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Bio

 I was born in Memphis at the tail end of Generation X-- not that being born an X-er has anything to do with who I am, I just find it an interesting fact. I currently live just outside of Little Rock, Arkansas. I am a wife, a writer, a bookstore manager and a blogger extraordinaire-- okay, well, maybe not "extraordinaire"...

    I have spent my entire life below, what is lovingly called, the Mason-Dixon line, apart from one summer spent in Missouri catching and tagging native songbirds.

   I come from the land where ghost stories are the preferred bedtime story, not because we love their horrific nature, but because they are true and very real... everyone's grandfather or great-grandmother has seen at least one apparition (and, more often than not, converses with it daily).
    I come from the land where generations stretch as far back as the eldest memory, where homes built more than a century ago, still play host to the lineage that built them.
    And, I come from the land of stubborn pride where sweet words can hide a seething insult, and, where a vicious family quarrel can immediately be forgotten if an outsider threatens.

    I don't mind saying I'm from the South. I like being from the land where Blues music is held sacred, where sweet, smoky barbecue is the gods' ambrosia...where time slows almost to a standstill because it's too hot to do anything else.

    Does that define me better than claiming my inclusion in Generation X? Perhaps.

    I was raised with a love of music, attending several performing arts schools before graduating high school to pursue a career in Veterinarian Medicine. Though, after college, I settled into a job at a local bookstore, where I've been ever since.  I am a pianist, turned biologist, turned bookstore manager, turned writer-- no, that isn't quite right... I never turned into a writer, I always was a writer. A bit like the cliched "I've been a writer as far back as I can remember..." There was always writing, I've only just now come to terms with the fact that perhaps I should have accepted who I was, instead of trying to reinvent what I was.

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I is for...

... Iron Maiden


The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ---Edgar Allan Poe


---and not the English heavy metal band from East London...

Day 2 in the realm of morbid/macabre torture devices finds us back in the Middle Ages (there was definitely a fashionable trend of imaginative torture devices during this time). Though, the Middle Ages isn't really when we should be turning our attention when we discuss the Iron Maiden. In fact, there has been some debate as to the exact appearance of this monstrous creation.

It's probably easiest to relocate such a torturous thing back to a time when it seemed everyone was as skilled at exacting a confession as they were at creating the tools to exact those confessions. It's easier to blame ancestors from several hundred years ago than to accept that anyone of civilized disposition would be capable of doing such horrible things with such terrif…

Y is for Yeth Hound.....

Yeth Hound--- one of the incarnations of the "Black Dog" myth, this one located specifically, in Devon, England.

"Black Dogs" appear in myths across the world, most are associated with death and bad omens... i.e. Hell Hounds.

The Yeth Hound is said to be the spirit of an unbaptised child that takes the form of a headless black dog. The Hound wanders the woods at night making pitiful wailing sounds (though, I'm unclear as to how it makes wailing sounds without having a head).

The Black Dogs were possibly one inspiration from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's ghost dog in The Hound of the Baskervilles-- "an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen."



Heed Not, the Lonesome Cry
Heed not, the lonesome cry, the baleful wail echoing through the woods. Seek not, the black hound's sigh, look not where the headless creature stood.
One sound, your limbs will shake, your heart filled with the deepest dread. One glimpse, your sou…

V is for...

... Vrolik Museum



The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ---Edgar Allan Poe




How about a morbid museum?

Still used by the medical faculty and students at the University of Amsterdam, the Vrolik Museum is a unique collection of odd bones and skulls, pathogenic specimens, and an assortment of anomalous embryos.

The collection was amassed by Dutch anatomist, Gerardus Vrolik (1775-1859) and continued by his son, Dutch anatomist and pathologist, Willem Vrolik (1801-1863). And since Willem's death, various donations have expanded the collection even further. Most specimens are human, though a few zoological specimens have trickled into the collection. Preserved remains, plaster casts, and various models show an assortment of congenital deformities and malformations.

This is one of those places that isn't for the faint of heart---certainly not for those who are easily moved or triggered by…