river_kate | Entries tagged with dark shadows

Thank goodness it's supposed to rain for the next couple of days. I have this weird anxiety that every pleasant day we have now will be the last one for weeks and weeks. So I push myself to go out and overdo things. Yesterday was sunny and it got up to 61 degrees out. It's raining now and I can stay in, relax and get some things caught up.
I have been eating things with sugar in them and I know that messes me up. It has somewhat of a drug effect. Tomorrow I'll be eating lots and lots of other things I guess. Eating and staying in out of the rain.
My NaNo novel has over 30,000 words now. I'm sure I'm going to finish it but I've used up almost all of my main plot already. I suppose I could indulge myself and have the characters talk a lot and show off their personalities. That's what I did today and it was rather amusing. I'm getting Willie Loomis a girlfriend. My main character somehow has her own guest bedroom in three of the mansions around Collinsport. She takes her cat with her in it's carrier. She is painting another portrait of a ghost. This time, one of Josette.
I went to my first NaNo write-in on Tuesday and was reminded of how painfully shy and socially awkward I can be. It began at 10:00 a.m. and I usually begin my real day around noon. Other people already knew each other, they have college degrees and they are writing original work. I was the oldest person there and the only one writing fanfiction. At least there was a man wearing a leather pleated skirt. All that was O.K. but the worst part for me was the little races, challenges and word wars. That sort of thing is not fun for me, doesn't help and I truly was unable to count my handwritten words so I didn't. The others chatted amongst themselves and I just kept writing. I guess I will once again stick with what is working for me, which always seems to be different from what works for others.
With 30,000 words, maybe I'll take the day off tomorrow, unless I am truly inspired.
I don't see aura's but I know how to work with colors to change them and when I actually do it for awhile, I am able to make a difference in my life. It is usually tempting to take brute action like most people do instead, but I'm wanting to coax myself into meditating with the colors for a few days. I'll see how that goes.

It has been years since I've used an alarm clock and I usually stay in bed until I feel like getting up. This morning it was pleasant to wake up with the sun streaming in and it was an hour earlier because of the time change yesterday.

Yesterday, I slept most of the morning because I'd stayed up to start on my NaNo novel. As of right now, I have over 5,000 words. I am including random things I've noticed; today it was an early 1800's blue and white flower patterned, porcelain opium vial that my main character had found previously while hiding in the attic of the Old House at Collinwood. I haven't spent a lot of time looking at the forums of the NaNo website, but in the fan fiction "other genre" section, I seem to be the only one doing Dark Shadows fan fiction.

What have I been doing? I've stayed outdoors as much as possible when the weather is great. There have been the usual issues and crisis that have derailed me and laid me low. A couple of times I wanted to resign from the human race. I have distracted myself from dealing with the clutter in my apartment. But mostly, I have recently discovered the "Midsomer Murders" series from the BBC. Truly, I had never heard of it before. I don't have a television and have never had cable. One day, when I desperately wanted to watch something that I didn't already own, I found myself at the local record store looking at DVD's. I bought the first set and loved it. I went back and bought two more sets which is all they had. Then I ordered some from Amazon before I thought of the local library. They have them, although I have to keep checking to get the available ones.

I love the accents, love the houses and the scenery. England must be beautiful. Farms and animals are shown. The music is pleasant to listen to; no jarring, loud, abrasive rock music. No extended gun battles or car chases and only rare explosions. The main character has a good marriage and his daughter is functional and loves her parents. People generally have good manners and are not continually making smart, rude remarks to each other. Yes, they do kill each other sometimes.

The other DVD sets I watched recently were the first three seasons of "Weeds." I began watching because a good friend really likes them. I finished because I was interested to see what would happen. I dislike the people and almost everything about the show. Never mind why.

But now I am writing my novel.

August 24, 1967

This morning I met with my new employers at The du Val Antique Shoppe. I’ll be working about fifteen hours a week, mostly doing consulting, restorations and appraisals. Today I looked at two old portraits and got a brief tour of the shop. Most of the objects are from the local area and I could feel the stories in some of them.
Later, I stopped at Janine’s place to look at her jewelry. She seems to be quite talented and was receptive to suggestions that might make her work more commercially acceptable. That could eventually enable her to work fewer hours at the Collinsport Inn. There were a couple of sketches on a corner table that were quite good but she said they weren’t hers and seemed reluctant to talk about them.
Tomorrow I am to meet with my father’s cousin, Professor Stokes. He’s quite busy but sounded genuinely interested in meeting with me. My evening meal was prepared in my small kitchen here at the Inn. I am an excellent cook and enjoy preparing my own meals. The vibration of the one preparing food has an effect and often I don’t care for the meals I get in restaurants. However, the apple pie from the coffee shop downstairs was quite good; I have brought it up here instead of lingering downstairs. People are still talking about the kidnapped girl who seemed to return from the dead and also about the attacks in town. That, plus the howling of the dogs tonight makes me want to stay in with a good book.

