that give me a starting point to fill in the details.

              First, I am the famous, one and only, Ed Calkins. Really? You’ve never heard of me? I am the soul and creation of the most prolific novelist of all time, and thou that author, the Goddess, never realized it, I am the true meaning of her work. True, I did exist before she wrote about me, but my existence was just a bad excuse for unrealized dreams of world domination. Once the series was written, world domination seemed unworthy of my greatest.

 I won’t judge you as an ignorant person. I chose to focus on how courageous and honest you’re being by admitting that. Clearly, you’ve never read any of the novels written by the Goddess who crafted the ‘Bryony’ series; something you should be doing now instead of haunting a mixed up mind. That, or you read only the later of her books and totally missed the point. Perhaps you’re from an earlier time? Lesser folk might judge you and name you, ‘Ignorant’ or ‘Caveman’, or other such insulting nick names. I shall think of you as ‘Cah’ the first letters of ‘Courageous and Honest’. But really, Cah, you should leave.

              The second thing is that I am ruthless. In saying so, I left out the word ‘very’ which belongs before the word ‘ruthless’ and should be repeated a varying number of times depending on the various variances that my mind will verify, which is way I left the word ‘very’ and all its forms out of my statement. Are you as confused as I am? Yet right now instead of wondering how best to clarify my thoughts I am wondering who would trouble with the English language and not read the Goddess’s novels? To put it plainly. ‘Ed Calkins’ equals ‘ruthless’ times ‘very’ raised to the nth power where n is the variable representing ‘situation’. By rights, I should name that variable ‘s’, but I don’t want to come across as a nerd.

              The third thing is simple but center to my existence. Newspaper delivery is important. If it weren’t for the need for newspapers to find their customers, I would simply not exist. Don’t waste too much time I that as I’ll circle back to it.

              Fourth and final is that I have many wives all over the times and places of the planet and will continue to marry more; many without their knowledge. I’m allowed this as marrying Ed Calkins is painless and easy as the word ‘yes’. However, I can only bed one being who is my eternal lover. This is known as the pink machete rule. Relax! I’ll circle back to that one too.

              You’re still here.

              Please try to understand. This meeting seems very important and judging from the fact that everyone else is situated around the large oak desk, and I’m the only one behind it, I’m supposed to be leading this anger…or at least answering to it. The meeting seems to have short middle aged men on one side and attractive young women on the other. Maybe by suppling you with that detail you’ll forget that I forgot the fifth thing.

              Dang! It’s hard to deceive someone intruding in your stream of consciousness. Believe me, Cah, this is no time for a story.

              Ok, I give up. Go ahead with your story.

              Wait.

You’re the silent one. I’m supposed to tell this story? Well, as much as I’d do anything to make you happy, my telling a story is impossible as it requires me to know a story. I’m sure it you hang around long enough for my memory to come back I’ll be able to come up with something. Hey, here’s a better idea. Go to the library and look under ‘Author’ for ‘Goddess’. You’re not going to do that, are you. Ok, I remember Goldilocks and the Three Bears…most of it. I don’t remember how it starts.

              Maybe I supposed to tell the story that’s happening in my imagination now…just tell it as it happens? Bad idea. Why is the fifth thing I always remember that I just forgot. The fifth thing is four little details so less important than the other four that it’s easy to forget but it makes story narratives a really bad idea. I’m a dyslexic, psychotic, time traveling, vampire. Cah, none of this is good for you.

              The vampire thing…that can be fatal. Forget about biting. Vampires, especially long enduring ones, are often literally bored to death, and I am the longest enduring vampire in history. While its truth that those other four things that I never forget mitigates some of that boredom, empathizing with me might bore you to death. Time travel is very confusing, and dyslexic makes a mess of the order of words and numbers, not to mention when words sound similar (remember the ‘very’ thing) Don’t even get me started on the psychotic thing which will drive you crazy.

              Cah, if you want me to do this, I’ll try, but damn it would be so much better if you used your library card.

              Let me start by describing the room a little better. It would be a good guess that I’m in Ireland right now…or at least as I imagine it. The two parties, which seem to be as angry with the other as they are with me, are leprechauns and merrows.

              Stop!

              Cah, put the damn digital dictionary down!

              I told you I was dyslexic, which means, if I’m to tell the story with my thoughts, I have to do it the way I’ve learned to think. I can’t just give you the background, I have to map it out first. That means I’m going to say things you can possibly understand, use words you might not be familiar with or even don’t exist. But I’ll circle back to all of it and explain it better when you have more contexts. That way, it won’t matter if I forget a detail or two, or even mix up the order. You’ll have some of the answers to put it right in your own mind. Besides that, you’ll have perspective of the other narrating characters to form your own sense of the plot. In that way, you might come to know the story as well as I do, or even better. You might disagree with me on what happened. What fun that would be!

              Think of it this way. When I was young and as confused as I am right now, my future self appeared before me and insisted that I memorize forty words; made me repeat them until I said them all without any mistakes; and disappeared without explaining any of it. The forty words made no sense, and some were words I never heard before. Try as I did to remember all of them, I started forgetting some as I practiced in my head on my way to wherever I was compelled to go. I found myself in a classroom where final exams where happening. I had no memory of ever taking a class on the subject, but when the test appeared on my desk, I realized those words were the answers to the forty questions. Even the words I thought I forget, when prompted with the question, I was able to recall. Not everything made complete sense, but I did know a lot more about forty words. I still flunked, however, as I knew how to say the words, but didn’t have a clue how to spell them.

              Cah, you are in the same position here, expect instead of forty words, you have four. If you wish to understand the story, you need remember only four words…Ed Calkins, ruthless, newspapers, wives (or the pink machete rule if you prefer.) If you want reasons not to understand the story, the four words change to dyslexic, psychotic, time travel, vampire. Either way, the answers are before you. The point is, don’t give up just because you don’t understand, I don’t understand half the stuff I’m thinking either, but I am mapping it out, and it will all make sense in the end.

              But you wanted to know about merrows. For now, I’ll just ask you to think of them as Irish mermaids with legs.

              Together, we’ll look for the next clue, which might be this letter on my desk.