Update: April 16, 2022

Tomorrow is Easter.

Easter, like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Mother's day is one of the worst days of the year. A day that celebrates children and motherhood. On November 14, 2013, while I was 8 month pregnant, and putting bags on the back seat of my car, three still unidentified attackers, brought golf clubs down on my back, breaking my spine and murdering my baby. I am legally blind and almost deaf, so I neither heard nor saw them coming. I read lips, so you must be facing me for me to hear you. Bring legally blind, you also must be less than 3 feet in front of me for me to see your lips, to know you are talking. Because of this it was very easy for them to sneak up behind me while I leaned into my car, putting bags on the seat.

They broke 3 vertebrae in my spine, the shattered bones severing my spinal column, permanently damaging many nerves. Because of this nerve damage I have limited use of my left arm and hand, difficulty breathing, my bladder and intestines no longer function properly requiring adult diapers, massive tremors in both hands prevent me from being able to do basic things like brush my hair or hold a spoon to eat. These are just things from the nerve damage. 

Additionally they broke my pelvis, my hips, and my knees.

I was paralyzed for 5 months. It took me 18 months to relearn to walk. Today I can walk on a very limited basis, aided by a cane, but every step is seeking pain, like lightning bolts going through my leg, across my pelvis and up my spine.

Because of this I was bedridden from 2013 to 2015. And all of that time I had no use of my hands, so I was not online either. And thus was unaware that during that time, a group of locals set to social media to build up massive slanderous rumors about me. They created a huge fairy tale meme of me being an Erotica author, a porn star, a transvestite, a male to female transgender, gay, and an alien abductee. I am none of those things but they spent 3 years, on hundreds of accounts on Facebook and Twitter, many of them fake "Eelkat" accounts where they were pretending to be me, building up this massive slanderous web of lies about me, and I had no idea they were doing it, until October 2021, 9 years after they started doing it.

April 10, 2015 a group of 74 locals, many of them wearing ku klux klan white hooded robes, arrived at my farm. 14 of them held me, Ben, my mother, and one of my 3 younger brothers down on the ice and snow while holding guns to our heads, while the others used cinder block bricks and a metal pole device with wire loops on the end, to beat and behead, 10 of my 12 foster children, then nail their heads to my door. The youngest was 4 years old. The oldest was 16 years old. They chanted "too gay for the family friendly town of old Orchard Beach" while accusing me, my pink Volvo, my pink motor home, and Ben of being gay, transgender, transvestite, and citing that guys were not allowed in Maine.

THIS is what gay haters in Maine do to people they THINK, might maybe, be gay, even though they are not.

No man, woman or child is safe in Maine, so long as these murders walk free. They will kill anything they determine to be gay, even if it is not, as can be seen my the murder of my children.

They also had hundreds of paperback copies of my books, burning them in a huge bonfire on my lawn while calling them gay Erotica and calling mean Erotica author and porn star. (I'm an author, I write a travel blog style series about a homeless man who backpacks his way across Maine, there is no sex in the series. I'm a Mormon, I've never written a sex scene.)

My family was murdered and I am crippled for the rest of my life, because of this group who has been slandering me on social media. But, at the time of these two attacks (November 14, 2013 and April 10,2015) me and my family were unaware of these slanderous rumors the locals of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, Maine were spreading not only on Facebook and Twitter, but by word of mouth around town as well.

May 2021, I started walking around town again, for the first time since being paralyzed 9 years ago on November 14, 2013, and it quickly became apparent something was seriously wrong with the locals.

I was unable to walk my dog on Main Street, Bradbury Street, Harvey Street, or Cutts Street Biddeford, where I have lived since becoming paralyzed, but not before gone outside, because of being paralyzed and bedridden and unable to walk until now…

I was unable to walk my dog on Main Street, Bradbury Street, Harvey Street, or Cutts Street Biddeford without being attacked, pushed off the sidewalk by random strangers running up to me and grabbing my cane and using it to push me in the road in front of cars while accusing me of being gay, transgender, or transvestite. Screaming "transvestite freak" while throwing rocks at me. Group of women joggers stopping to surround me and harass me while saying guys aren't allowed on their street. 

October 2021, my Volvo returned to my driveway after 3 years of being completely rebuilt, after the February 2019 attack on it with baseball bats completely destroyed it. Within 5 minutes of starting to repaint it, 2 men showed up in my driveway yelling about aliens and demons and Etoile and because of this I stopped painting fish on the door, painted over the fish and painted a portrait of Etiole instead. 

November 19, 2021 the red haired American woman from the 2016 High Street attack on my navy blue pick up truck, showed up on the porch here on Main Street. 

The location is 409 Main Street, the big white farmhouse Victorian on the 3way corner of Harvey Lane and Cutts street, right at the train tracks. It has 2 driveways one on Main Street and one on Harvey. There are multiple porches. It's the porch on the Main street side, that goes up the driveway alongside the abortive cedar tree hedge, where I park my painted Volvo. That porch is the one this woman shows up on. 

It's an elderly couple and mother in law who live there at that porch.  When they leave for work, this woman shows up when they are not home and stands on the porch bellowing like a fog horn screaming death threats at me, yelling crazy demon and alien slander about Etiole, making the claim of putting a bomb in the tail pipe of my car, screaming about suicide demons and evil eye curses, and yelling about someone named Todd Murphy (I don't know who that is, I get the impression he's a relative or boyfriend or ex of hers or something, but I don't any one by that name, so I don't know who he is. I don't know who she is either.) She looks to be maybe 30s to 40s aged. 

She was here again yesterday. She was bragging that she got a fight started with my mother and the Atwaters on Facebook, laughing about how easy it is to get my mother and her ex fighting and the old woman was giving her hell and telling her to get off the Atwaters Facebook and leave them alone. 

This happened less then an hour after my mother made the claim that a woman of the same short haired blond description, assaulted her and my father at an ATM machine, the blond woman claiming to my mother to be my father's girlfriend, my father claiming he never saw her before. 

All this happened on April 10, 2022, the 7 year anniversary of the murder of my foster children, and the blond woman who was here in my driveway after the ATM attack was bragging the anniversary is why she is instigating the fighting between my parents. 

I did not see the ATM attack, so, I do not know what happened other then what my mother and father are saying. 

I did however see her here in my driveway.

She does not live here. She's shows up in a silver pick-up truck driven by a small skinny blonde man. No one here at this building knows who she is.

There is another blonde woman, older sometimes with her. I do recognize the older woman. She's one of the November 14, 2013 golf club attackers. The one the others who were with her called "Claire". She looks to be in her 60s. Usually wears a blue denim button down man's worksheet as a coat. She sometimes drives a gold Volvo suv around 2004vintage, sometimes a silver Subaru suv, sometimes a mega sized white Nissan 4 door white pick-up truck, and sometimes a pine dark green pick up truck. She frequently has another older woman with her, who calls herself "Kendra" and has very, very long natural red curly hair, sometimes she wears big Janis Joplin glasses and sometimes cyberpunk cyclops lime green glasses, she frequently carries a small white poodle dog. The dog is often wearing either a purple dragon or a black skeleton costume. These 2 older women and a younger bald man are the 2013 golf club attackers who murdered my baby. This new younger blond woman and the 5 who are often with her, appear to be their relatives. The FBI believes they are part of a drug gang from Connecticut that call themselves "The Cyr Clan". According to the FBI the Cyr Clan was a gang that my uncle Bruce was involved with back in the 1960s in Boston before I was born. The FBI believes Bruce pissed them off in the early 2000s and that's what brought them up here to Maine.

The FBI believes they were after either one of Bruce's daughters or one of Bruce's sisters with both the November 2013 and April 2015 attacks.

One of Bruce's daughters also lives on Portland Ave in Old Orchard Beach and she also has a pink motor home. So there are TWO pink motor homes on the same street. This particular daughter of Bruce IS in fact a porn star. She's a pole dancer for a top less bar.