August 23, 1967

There are many charming cottages in Collinsport and I continue to become more familiar with the lay of the land here. Not only am I looking for a rental home but also a place for the artist’s cooperative. In the end, I’ll probably meet with a leasing agent for Collins Enterprises.
My neighbor upstairs in the penthouse is rather aggressive and displays big city behavior and attitude and is no one that I care to meet. Mr. Wells continues to be kind and generous with information about Collinsport. Yesterday afternoon I stopped in at a popular local drinking establishment called The Blue Whale for a beer. I sat at the bar with the intent to make it clear that I wasn’t looking to be picked up but no one bothered me. The few people in there seemed to be locals who knew each other.
Much later in the evening I walked by The Blue Whale as they were closing. There were two men leaving and it seemed very odd seeing them together. Both seemed to be sophisticated men-of-the-world. One of them was the penthouse guy, who seems very modern and looks like he might have ties to organized crime. The other appeared very theatrical, as though he were from another century. I had forgotten all about the warnings to be indoors after dark until the theatrical-looking gentleman gave me a look that chilled me to the bone.

Chapter Two: At the Inn

August 22, 1967

My small suite of rooms will be adequate for me here and I’ve made myself familiar with the restaurant menu. There was a mix-up with my reservations. Apparently the penthouse suite has been occupied for some time by a business tycoon who has roots in Collinsport. A clerk substituting for a Mr. Wells, the man I had originally spoken with, thought that the penthouse would be available at the time I made my reservation. It is straightened out; I am comfortable with another small suite; I can see my van in the parking lot from my window, I don’t need a large sitting room and the small kitchen will work for a week or so.
Unpacking just a few things, I’ve been looking at a newspaper, going for walks along the waterfront and resting after the drive from Boston. There are some treacherous roads in this area, a bit different from the roads in Colorado. People have looked at me as though I’m oddly dressed and not a typical tourist, but they’ve been friendly. One of the first things I did was put up the wreath that grandmother sent. It was fixed to the inside of my hotel door and then this afternoon Mr. Wells kindly informed me that it had frightened the maid, so I put it back in the van. Father told me that some people still tended towards superstition in this part of the world.
Usually I am rather reserved around new people but I sensed that the coffee shop waitress was feeling down so I drew her out a little after the lunch crowd had left today. Her name is Janine and she’s lived here all her life. She’s very shy and is an aspiring jewelry maker and there’s no living to be made in that according to her, so she must work at a job she dislikes for the time being.
She seemed quite taken by the old Victorian necklace I was wearing. I told her that beaded jewelry sold better in other parts of the country and that in time it might sell better here. We talked about the artist’s cooperative that was hopefully going to become a success here and I offered to look at the pieces she’s made at her convenience. She brightened up a bit when I suggested she might think about building up her inventory over the winter.
It seems that part of the challenge with her job is that she’s an introvert and has replaced a popular young woman in the small restaurant. The woman had gone missing, was declared dead and suddenly returned a few days ago with no memory of where she’d been. Janine said she was doing her best but it was discouraging when tourists who’d been there seasonally in years past kept asking where the woman was. She had felt the need to tiptoe around the facts and it just wasn’t her personality to be dynamic like the outgoing Maggie. We talked a bit more about the importance of being oneself in a world that seems to want everyone to conform and she looked prettier and seemed more cheerful by the time I left.
Both she and Mr. Wells have cautioned me about staying outdoors after dark. Apparently there have been attacks on animals and women in the area recently and the authorities had been unable to stop them so far. Collinsport doesn’t seem to be the type of place for crime and violence but I’m keeping in mind the cautions from my parents and grandmother about this area.