In 2016, there was another large scale attack, near duplicate to the April 10, 2015 attack. I never talk about it because it didn't happen to me. It happened to Bruce's daughter across the street from me. The attack on her family was bigger, bolder, and bloodier, than the attack on my family the previous year.

In 2017, a third similar attack happened in Biddeford to one of Bruce's sisters. Again I don't talk about it because it didn't happen to me.

Like I've said before there is A LOT MORE going on, then what you hear me talking about. I don't talk about what has happened to several of my cousins and their families both the Atwater cousins and the Murphey cousins- because it is not my place to do so. That's why you ONLY hear me talking about what directly happened to me personally and never mentioning the rest.

And I've not said everything that happened to me. A lot more has happened to me then you hear about because the FBI has specifically requested I don't talk about specific aspects of what happened to me and my children, because a lot was never released to the public, because they want to see who knows what. Certain things no one in the public should know about and knowing those things marks you as involved. This new young blonde woman KNOWS several of those things that were not released to the public and yells those things. Which means she is VERY INVOLVED with the murder of my children. 

Like I said until summer and fall of 2021 when started walking again for the first time in 9 years, I was unaware of the local gossip that was falsely accusing me of being gay, falsely accusing me of being transgender, falsely accusing me of being transvestite, falsely accusing me of being a porn star, falsely accusing me of being an Erotica author, or falsely accusing me of being an alien abduttee. 

I have lived here since 1975. You people know me. You people knew my murdered children. You people know I'm a cis female. You people know I'm not gay. I have published 138 novels and more then 2,000 short stories since 1978, and I  have sold 27k copies of every one of them to you people who come to my house and buy them in person, so you've read my books and know they are not Erotica. You people know I've been a devoted orthodox LDS Mormon my whole life, and that I've been with Ben for 37 years, so you know I'm not a porn star. 

What is wrong with you people? My family was murdered and I have spent 9 years recovering from medical hell, and I go outside for the first time in 9 years and find you people who know me have all devolved into gay hating, sex spewing, gibberish slandering gossips spreading vile, evil, malicious rumors and lies that you yourselves know to be untrue?

No wonder not a single one of you have helped my family through any of this. No wonder not a one of you ever once visited me at the hospital or my home after I got out of the hospital and couldn't go outside because I couldn't walk. 

You don't see me for 9 years because I'm bedridden and you're all to cold hearted to stop by and check in on me, and you spend that 9 years spinning wild, crazy transphobic, gay hating, sex filled lies about me?

What is wrong with you people?

You all let some stranger, who very likely IS the murderer, convince you of crazy ass slandering lies, that you people know to be untrue. 

You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. 

Every resident of Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, Maine,  you all ought to be ashamed of what you have spent the last 9 years doing.

This new younger blonde woman, she's the one who keeps saying my car has a suicide demon in it and yelling about Todd, saying my car caused him to die.

I don't know who she is, but she's the same one who used to show up at 27 High st, also Biddeford and scream "nasty bitch" at me and acuse me of being an Erotica author and porn star. (Which she did during several Witcher 3 livestreams on Twitch, you can see her doing it if you go back and watch my VOD). I am neither an Erotica author or a Porn star, and she had throughout 2016 to 2019 arrived at High st with 5 others, one a blond man with a silver pick-up truck, one a black man with a yellow Mitsubishi with new York plates, one a very obese woman with blond Shirley Temple sausage curls, and the other two hooded men with a navy blue Buick sedan. If you remember the Christmas Eve 2016 livestream when the gang attacked my high st apartment and screaming "transvestite freak" that's them. This that same woman who also slanders me by calling me transvestite and transgender, which I am neither. I am a cis female, I've had 7 miscarriages, and the 1 baby that made it full term was murdered November 14, 2013 by 3 people with golf clubs, who are suspected to be, these same people. 

One day when I went downstairs to get the mail on high st, a mailbox that was in the lobby and you had to go through 2 sets of doors and foyers to get to, she had her hand in the mailbox and when I came out the door she yelled "I wasn't stealing your mail" threw our mail on the ground and ran off.

She knows the Martals, (Aunt Barbara ex, uncle Paul Martal,  the one in prison for building the Boston Marathon bomb in 2013, Mike's father, those Martals) she was staying with them for a few months in 2016. Is somehow connected to Barbara (the one who wrote all those emails in 1997 pretending to be me, when I did not yet have email or internet or a computer at the time, and I had not yet heard of email and didn't even know what email was, back when Barbara wrote all those alien abduction emails about Etiole and pretending I wrote them.)

She has short straight blond hair and sometimes dyes it dark red or purple. I know she follows both me and my mom and most of the Atwaters and my 3 younger brothers (though not my 2 older brothers as the oldest is in prison and the 2nd oldest is dead) on Facebook because she keeps saying that "I read on Facebook…" when she's in my driveway.

She shows up at Walmart to yell at me sometimes, and sometimes shows up while I'm walking Mickey. She talks about Etiole and White Monkey a lot when yelling, which is strange because that's stuff Brucie and Daddy used to write in their letters to Bishop Morgan back in Cape Elizabeth in 1990s. 

I'm not the one who calls him Etiole that's always been Bruce and Barbara who did that. I know his real name and use his real name.. They don't know his real name. And my father is only one who uses the term White Monkey. The white monkey was Helen Pearlys pet back in 1970s, it had nothing to do with Etoile, I don't know why he keeps saying it does.. My father is the only one who ever makes that connection. I've never called Etiole a demon or alien, again that has always been my father, Barbara and Brucie who said the alien and demon stuff. I don't believe in aliens or demons, but they do. (Etiole if you don't know is a local elderly homeless man who has backpacked around New England since 1953, and since 1978 I let him camp on my farm in Old Orchard Beach when he's in the area. He's covered with scars from WW2 and they call him an alien and demon because of his scars. They refuse to believe he is a human, which just goes to show how absolutely stupid they are.)

In November an elderly man came over and started asking me why I was emailing him about Etiole and I'm not, I don't use email. He said he was getting over 300 emails a day about Etiole all claiming to be from me. He said there are hundreds of email addresses getting copies of this email. You remember when Barbara and Brucie used to send emails back in 1997 claiming they were from me but we didn't have computer or internet back then? I think it might be Barbara sending those emails again like she did back then. I can't think of who else could be doing it.

This sometimes blond, sometimes red hair, sometimes purple hair woman, also mentions these emails when she is in my driveway yelling at my Volvo at 409 Main street. 

FBI agent Andy Drewer has found and shut down, so far 27 Facebook accounts, all pretending to be me. He said all of them were owed by Brucie. These fake "Eelkat" accounts appear to be the source of a lot of what this blond woman says and is suspected that she may be one of the people behind writing them.

Keep in mind, Brucie is dead. He may have started those Facebook accounts, but he ain't the one writing them. He died 3years ago.

Mervin Bruce Atwater died from Covid19 on November 24, 2019.

The fact remains you ARE impeding an FBI investigation into the murder of my family, and only someone involved would have any reason to do that. ONLY someone connected to the murderer would have a motive to try to stop the FBIs investigation. That makes you an accessory to murder. You make yourself look VERY GUILTY of being involved every time you spread slanders about me, my car, or Etiole. 

Do consider that the source of your slander in all likelihood is the murderer, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street, the name of the person who is telling you to slander me.

And now tomorrow is Easter. 

A day when mothers take their children on Easter egg hunts.

My children are dead.

My children were murdered. 

And you people have spent the last 9 years making fun of that.

Think about THAT tomorrow when you are out on Easter egg hunts with your babies.

Think about how YOU would feel if it was YOU. How would YOU feel if it had been your baby who was murdered and this entire town was spreading bullying slanderous lies about YOU.

If you know who this blond woman is, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street. She is wanted for questioning about her connection to the November 14, 2013 murder of my baby and attempted murder of me, and the April 10, 2015 murder of my foster children and the September 26, 2016 hit and run attack on my car and the February 2019 vandalism to 27 High st apartment building, and the November 2021 attack on my Volvo and the March 10, 2022 attack on my Volvo and the April 10, 2022 ATM attack on my parents. 



Update April 11, 2022: Do you know who this woman is?

This woman that my mother is talking about, have any of you ever seen her? Does anyone know who she is?

It isn't that woman who keeps coming on the porch and yelling at my car is it? Do any of you know who the woman attacking my car is?

The location is 409 Main Street, the big white farmhouse Victorian on the 3way corner of Harvey Lane and Cutts street, right at the train tracks. It has 2 driveways one on Main Street and one on Harvey. There are multiple porches. It's the porch on the Main street side, that goes up the driveway alongside the abortive cedar tree hedge, where I park my painted Volvo. That porch is the one this woman shows up on. 

It's an elderly couple and mother in law who live there at that porch.  When they leave for work, this woman shows up when they are not home and stands on the porch bellowing like a fog horn screaming death threats at me, yelling crazy demon and alien slander about Etiole, making the claim of putting a bomb in the tail pipe of my car, screaming about suicide demons and evil eye curses, and yelling about someone named Todd Murphy (I don't know who that is, I get the impression he's a relative or boyfriend or ex of hers or something, but I don't any one by that name, so I don't know who he is. I don't know who she is either.) She looks to be maybe 30s to 40s aged. 

She was here again yesterday. She was bragging that she got a fight started with my mother and the Atwaters on Facebook, laughing about how easy it is to get my mother and her ex fighting and the old woman was giving her hell and telling her to get off the Atwaters Facebook and leave them alone. 

This happened less then an hour after my mother made the claim that a woman of the same short haired blond description, assaulted her and my father at an ATM machine, the blond woman claiming to my mother to be my father's girlfriend, my father claiming he never saw her before. 

All this happened on April 10, 2022, the 7 year anniversary of the murder of my foster children, and the blond woman who was here in my driveway after the ATM attack was bragging the anniversary is why she is instigating the fighting between my parents. 

I did not see the ATM attack, so, I do not know what happened other then what my mother and father are saying. 

I did however see her here in my driveway.

She's the one who keeps saying my car has a suicide demon in it and yelling about Todd, saying my car caused him to die.

I don't know who she is, but she's the same one who used to show up at 27 High st, also Biddeford and scream "nasty bitch" at me and accuses me of being an Erotica author and porn star. (Which she did during several Witcher 3 livestreams on Twitch, you can see her doing it if you go back and watch my VOD). I am neither an Erotica author or a Porn star, and she had throughout 2016 to 2019 arrived at High st with 5 others, one a blond man with a silver pick-up truck, one a black man with a yellow Mitsubishi with new York plates, one a very obese woman with blond Shirley Temple sausage curls, and the other two hooded men with a navy blue Buick sedan. If you remember the Christmas Eve 2016 livestream when the gang attacked my high st apartment and screaming "transvestite freak" that's them. This that same woman who also slanders me by calling me transvestite and transgender, which I am neither. I am a cis female, I've had 7 miscarriages, and the 1 baby that made it full term was murdered November 14, 2013 by 3 people with golf clubs, who are suspected to be, these same people. 

One day when I went downstairs to get the mail on high st, a mailbox that was in the lobby and you had to go through 2 sets of doors and foyers to get to, she had her hand in the mailbox and when I came out the door she yelled "I wasn't stealing your mail" threw our mail on the ground and ran off.

She knows the Martals, (Barbara ex, uncle Paul Martal,  the one in prison for building the Boston Marathon bomb in 2013, Mike's father, those Martals) she was staying with them for a few months in 2016. Is somehow connected to Barbara (the one who wrote all those emails in 1997 pretending to be me, when I did not yet have email or internet or a computer at the time, and I had not yet heard of email and didn't even know what email was, back when Barbara wrote all those alien abduction emails about Etiole and pretending I wrote them.)

She has short straight blond hair and sometimes dyes it dark red or purple. I know she follows both me and my mom and most of the Atwaters and my 3 younger brothers (though not my 2 older brothers as the oldest is in prison and the 2nd oldest is dead) on Facebook because she keeps saying that "I read on Facebook…" when she's in my driveway.

She shows up at Walmart to yell at me sometimes, and sometimes shows up while I'm walking Mickey. She talks about Etiole and White Monkey a lot when yelling, which is strange because that's stuff Brucie and Daddy used to write in their letters to Bishop Morgan back in Cape Elizabeth in 1990s. 

I'm not the one who calls him Etiole that's always been Bruce and Barbara who did that. I know his real name and use his real name.. They don't know his real name. And my father is only one who uses the term White Monkey. The white monkey was Helen Pearlys pet back in 1970s, it had nothing to do with Etoile, I don't know why he keeps saying it does.. My father is the only one who ever makes that connection. I've never called Etiole a demon or alien, again that has always been my father, Barbara and Brucie who said the alien and demon stuff. I don't believe in aliens or demons, but they do.

(Etiole if you don't know is a local elderly homeless man who has backpacked around New England since 1953, and since 1978 I let him camp on my farm in Old Orchard Beach when he's in the area. He's covered with scars from WW2 and they call him an alien and demon because of his scars. They refuse to believe he is a human, which just goes to show how absolutely stupid they are.)

In November an elderly man came over and started asking me why I was emailing him about Etiole and I'm not, I don't use email. He said he was getting over 300 emails a day about Etiole all claiming to be from me. He said there are hundreds of email addresses getting copies of this email. You remember when Barbara and Brucie used to send emails back in 1997 claiming they were from me but we didn't have computer or internet back then? I think it might be Barbara sending those emails again like she did back then. I can't think of who else could be doing it.

This sometimes blond, sometimes red hair, sometimes purple hair woman, also mentions these emails when she is in my driveway yelling at my Volvo at 409 Main street. 

FBI agent Andy Drewer has found and shut down, so far 27 Facebook accounts, all pretending to be me. He said all of them were owed by Brucie. These fake "Eelkat" accounts appear to be the source of a lot of what this blond woman says and is suspected that she may be one of the people behind writing them.

Due to the incident yesterday it is now also believed that she is the mystery blond woman who pretends to be my father's girlfriend and harassed my mother for no reason other then to get a laugh on watching my mother fight with my father (something they do quite violently in public places, in stores, just everywhere.)

If you know who this blond woman is, please tell FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street. She is wanted for questioning about her connection to the November 14, 2013 murder of my baby and attempted murder of me, and the April 10, 2015 murder of my foster children and the September 26, 2016 hit and run attack on my car and the February 2019 vandalism to 27 High st apartment building, and the November 2021 attack on my Volvo and the March 10, 2022 attack on my Volvo and the April 10, 2022 ATM attack on my parents. 



Update: April 10, 2022, big violent attack, as police and FBI expected.

Today is the 7th anniversary of the murder of my family. Remember I said to watch who does what today?... My father just beat the hell out of my mother, tried to kill her. She is right now refusing to call the police. My mother claims she caught my father with a girlfriend he's had for several years now. But near as I can tell, all he did was stop to tell some random stranger how to use the ATM machine. Note, they got divorced in 1994, my mother left my father for another man, left the other man for another man after that, and left the next man for Wayne. She's been with 2 other men (possibly more) since Wayne. She has not been a part of my father's life for 30 years, but feels the need to control his life and harass him on extreme violent levels. If he does have a girlfriend, so what? She left him 30 years ago.

Wayne died during the cat court case, the 2nd one, when he sued my mother for stealing his cats and putting them in my motorhome. Wayne's father, 8 of his cats, and then Wayne himself each died a few weeks apart all from rat poison. Wayne's daughter sued my mother claiming my mother put rat poison in their food.

The fbi believes my mother did kill Wayne and his cats and believes that's why she put his cats in my motorhome. Fbi believes my mother was one who called police April 10, 2015, expecting them to arrest me, take the motorhome, and return the cats to her. She did not expect police to take cats. All the harassment and vandalism of my mom's cars is believed by fbi to be Wayne's daughter friends and relatives and family.