August 20, 1967

My father is well and we have been enjoying my visit to Boston. He has been filling me in on some of the family history and sharing information about some of my relatives in the area I’ll be moving to.
He has a cousin, a Professor T. Elliot Stokes, in the area and has arranged for me to call on him once I am settled. Another cousin on his mother’s side was married to an artist named Samuel Evans. She is deceased but has a daughter in the area. My father doesn’t know Mr. Evans at all, but with him being in the artist community I may eventually meet him.
My grandmother sent a small, protective wreath from Vancouver when she learned that I was moving to Maine. It is to go on my front door, either outside or inside. Tomorrow I leave my father’s house and make the drive up to Collinsport.

August 16, 1967

The northeastern United States is beautiful and I’ve been stopping the van to make quick sketches of scenes that really draw my interest. This is something that used to annoy Evan when we were married; he preferred me to use most of my attention on him. We should have never married. He is fourteen years older than I and we were very attracted to each other when we met in San Francisco. A fling would have been acceptable to me but he had never married, wanted to settle down and cared about his professional image. His idea of settling down turned out to be taking long, frequent business trips. I loved him and believed we could make the marriage work.
What is it about people who think they can change their partner after marriage? It’s that old story. Evan is very successful and wealthy. He loves accumulating money and making deals. He was free do as he pleased with that but I did not share his enthusiasm. Then there was the matter of my appearance. I love to dress in Victorian clothes, velvets, ruffles and vintage jewelry. I look good in them and wore them when we were dating. After our marriage the subtle remarks about my personal style began and then they became stronger and more frequent. I am an artist, writer and herbalist among other things and eventually those occupations became suspect and even ridiculed by my new husband. Willingly I attended business functions with him in attire he approved of but I was not agreeable to giving up my life and my style for him. Then there were my natural gypsy tendencies and my restlessness that complicated things.
When I want to feel invisible I wear gypsy style clothes. My other clothes tend to be shaded colors and I look beautiful in them. People actually see me. When I wear the gypsy clothes and jewelry, people see them and not me. They’re only aware of what I’m wearing and either hate it or love it. Mostly they dislike it. I am therefore rather invisible to them which is sometimes what I want to achieve.
The thing that finally finished our marriage was my refusal to have children. We had agreed on that before we married but then Evan changed his mind, wanting someone to leave his fortune to. I was willing to adopt to avoid the affliction that comes with my bloodline but that was not acceptable to Evan.
There is madness in his family also. Generations ago, his ancestors lived at Collinwood. The Collins that Evan is descended from was away at school with his siblings when they got word that their parents were dead. It was in the early 1800’s and their father, Gabriel, had murdered his own father, their mother Edith, his brother-in-law and who knows who else. It was all hushed up and covered over by the Collins fortune and the three children were removed as far as possible from Collinsport. They seemed to become obsessed with removing the taint from their lives. This has been passed down through the generations and has affected Evan’s business dealings. He is scrupulously honest and an overly law-abiding citizen and expects others to be so too. That was fine with me but after awhile, his being so uptight and rigid began to wear on me. We remain friends and he is mildly curious about what I might discover of his extended family in Collinsport.

August 12, 1967

Last night with the help of friends, I finished boxing up my belongings to be put into storage. I’ve reserved a suite of rooms for two weeks at the Collinsport Inn and have easily found someone who’s more than happy to rent my place and take care of it here. It’s a small log cabin that sits near a creek in a Colorado mountain town. It will make a wonderful vacation retreat in years to come and a part of me will always be here. It’s easier to communicate with nature spirits in a place like this than in a city where the thoughts and emotions of people are so overbearing. Not only am I to travel a long distance in miles but also in altitude, from high on this mountain to the sea level of Collinsport.
I’d like to fly to Boston to see my parents and have my things mailed to me, but I have too many cooking utensils and then there are my herbs and potions and all the paraphernalia that goes with working with them. So I’m packing my VW bus with all that it can carry and am going to drive east. I’ll need a vehicle in Maine anyway and there are so many great memories associated with this van. Actually, I could sleep in it when I get to Collinsport; I’ve slept in it before, but I’m aware of the impression that I want to make in the community. Staying at the Inn will better serve my purposes.
My herbal recipes and knowledge came from my mother Elise, who is a descendent of gypsies. Working with potions and remedies is like any relationship, it needs to be carefully attended to and nurtured for the bond to remain strong. I am looking forward to meeting the plants, trees, birds and small creatures around Collinwood as much as I am the people.