My family, my children were murdered in 2 attacks, one on November 14, 2013 and one on April 10, 2015, both attacks are believed by the FBI to have been attacks that were intended on my mother and the people hired mixed me and her up.

April 10, is my mother's father's birthday by the way, David Henry Atwater, it's WHY she does everything she does, all her wild crazy vandalisms to people on April 10 every year since the 1950s.


April 6, 2022 update, as the attacks on my family and property continue and now more people are in the hospital

Daddy has sepsis and they keeping him in hospital for a few days.

Sepsis is very bad.

That's what I had.

You can die a few hours after it sets in if not treated.

When I was in the hospital in 2014.

That's why I was in the hospital.

I had surgery for it in march 2015.

That was the surgery on my arm.

Sepsis was in a major artery in left arm to heart. 

Side effect from when I was in hospital November 2013 when I was in wheelchair and February 2014 when I was on crutches relearning how to walk. Doctors was focused on my hip and not my spine. They didn't find the source of infection until until the mri in June 2016. 

Sepsis is why I can't walk without cane and why my lungs are messed up and why I have tremors and can't use my hands good anymore. Sepsis infection was so back it damaged my nerves. I was scheduled for spinal column surgery September 2016, they sent me to a neurosurgeon who was supposed to be top brain surgeon in New England and he did more mri and then canceled surgery because damage to my vertebrae (from golf club attack November 2013, which is what caused all of this, including the Sepsis and is the attack that brought the fbi here they think Mark wife did it but college had no security cameras at the bug light parking lot, they investigating Mark family, Barbara family,  and Brucie family. Charges of murdering my baby and attempted murder of me) is so bad. Shattered vertebrae bone fragments are severed into my spinal column nerve bundle at the sacroiliac joint where the hip and pelvis connect to spine. Neurosurgeon said he can't operate because of how nerve damage is, said if he removed bone fragments I would be paralyzed from neck down. But that is also when the source of Sepsis infection was found to be in my spine and not my hip, and that is when it finally went away because they were able to target the correct place to fix the infection.

Mark’s wife is the #1 suspect the FBI is watching, because, according to the FBI, this mysterious Mark guy, whom I have never met, never heard of prior to this, have never talked to, and have never seen, so I have no clue who he or his wife are… according to the FBI, he is friends with my mother, but only via her FaceBook account, where she hired him to put in a septic system, then gave him MY address in Old Orchard, while making the claim that SHE owned both MY land and MY motorhome, and when he asked for a picture of her so he would know who she was, she gave him a picture of ME, not herself.

According to FBI agent Andy Drewer THIS is the reason why the backhoe was driven over my house August 8, 2013 and why the golf club attackers attacked me on November 14, 2013.

According to the FBI, my mother was trying to get my land so she could sell it to use the money for a down payment on a house in Kennebunk and she used this Mark guy as her pawn to do it, by fighting with him on social media using “fake EelKat” accounts to convince him that he was dealing with me, even though I had never heard of him before.

According to the FBI, my mother started sending his family death threats, in the same way she is currently sending Todd Murphey’s family death threats, and that this is why Mark’s wife attacked with the golf clubs, murdering my baby and crippling my spine. According to the FBI, Mark’s wife thought she was attacking my mother and was unaware that both my mother, her sister Barbara, and her brother Bruce’s wife Doris were all impersonating me, using 27 different “fake EelKat” FaceBook accounts to scam Mark’s family about a septic system.

This was confirmed by the Old Orchard Beach police in October 2016, when Mark attacked my mother in person and was arrested by OOB police, that day. He made the claim, that she, my mother, was me, but the officers in question, Robin and Will, both know me and my mother and informed Mark that this was not me that he was fighting with, it was my mother, to which he said this was the woman he had been dealing with since June 2001 who had called herself EelKat in every correspondence. The police showed Mark pictures of me and he said he had never seen me before and had no clue who I was.

This event October 2016, is when both the police and FBI started expanding their investigation, now looking for people who were friends of my mother, her sister Barbara, and her brother Bruce, and that is when they found the identity of long time stalker and bomb builder Kendra Silvermander who turned out to be a FaceBook friend of all 3 of them.

After Mark’s gang found out October 2016 that I was NOT the person they had been fighting with online, but rather it had been my mother impersonating me, the attacks on my family stopped but the attacks on my mother’s family started February 2017 when a road grader drove 75 feet up her driveway and flattened her car. Since then this event was repeated with 3 more cars.

In August 2021, My mother and her sister began impersonating me on FaceBook and with emails, yet again, and as they had done in the past, used my friend Etiole to do it. Once again, calling him a demon and an alien and a cryptid, and once again pretending to be me, they wrote a lot of emails and started mass spam sending them to every Maine email address they could find, at a rate of sending them to several thousand people a day.

I found out about this in November 2021, after Etiole was shot, gunned down by 6 people at Rotary Park in Biddeford, Maine on November 21, 2021, by people who claimed to be from Scarborough, Maine and claimed to be the mother and in laws of some guy named Todd Murphey.

I still have no clue who Todd Murphey is, but apparently he used to work with my mother and commit suicide recently and my mother and her sister took advantage of his suicide to yet again pretend to be me, and this time, calling Etiole a suicide demon, started harassing this Todd guy’s ex wife, son, and mother on FaceBook and via emails while pretending to be me. Which caused these people to show up at my 409 Main Street/Harvey/Cutts street Biddeford apartment to vandalize my car and cut all the wires off the apartment building, not once, but twice: on Thanksgiving day 2021 and again on March 10, 2022, because these friends and family of this Todd guy are 100% convinced the nut they are dealing with on FaceBook is me, when in fact, the one they are dealing with is no me, but rather my mother yet again pretending to be me.

This is also what led to the December 2021 and January 2022 FBI raids in the Cutts Street are of Biddeford, just a few weeks ago, which led to the arrests of 8 people.

Back to sepsis…

On December 24, 2021, my mother arrived here at 409 Main street and stole my father’s 14 medications that he takes for his triple by pass, his kidney dialysis, his diabetes… and then, she took him in her car, drove to his doctor, and told his doctor, he’s not allowed to have medicine, because he has to do what she says.

He has not taken his medicine since December 24, 2021, it is today April 6, 2022, and he is struggling to stay alive.

All of this is because she is hell bent on a house in Kennebunk and doesn’t give a shit that she has caused my baby to be murdered November 14, 2013, my foster children to be murdered April 10, 2015, me to be going through a decade long medical nightmare after being crippled November 14, 2013, 5 of my cars to be destroyed including The real Cristine The World’s Most Haunted Car that Stephen King based his Cristine off of, my house -the one that was in the Thinner movie- to be driven over by a back hoe, and now my father dying in the hospital.

Death and destruction at every turn, and she doesn’t give a shit because, as she puts it: “What are we going to do about Wendy? She can’t keep that land, I need a house in Kennebunk!”

Her obsession with getting a house is utter ludicrous insanity, that needs to be stopped before anyone else dies at the hands of her fucking retarded FaceBook friends who blinding attack, vandalize, and beat up anyone and everyone on her command.

I am so fed up with her blind devotion to a fairy tale house she thinks she has to have, at the expense of the lives of everyone around her.



March 30, 2022, update on yet another attack on my family and land

Police take notice. 


Scam artists have been bringing real estate agents onto my property in attempt to illegally sell my land. They have no right or permission to be here. My land is NOT for sale. If you see them doing it, please arrest them.

These are the Scottish Travellers. They arrive here every summer, harassing my family for four decades now. They are the same ones who drove a backhoe over my house August 8, 2013. The same ones who crippled me and murdered my baby November 14, 2013 with golf clubs, leaveing me paralized with a broken spine ever since. I am cripled with a shattered spinal column since the golf club attack and am bedridden weeks to a time unable to sit up or get out of bed. I have rebuilt my house 5 times in the past 9 years, and their attempts to steal my land and sell it have been barbaric and violent, and icluded a bomb that blew up my house October 18, 2006, and most of my family is now dead, murdered at their hands. These are the same people who cut my 1964 Dodge 330 in half May 10, 2010. They arrived back here September 19, 2020 and illegally cut down most of the trees across my lawn, and arrived again November 19, 2021 and for the last 20 years they arrive every summer with a green dump truck and dump garbage on my lawn. In 2014 they left a pile of garbage 175 feet long, 30 feet wide and 12 feet tall and it cost me $12,000 to have it removed. I am crippled and elderly and there is no one to help me against their harassment.

There should NEVER be anyone other than me EelKat Wendy C Allen (with the painted Volvo) or my partner Benjamin Wildes (with the blue Honda) in my yard at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, where the ink motorhome is parked. If you see ANYONE ELSE or any other car in my yard, please call the police immediately. There is no one else who has permission to be on my land.

My land is NOT for sale, if you see real estate agents, please inform them they are being scammed and the people trying to sell my land are NOT the legal land owners.

The FBI are on the look out for them as are the local police. If you see them in my yard, please notify both the Old Orchard Beach Police Department at 207-934-4911 and FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 at the Portland FBI office on Middle street.





March 10, 2022 update on the most recent vandalism of my car

This is a copy of the letter that has been forwarded to the police departments involved. For this online edition some parts have been removed (so if you get to a place that seems like the topic changed abruptly, that is why) and the names are removed from the online version, but the version the police have, includes all the full names and contact info of all the people in question. And for those who have asked: yes, the police and FBI have talked to Etiole, they are fully aware of him, his health, his homelessness, etc.

Dear Sirs,

I feel I need to tell you what has been happening as it has gotten very much out of control the past few weeks. It's been slowly escalating for a few years and, if you look at my police record for both Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, you will see dozens of reports for vandalism of my 1992 Volvo 240 (the painted one) at now 3 apartments in Biddeford, and vandalism of my land in Old Orchard Beach. In the past 6 months, a hyper escalation started with has become very out of control the past couple of weeks.

Last night, my car was vandalized again.  

As these events are taking place in both Old Orchard Beach and Biddeford, I'm giving this same letter to both departments, so events from both towns are listed.

I am Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine and 409 Main Street apartment 101 Biddeford, Maine.

There appears to be someone fairly local impersonating me online, and is raising hell with a lot of local people, inciting them to do very violent physical attacks on me, my Biddeford apartment, my Old Orchard land, and my car.

It's reached the point where I can not go to the store without having my car towed home, because it gets vandalized so bad while I'm n the store shopping. EVERY TIME I go to the store. I've been at a loss to understand why this is happening. I don't know who these people are or why they are attacking. On Thanksgiving day they cut all the wires off the Biddeford apartment building so we had no internet or heat or anything for a while. There is a "redhaired" woman who shows up on the front porch to cream at my car, every time the family who lives in that apartment goes to work. She stopped a few weeks ago, because the man who lives there fell on the ice, broke his shoulder and has not gone to work since. It appears she knows that family who lives there and does not want them knowing she does this while they are not home.

A few weeks ago an old man walked up to me, asked if I was EelKat and then asked me why I kept emailing him, and I said I don't email anyone cause I don't use email. He said some days he gets over 300 emails a day from someone claiming to be EelKat.

 

We are Gypsies, and though I've lived in America my whole life, I know very little of American habits and laws or what specifically to do in this situation. We are the Gypsies who were in Stephen King's Thinner movie and my 146 Portland Ave land was one of the filming locations of the movie and, the cars in the opening scenes were our cars, one of which I still have. I mention this, because, there are two Gypsy clans, The Atwaters (Scottish Travellers) and the Cyrs (Irish Travellers) fighting over my land and the fight centres largely around the fact that it was the filming location of Stephen King's the Thinner movie.

I own the land. From the 1940s it was owned by my grandmother Helen Ricker Allen. She left it to me in her will in 1983. Unknown to me, at some point after 1983, the Atwaters had the land illegally transferred into their names -they steal land this way as a full time career and many of them have illegally deed swapped land in all 50 states in America.

In 2014, I found out they are done an illegal deed swap, when an auction group showed up on my land to sell it. Upon discovery I had been living on the land since 1975 and paying taxes on it since 1983, but my name was not on the deed, the auctioneer (and member of the OOB town hall) cancelled the auction and ordered a town hall meeting to review the situation. Upon investigation it was discovered that when the land went from my grandmother to me, my father signed as "joint witness" and then a year later, went back to the town hall to have my name removed from the deed and his put on it, even though he had no legal write to do so. After that, the record shows that every 3 to 5 years, he and my mother swapped names on the deed, sometimes his name, sometimes her name. The land changed ownership names more then 30 times between 1983 and 2013. 

Because I have severe agoraphobia, I had not set foot off of my land since the 1970s. When it came time to pay the taxes, I gave my father the money and he delivered it to the town hall, or so I thought. In 2014, I learned that in spite of my paying my taxes like clockwork, since 2006, the town hall had no record of receiving any money. It is unclear where the money went. On one hand it looks like my father spent the money and never paid the taxes. On the other hand it looks like he sometimes did pay the taxes but instead of going to the tax office he gave the money to Kathy BR in the permits office and she gave the money to a guy called JB who went to prison for embezzling $3million in OOB tax money from the town hall. JB did not work for the town hall, he was a software designers who built the online banking security for the town hall to direct deposit money to the bank, and according to the FBI the money was going to his bank account not the town hall bank account, but he was only found with $30k not $3million. I don't know the full details, I only know this part, because when we tried to find out why my land was being auctioned this is the info we were given.

In any case, at some point my dad stole my land via just walking into the town hall and asking the desk clerk to remove my name from the deed and put his name on it instead. The whole thing was done illegally and without my knowledge or permission.

There were 3 lands originally. 144, 146, and 146a. My father stole all 3 of them. 144 was auctioned off to the Collard family in 2007, even though I was still living there until 2015 without any knowledge of the auction happening. No one informed me. I've since spoken with the Collards and they were unaware of the situation. They actually bought the land legally even though it was stolen land they had bought, they were unaware the land had been stolen. Everything has been straightened out between me and the Collards, they are not part of the current problem.

My mother owns 146a, but she owns it illegally. She claims it's rightfully hers because my father gave it to her, but, he stole it from me via illegally rewriting the deed, so he had no right to give it to her.

In 2014 and 2015, all the court and legal work was done to restore 146 back to me.

The current situation is my parents are in an active attempt to remove my name off the deed again, like they had done back in 1983.

On a daily basis my mother shows up and first words out of her mouth every day is: "What are we going to do about Wendy? She can't keep that land. I need a house in Kennebunk." to my father.  She started doing this in August, originally bragging that she was going to take my land out of retaliation for my refusal to cast death curses on Chris at work. I don't know who "Chris at work" is. It was one of the names on her list of people she wants me to kill via death spell curses. I was live streaming on Twitch the day she came in yelling about "Chris at work" and my need to kill him for her, so a lot of people online heard her saying these things. I'm a YouTube gamer, I have a livestream going almost daily for 12+ hours a day, so when she comes in, #1 it's breaking and entering because I didn't let her in, and #2 she is interrupting my live streams quite regular so I have hundreds of video footage clips of her saying these things and making these threats. The day she and my father cut the cable/internet wires off my apartment building - I have that on livestream footage as well. My father cut the wires off the house while my mother was ordering him to do it. In November 2021 and again 2 days ago March 9, 2022.

They both make the claim I don't need internet, because I am as they put it "being a bad daughter" because I "won't sell your land and give me the money for a down payment, I need a down payment, you are supposed to give me the down payment money for a house, I'm your mother!"'

As for what happened to my car March 9, 2022 - my father, my father vandalized my car and tried to make it look like my brother  did it. My father stuffed the tailpipe full of McDonald's ketchup packets that he stole from the Biddeford McDonald's where my brother works, which is what caused the fuel line to blow up. I could have died. My car is now being repaired again, for the exact same thing I had to have it repaired for in November 2021. My father tried to kill me and make it look like my brother who works at McDonald's did it so my brother would be blamed. Twice. Once in November 2021 and again 2 days ago.