August 13, 1967

My mother, Elise, is the descendent of a long line of Collinsport fishermen on her father’s side. Her grandmother was a half-gypsy orphan who was born in the area. As an infant, the orphan was cared for by a local woman. A gentle, elderly couple from the Bedford area adopted her when she was seven years old. She was told very little about where she came from. Her father was a local gentleman and could only offer financial support and her dead mother was a gypsy singer named Jenny. She’d always felt she had a twin brother somewhere but was told it was her imagination. She didn’t know where her mother was buried or why her adoptive parents were so secretive about her father. Perhaps they didn’t know who he was. As a happy child, she didn’t question much and so the facts have been lost to history.
My mother has few relatives. There is a rare genetic disease that affects the males in the family which results in insanity, violence and death. My mother has told me the little she knows about it and that is why I’ve chosen not to have children, which is one of several reasons my marriage to Evan didn’t last.
The inherited disease was attributed to a gypsy curse. It was tragic for the women in the family as well and as a result they tried many remedies to alleviate it. That may be why my grandmother married a banker named Trask who was from an old, established, New England family. My grandfather Trask was a handsome man but was unattractive because of his coldness and perpetual scowling.
Raph tells me that much of what is hidden in darkness cries out to be healed and that true healing cannot occur by blanketing the pain with a more socially acceptable form of darkness. I cannot judge my grandmother for her choice of a husband. Trask appeared to come from a respectable family but they had their own brand of darkness and dysfunction. It was a disaster, of course. Elise was ten when my grandmother left her husband. She took Elise to Vancouver where she opened an apothecary shop which she still runs today.
Believing that children should know their grandparents, my mother took me to see Trask a few times. The last time was when I was twelve and beginning to experiment with make-up. My grandfather kept squinting at me and finally told me that he could see the devil in me. That didn’t insult or flatter me; I merely found it interesting. Having been raised to freely speak my truth, I told him that his perceiving the devil in me must mean that it was my inheritance from him. My mother and I left shortly after the visit began to deteriorate.
He’s still in the area and there’s a chance we will meet with recognition but I don’t intend to seek him out.

August 14, 1967

I’ve been on the road for about a day now and am enjoying the trip. There’s an 8-Track player in my van and I’ve been listening to Aretha Franklin, The Doors, The Jefferson Airplane, The Supremes and The Rolling Stones. Also, I picked up a hitch-hiker who’s going to Ames, Iowa.
Just before I got on the road, I called my father from a diner’s pay phone. I learned that my mother had left Boston for a trip to Mexico to search for a special kind of clay with a particular mineral content. He said she sent her love and would visit when I got settled in Collinsport. Not everyone has a mother who would just take off to a foreign country in search of some dirt.
My great-great Aunt Magda had shared some of her gypsy wisdom with her niece, my great-grandmother. It took awhile for the adoptive parents to trust Magda. They were afraid she’d snatch the child away. They began to trust her after they saw how much the child enjoyed her company and after Magda had told their fortunes for free. The gypsy told them with heart-break in her voice and manner that she’d already ruined the child’s life enough and promised she would leave the girl in her new home. The couple had no idea what she meant by that but felt it was sincere.
Not all of Magda’s knowledge was shared, of course, just what she deemed necessary for the girl to live the best life possible. This knowledge has been passed down through the matriarchal line and I have learned much from my mother.

August 10, 1967

Destiny is paving the way for me to arrive in Collinsport with a plausible reason for being there. As soon as I made my decision to answer my inner calling, I was recruited to go to the small coastal village. Thanks to my professional credentials and experience I am qualified for the opportunities. Because of the connections of my father, Germain Stokes who is originally from the area, the inquiring parties learned of my existence. The mere pittance being offered eliminated my competition and my recent and very lucrative divorce from Evan Collins enabled me to afford to accept the positions.
While I do have extra natural abilities, in this case I am unable to see what lies ahead of me. All I know is that I must go. Two of my invisible companions, Raph and Rose, are eager to go with me. Three for the price of one, way more than my future employers have bargained for.