My father did the same thing in November, because of some guy named Todd who I supposedly convinced to kill himself via may painting a "suicide demon" on my car. There is a picture of Etiole on my car, that is what they are calling "a suicide demon"

I don't know who Todd is, but I assume the Biddeford police know as they did spend a week scrapping the thousands of exploded parts of him off all the houses around Cutts st and South st, after he jumped in front of a train November 19, 2021 at 6:27PM. I was walking my dog and saw him, he was gibbering a lot of wild nonsense stuff like: "fibbery-gibbit-beebydi-booop-bop-boop-bop-booop-beeeeeeeep!" I amused he was either very drunk or very high on drugs or both and was attempting to make train sounds while he ran up and down the train tracks. I thought nothing of it, as he did this on a daily basis all summer long, he was a homeless man who lived in the ravine by the train tressal bridge over the river, the one the police kept chasing out of the black grain building turned storage units. There were 4 people on bicycles, driving circles around him bullying him, teasing him, taunting him daily around 3AM every morning. I saw them while I was walking my dog. It appeared to be his girlfriend and her friends based on the stuff she was yelling at him. Stuff like "You run off with that whore will you! WW I showed you! I killed your dog! Hahahahahaha! I killed your cat! Hahahahaha! And you ain't never gonna see your baby again! Hahahahaha!" I know every one says he commit suicide, but I think he was just running to get away from the harassers on the bikes and was too drunk to see the train. That's certainly what it looked like to me.

THAT was not a suicide, not what I saw happen. That was a man being bullied and chased down by four harassers riding bicycles up the tracks, driving him head on into a train on purpose to try to kill him so they could laugh about it. I wouldn't call THAT a suicide.

Anyways, I didn't know his name or that my mother was best friends with him. Though I had told her about the homeless man being bullied and her response was "Why should I care? It's just a homeless man!" She changed her tune quite a lot after he got hit by the train, and found out his name. The police contacted her or something, when they were trying to find his family. I guess she knew his family on FaceBook or something.

Since his death, me, my car, and my apartment have been attacked on a near daily basis from people who are making the claim that I am online spreading rumours and lies about Todd. I kept asking them who Todd was (because at that point I did not yet know they were talking about the homeless man hit by the train - though I saw him daily for about 4 months, ever since the police kicked him out of the storage until he'd been living in and he lived under the train bridge and in Rotary Park instead - he only ever spoke to me a few times - once to pet my dog and say "they took my dog" and saying "hi" as we passed on the sidewalk. So I never knew his name. He lived in a yellow pup-tent beside the tracks for a while, but one day it was laying out there cut to ribbons by a knife or scissors.)

Even though I only knew him from saying "hi" each night as we passed each other on the sidewalk and I never knew his name until after his death, more then a dozen people have arrived in my driveway (both the Biddeford and Old Orchard addresses) to accuse me and my friend Etiole and the words painted on my Volvo of being the cause of this Todd guy's train death.

They are focusing heavily on the words on my car, which say: "Have information about the murder of my family? Call FBI @ 207-774-9322"

There is a sign in my Old Orchard driveway which says: "Have information about the murder of my children? Call FBI @ 207-774-9322"

On November 14, 2013, at Southern Maine Community College, while I was 8 months pregnant, I was attacked by 3 people with golf clubs. A man and 2 women.

There is no reason for anyone who is NOT involved in the murder of my baby, to be upset about either the sign in my yard or the sign on my car, both of which are nothing more then the FBI phone number with the request for anyone who has information to call.

I don't understand why me asking for people to help find my baby's killer, is seen by my parents as such a huge threat. The only person who who feel threatened by that would be the person who hired the golf club people - Claire, Kendra, and the bald man - who have still not yet been found/caught/identified to this day 9 years later.

Both my mother and my father keep saying and I quote "take that shit off your car, you are only trying to start trouble!" and "get that sign out of your yard, you are only trying to stir stuff up". I'm trying to find the people who murdered my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm not trying to cause trouble. How is me asking people to help identify the murderer, me trying to start trouble?

I was paralyzed for 5 months. I had to relearn to walk. I crippled the rest of my life, and my baby is dead. No one should have to live through this type of agony. And no one who commits crimes like this should be allowed to walk free. Would you stand back and do nothing, say nothing, while a criminal like that walked free? How is my asking people to come forward with any information they know, me trying to start trouble? You tell me that!

I'm not allowed to ask for help in finding the psychopath who murdered my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life? What kind of logic is that?

Someone out there knows the names of these people. The older blond woman they called Claire, the younger blond woman with the Shirley Temple sausage curls, the red haired woman they call Kendra, the white haired man with the green pick up truck, the bald man with the 4door white pickup truck, the new redhaired women who screams on the front porch. These people, this group, they are the ones who were wielding golf clubs and murdered my baby. They are being allowed to get away wit murder and I'll spend the rest of my life demanding justice if I have to. You tell me, how is my asking if you know who they are, don't let them kill again, tell the FBI everything you know, by painting that request on my car and a sign in my yard, me looking to start trouble? My mother's priorities are fucked up. All she cares about is money, money, money, money, money, money, money, money! 

I'm the bed ridden, crippled by multiple attacks. The November 14, 2013 golf club attack, I was almost healed from, but the June 2016 shopping cart attack at my workplace at Scarborough WalMart re opened the 2013 injury and doctors can't operate this time because of the bone shards severing my spinal column. I'm crippled for the rest of my life and no one in this family ever cared. 

Both attacks the FBI wanted to talk to my parents and they refused to talk to him both times. My baby was murdered in the first attack. I was 8 months pregnant and all any of them would do was gibberish about "rosemary baby" and say there was no baby because it was a demon because it was Etiole's. My parents and the Atwaters hate Etiole that much, that they shun the existence of my baby and act like it was never there. That's how much they hate me. That's how cruel and hate filled they are towards me. They spent the last 50 years calling me demon possessed and them saying that is WHY local people attack me and killed my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. 

I am in bed 15 or more hours a day, I can barely sit up, I can barely stand up long enough to cook, I have to wear adult diapers since 2013 because half my organs don't work any more because the nerves from those organs to my spine are cut off. My hands shake so bad that it takes me hours to eat a single meal. I can't go back to college, I can't go back to work. But do they care? No. Not my mother. Not my father. Neither of them give a shit. They are both too damned selfish thinking about their own greed to ever once lift a finger to help me. Daddy treats me like a fucking slave and my mother is so far out of my life shunning me because bishop kenning in Saco ward told her too that she hasn't got a clue how bad things are.

I'm not doing a damned thing to any of them. I mind my own business. I write my novels. I don't contact them. I don't talk to them. I don't talk about them.  Someone is clearly pretending to be me online and is slandering me and getting sick of it. My mother flips out about everything thing under the sun and I never have a clue what she's talking about, because I never did or said any of the things she accuses me of. And my father and the Atwaters do the same thing. Some one is out there pretending to be me to get them worked into a frenzy just to sit back and laugh while watching my mother, my father, and the Atwaters be too damned stupid to think. My mother and my father and the Atwaters are all filled with so much pure hatred for me that it takes nothing to convince them to attack me. And whoever it is posting online pretending to be me, knows that and is taking advantage of it. 

They are obsessed with my land, because my mother's father used to tell people there was $7million in gold buried on my land. Several times over the years the Atwaters have invaded bringing with them shovels, pickaxes, and construction equipment, to illegally dig up my land. They've ripped up flowers, dug up bushes, cut down trees... usually they do it while I'm gone to the store, so I come back to find my property ripped to shreds. They've been doing this on an almost yearly basis since Grammy Helen died in 1983. According to what David Henry Atwater claimed, pirates buried treasure on my land in the 1500s. There is ZERO evidence that pirates ever buried anything on my land. Later he changed the story and said that the gold plates of the Book of Mormon Part 2 were buried on my land, this time he claimed an angel from god told him. So the Atwaters have multiple excuses for why they arrive to dig everything up, but it's always that they are gold crazy and have gold fever and are convinced if they dig long enough they'll find gold on my land.

The other obsession they have with my land is a homeless man they call "Etiole". They sometimes claim he is a demon, they other times claim he is an alien, for a few years they called him a cryptid, they often say he's the Mememegwasi spirit of the Saco River Curse, a few of them say he's a watcher/fallen angel, some say he's a ghost of an Indian chief, some say he's the ghost of a French solider, some have called him a Faerie/Leprechaun/FarDarrig ... and a whole slew of other claims. Regardless of what they call him, they all adimintly refuse to believe that he is just an ordinary human, an elderly homeless man who keeps to himself and desperately wants them to leave him alone. That's all he is. He's just a homeless man who lives in the woods and wants them to leave him alone.

The Atwaters are obsessed with Etiole on severe levels and have gone to alarming levels of monstrous harassment of him through the past 50 years. Part of their obsession with him, is caused by their previously mentioned gold fever. You see, Etiole travels all over Maine, I never know where he is at any given time, but when he's in the local area, I let him camp out on my land. I've let him stay with me like this for over 40 years. In the 1980s, one of the times they arrived to dig up my land, Etiole was sleeping in my 1964 Dodge 330, and according to them, he jumped out of the car and "threw blue lighten bolts" at them causing a tornado to destroy their construction equipment. They claimed he turned into a black serpent with red eyes and 6 blue wings that was hundreds of feet long, surrounded them and killed several of them by summoning lightning bolts. . . . uhm . . . yeah. I wasn't home so I didn't see this event, of Etiole supposedly attacking them. But it's pretty clear they had some sort of massive LSD hallucination, given many of them heavily used LSD back in the 1970s and 1980s when this event happened. According to Etiole, he just jumped out of the car and ran into the swamp to hide, he didn't see any of the stuff they described.

After that they got it into their heads that I had summoned a demon (and that Etiole was said demon) to protect my secret cache of pirate gold, and their battle cry of "kill the demon" is what caused them to blow up my house with a bomb October 18, 2006, drive over my house with a backhoe August 8, 2013, beat me up with golf clubs and murder my baby November 14, 2013, cut my 1964 Dodge 330 in half May 10, 2010. All those things you have all those police reports about.

They are convinced Etiole is in my yard to keep them from my gold. The only problem is, there is no gold on my land. Etiole is not a demon, and their extreme levels of harassment are utterly insane! 

But then, when they get caught on my camera, because I'm a daily vlogger, so the camera is running all the time, them they accuse me of harassing them, because their faces showed up on my livestream. Uhm... I'm on y own land, in my own bedroom, usually a few hours into my daily livestream when they get caught in the background trespassing. That's NOT me harassing them. That's them trespassing and vandalizing, and breaking and entering while not realizing I was home and them getting caught in the act of vandalizing and trespassing.

Then they run to FaceBook and make all kinds of wild claims about me stalking them. I'm crippled. I can't even get out of bed. Every time I have them on camera, it's because they were trespassing and breaking and entering. I'm in my bedroom livestream a game on my computer and they'll be smashing out windows and get mad that it happened to be the window in line with my livestream webcam on my computer. That's NOT be stalking them. That's me laying in bed playing Witcher 3 and them breaking in.

I'm too damned sick and crippled to even attempt to do half the crazy shit my mother and my father are accusing me of. And what's worse, my father is right here in the same apartment with me. He sees me every day, he knows how bad off my health is. 

Look how much I'm bleeding all over the house every day. Massive nose bleeds that last for hours to a time, not bleeding from my nose. Just coming out of my nose. I'm so dizzy I can't sit up for weeks to a time. I faint and blackout when I try to get up to go to the bathroom. The pain in my hip and pelvis and knee and spine is so bad I can't even move my fingers to type my novels. 

And look at what they do. Do they really think I'm physically capable of doing the things they accuse me of? They are so damned self centred and paranoid. It's all I can do just to sit up and eat something, how the hell do they think I can do the stuff they accuse me of? My day is spent focusing on trying to get my leg to move so I can make a meal, I don't even have time to think about them. 

It looks more and like my mother and my father are doing this stuff on purpose to try to kill me. My father knows how bad off my heart and lungs are and how difficult it is for me to breath after just a couple of steps. His mother left that land to me in her will in 1983. He stole it, had it put into his name illegally. He's been pissed ever since her death, because she gave everything to me not him. That's been a big problem for him for the last 40 years. He raves about it alongside his ravings about going to Utah taking him off the fire department. He hates my mother because of Utah, blames her every day for losing his fire department pension. He raves about it all night long every single night. He blames me for his mother disinheriting him. He raves about that all the time too. I was only grandchild That's why she left everything to me. Including the land that he stole and put in his name. That land is rightfully mine, his mother gave it to me, and he can't stand it. He's needling my mother about the land just to spite his mother.

He's only trying to get the land away from me because he is mad that the town didn't take it. His mother wanted it to stay in the family. It had been in her family since 1530. Her family was the original settlement family of Old Orchard and my land is that spot that the first house in Old Orchard was built.  My father stopped paying taxes to spite his mother and lose the land. He said so many times. He was angry when I bought the land back from the town. He still is. He wants it out of the family because his mother wanted it in the family. That's why he's trying to turn my mother against me over the land. Because he gates his own mother that much.

Keep in mind the 4 door white truck showed up at my workplace daily. Even though I never knew ahead of time what store I would be working at. I was a retail merchandiser and stocked shelves at dozens of stores all over the state. Walmart's every where, CVS, khols, sometimes local, sometimes as far as Freeport and once in Vermont and once in Massachusetts.  I got the notice of which store to be at 15 minutes before I left. So the only person who ever knew where I was going was my father. 

And yet the 4 door white truck would also arrive ahead of me and be waiting. They didn't follow me, they got their first.

And the police caught the truck and the driver in 2017. Kathy BR owned the truck. Her son was the driver.

The smith's are my parents friends. My mother's visiting and home teachers for years.

Kathy was the district emergency dispatch for all the towns in the area, not just old Orchard. That's why none of the 911 calls went through during the attacks by the 4 door white truck. He only attacked while she was on duty. She never forwarded any of the calls so officers never were told to come help me.

That includes the November 14, 2013 golf club attack in South Portland. But the college security officer made a report even though the police never arrived. That big black officer who was head of security was on duty and him and 2 student officers from the police academy made the report.

And FBI found the data from the calls, that never got forwarded to police, that's why Kathy BR lost her job. Because she's the one who tampered with the 911 call files.

Tim and Kathy BR both, not together, individually, arriving separately, both arrived at my tent multiple times throughout the entire year of 2013, saying they were coming to speak to me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous. So I never knew who sent them. Each time they arrived all they would say was that I had to tear down "the little yellow house" as they called the shop. 

August 8, 2013 the backhoe drove over the shop while I was at work on the food truck down by the pier.

I never saw Tim or Kathy again after that. Not once. And these were people who stopped by to visit my parents daily for over 40 years. Since August 8, 2013 and the backhoe attack on my house, Kathy and Tim have gone to alarming extreme levels to avoid running into me. They just down the street, on one of the private drives, so it's difficult to avoid running into me, and we used to see them a few times a week at local grocery stores. They both, if they see me in a store, literally throw whatever they are carrying across the store and run out of the store like they have a pack of rabid wolves on their heels. It's pretty fascinating thing to see.

My cousin and next door neighbour Tim Murphy was murdered that same week, a few days before the backhoe. His body was left at the cascade Ross road crossroad. 14 days later his head was left at the Portland Ave Ross road crossroad road. His mother put up the big white cross a month later. 