August 11, 1967

All morning I’ve been packing up my paintings to put into storage. Fortunately I don’t have to depend on them to earn a living. Most of my things will be put into storage to be sent for later if things work out for me in Collinsport. I’ve been carefully selecting the belongings to take with me, holding them in my hands for a moment to feel if they contain the vibrations that I want with me there.
My father wants me to visit with him and Mother in Boston before I go. He is a professor and many in his family have academic careers. I grew up reading books that most other children didn’t read and was disappointed when I went to the university and found it to be dull. My father’s family came from very humble beginnings in this country, his ancestor being an indentured servant who could neither read nor write until mid-life. He was patiently taught by his employer and came to deeply value literacy and the sharing of it with those who are sincerely interested. This has been passed down through the generations in the Stokes family.
My antique restoration and appraisal experience partly came from my father; I learned some at the university and I also apprenticed with a young couple, the Todd’s, in their antique shop. There I learned more about the market value of antiques, profits and presentation but I have my own standards for what is of value. There are empty spaces between the particles in objects and these spaces hold vibrations which I can feel. I would rather have a simple object that has absorbed the good feelings from a harmonious home than to have a rare, expensive item that carries depression and anger. The Todd’s, while enthusiastic, had no knowledge of this. They were very much in love and paid little attention to me. I believe they planned to move to the east coast at some point. I’ve lost touch with them and suppose they will live a long, pleasant and boring life together.
Another activity I’ll be involved in is helping to organize a local artist’s collective. That will be as a volunteer and I have experience. These different and diverse avenues will give me flexibility in my schedule and will allow me to mingle with the community while I discover why I’ve been drawn to the area. I’ve already been able to casually brush off my last name of Collins as a mere coincidence to the people I’ve communicated with so far. Now I must get back to my packing.

Chapter One: Journey To Collinwood

August 7, 1967

Here I will record part of my story, which is the truth as I experience it in the moment. I will also embellish the truth at times, shine light into some of the darkness and also hide selected areas in the shadows, from myself and from you. Anyone reading this will not really know what is true and what is not. I have just written the above lines to break the ice, make myself at home and to dip one toe in here and begin.
I am aware of connections to my extended family. Many of the living ones are not aware of me. I am also aware of my ancestors and many of them are able to tune into the vibration of me. I feel their stories in my DNA and I work with those energies for the purpose of my own journey through this life like the artist and creator that I am.
There are other people that surround me and I have only superficial connections to them. If they notice me at all, they see an eccentric artist who also dabbles in and restores antiquities. Some have suspected me of being a witch but I do not consider myself to be one. While I do commune with nature and love the beasts, plants and spirits, I am too undisciplined to structure my involvement. Also, I don’t care to compromise myself with involvement in groups and all that they entail.
I have some gypsy blood and do not feel comfortable planting myself in one place and staying there long after it’s fresh and vital to do so. When I find myself not bothering to look at my natural surroundings, I believe it is time to move on. That is what many of the Native American tribes did in the part of the country that I live in. Being mobile and moving with the seasons feels natural to me.
Lately however, I’m feeling called to a part of the country that I have never even visited in this lifetime. It is the home of my ancestors when they first arrived in America and settled on the coast of Maine. Many of the family still reside there although they don’t know of my existence. There are many of us that have been flung to the winds by the occasional careless Collins.
I have no desire to attempt to meet the present family members. I just feel that I must go to the area where the spirit of the ocean seems so different than the ocean I have known in the west.

This year I've barely thought of NaNoWriMo. Oh, in May I did do some crash editing on last year's novel in an attempt to accept the CreateSpace offer for winners, but was unable to figure out the formatting thing.

Last year, I hadn't ever heard of it until October 24th and I impulsively joined with no plan at all. It was fun and way more difficult than I expected; I did the 50,000 plus words but the work wasn't good.

Briefly, I'm healing from something that affects my brain and thus, my writing skills. There was no plot, barely any dialogue and most of the other few characters were referred to in the third person. So, never again I thought. Unable to visualize anything or anyone normal in my imagination, I considered it a one-time thing.

Earlier this spring, I became curious about twitter. I amused myself by creating an account for Dr. Julia Hoffman, a character in the original Dark Shadows series. One of the most entertaining activities of my healing journey has been watching the entire series on DVD again.

After awhile, I attracted a few followers who weren't spammers and found my way to a very small rpg site, something I'd never participated in. With practice, I found that I could actually write dialogue and then amazingly, whole plots would come to me. That's the first time I experienced what I'd only read about happening to writers.

Then, I thought up a character to kind of represent me to interact with the Dark Shadows characters and began writing a little backstory. There's still not much dialogue, but it is brilliant compared to where I was at last year. Also, it's very enjoyable and adds much to my daily life.

Seemingly out of nowhere, I began looking forward to NaNoWriMo again and discovered that fan fiction is allowed. So, I guess this is how I will learn to write. By November, I hope to have learned enough about my created character to be able to do a 50,000 word novel with dialogue, plot and characters.

I will be rather shyly posting what I've written of my fan fiction so far. This seems like a lovely site, what I've seen of it.