Note that there were THREE 4-door white trucks, a smaller one, a larger one, and a mega-sized giant one -like a Dodge Power Wagon type only it was not a Dodge Power Wagon it was one of the look alike brands, possibly a Nissan. The owner and driver of the big-big-super sized one is still unidentified. The other 2 were both caught in 2017, Kathy BR's truck being the larger of the 2. The 3 trucks often showed up together and drive circles around me, on Rout 1/Portland Rd, while I was driving. They would slam my car from back and sides and push me off the road. Several times they did damage to the frame of my car with had to be repaired multiple times. They've done several tens of thousands in damages to my Volvo over the years. You already have a lot of the smashed up car photos on file, at both Biddeford and Old Orchard police departments, you each have more then a dozen reports for attacks on my car -though the FBI has said someone attempted to destroy several of the records with my name, at the Old Orchard police department. FBI said they arrested the officers who did that. I don't know which files were damaged or how. 

For several years/decades now, I have had multiple people trying to buy my land. The same people over and over again. Only buying my land is not what they are asking for. Rather, they claim my land is cursed and I have to sell it to break the curse. Crazy, I know, but that's what they say. The crazier part is they say that after I sell my land I have to hand the money over to them so they can use it as a down payment on a house they want to buy in Kennebunk. The people in question are my parents and they've been doing this for well over 20 years now. I've always said "no, I'm not selling my land" and left it at that.

My mother (she changes her last name often, I'm not sure which she currently uses) and my father my father both have become extreme hostile and violent the past 2 weeks, and I'm not sure what set them off, but they are hyper infuriated on my refusal to sell my land and give them the money for a down payment of a house in Kennebunk. 

I did not suspect them, all these years, because always been other people showing up and say they were contacting me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous, but now they are directly doing it themselves.

Starting in June 2001, lots of harassment started and at first, I did not suspect them, or think there was a connection. But now they are outright bragging to my face, that they are the ones behind the vandalism. Like I said, check the police records for 144, 146, 148 Portland Ave from June 2001 til current date. There have been dozens of attacks, including drive by shootings, the bombing of my house, the backhoe driving over my next house, me being beat up with golf clubs which is why I am crippled now for the rest of my life and how my baby died.

The FBI is involved. If you need more information beyond what I've written here,  FBI Agent Andy Drewer can be reached at 207-774-9322 he is at the Portland Office on Middle Street, he is in charge of the investigation, of several events, namely the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing, which my uncle Paul Martel went to prison for building the bomb and selling it to ISIS. The 2006 bombing of the house at 144 Portland Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine. My baby was murdered November 14, 2013, a backhoe drove over my house at 146 Portland August 8, 2013 that's why I'm at the Biddeford apartment right now, because we can't get Kathy BR at the town hall to get a building permit, even though she's not the one in charge of that, she takes over our application and won't let it be approved, because she claims I shouldn't be allowed to live in Old Orchard, due to my having left the Mormon church to become a Voodoo Priestess, she says that makes me a witch and I'm not allowed to apply for a house building permit on those grounds, so, it's been 9 years and I'm still without a house on my land in Old Orchard and still stuck in a Biddeford apartment.

It is a long list of a lot of things happening. I'll try to organize it all in order:

At it's start, the whole thing goes back to a homeless man who wishes to remain anonymous, so I'm not using his real name here, nor have I ever used his real name anywhere online or offline or with any conversation with any one.

He, didn't do anything wrong. Quite the contrary, all he's ever done is live in the Ross Forest and surrounding swamps and marshes along the Saco River in Pine Point, OOB, Saco, Biddeford, and probably other areas, he moves around a lot rotating where he sets up camp, something he's done since 1953. I know quite a few people have seen him and talked to him, I don't know if any police officers have ever encountered him or not. Because he is elderly and in frail health, I often let him stay on my land. He's the ONLY person who has permission to be there. Herein lays the problem: he's deformed from acid burn scars covering most of his body. Churches around the area have spent decades accusing him of being a cryptid, alien, demon, watcher, fallen angel, you name it, someone has called him some weird conspiracy. According to him, himself, he was a Jewish WW2 concentration camp survivor, who arrived in OOB with a bunch of other refugees in 1953. Because he's so deformed by his scars, he was bullied by the locals who refused to believe him a human, and that's why he fled into the forest and never set foot in society again. The problem is, the people harassing me have made up this wild conspiracy that he's a demon and I'm protecting him, and they claim they need to get me off my land in order to get to him.

This all started in 1978.

My parents (my father and my mother), uncles (12), aunts (12+), and cousins (64 at the 1970s/1980s time - more then 400 today), teased and bullied me throughout my childhood about him, but they teased and bullied everyone about everything, so I didn't think that much of their bullying back in the 1970s and 1980s when it first started happening. It was just them being the toxic bullies that they are to everyone.

It wasn't until the 1990s and 2000s that it started to become a problem. And 207 is when I first realized how big of a problem it really was.

In 1996 and 1997 Aunt aunt B sent out lots of emails to the family claiming the emails had been written by me. I did not have email, internet, or even a computer yet. She got Dickie (Richard Merlin Atwater) and David (Atwater) and Joey (Atwater -the one who lives in Australia and is wanted by the FBI for kidnapping and selling babies back in the 1980s- FBI can't arrest him until he leaves Australia -I'm not sure why- so he became a citizen. I don't know the details of what he's wanted for.) in raving warpath over it. All three of them showed up in OOB -even Joey from Australia-though I didn't know he was wanted by the FBI back than. But they arrived here in OOB to yell at me in person, because aunt B made the claim that the emails were from me, so they were all mad at me for having written them, but I never did know the contents of the emails because I didn't write them.

I did not see the emails. I didn't have access to a computer back then ad I didn't have internet until 2007 a full 11 years later. Dickie had several of them printed out and waving them around, but I never got a chance to read what they said. One of the emails was 64 pages long, and according to Dickie was all about aliens. I know nothing about aliens, so most of what he said was just gibberish nonsense to me. This was in 1996, shortly before Heaven's Gate killed 39 people in California and at the time, all 3 of those uncles, plus a few other uncles were members of Heaven's Gate, and one uncle -Mervin Bruce Atwater-made the claim to be "the leader of the Maine division of Heaven's Gate"- I don't know if he actually was a Heaven's Gate leader or not, but he maintained that he was right up until 2019, and in April 2019 he was making the claim to be following Comet Wormwood because HaleBop was the wrong one. Like I said, they were coming up with some pretty wild alien and UFO claims and I'm not sure how much of what they claimed was true.

Well, this was the first time I heard the word "Etiole" which was the nickname they had given to the homeless man who sometimes camped out on my yard. Etiole is not his name, it's always been just the word the Atwaters call him (they say it means man from the stars or alien and that it's a French word. I don't know French, aunt B is the one who knows French, so I never would have given him a French name.) Somewhere in the emails, aunt B had called the homeless man "Etiole" and "amphibious alien" and made the claim that he was an "alien grey" who had abducted me to some mother-ship.  

I have never been abducted by aliens and never made such a claim. I never heard such foolishness. But, that this point, I wasn't fully aware of what they were talking about, so I didn't yet realize they were saying that I was making the claim to have been abducted by aliens.

That's the summer they all showed up talking about Etiole and amphibious aliens and alien abduction. aunt B was the one who started all of that stuff about Etiole, who I never called Etiole. But that was how it got started...all this stuff that is happening now with the vandalism and threats going on this week March 2022.

Bruce and Dickie went to a bunch on MUFON forums from 1996 to 2007 spreading lies about me and Etiole calling him a demon and alien and claiming I was an alien abducted. I found out about what they were doing in 2007 after they'd already been doing it for 11 years. 

I don't think aunt B has ever stopped sending out emails about Etiole while pretended to be me, I think she is still doing it. I think this, because in December 2021, I was at the Biddeford library when an elderly man came over to me, asked if I was EelKat and asked me why I was sending him hundreds of emails about Etiole, and who was Etiole? I told the man I don't use email, I've never emailed anyone, I don't know what he's talking about. He says he gets over 300 emails a day about Etiole from someone claiming to be EelKat. But here's the thing: EelKat is not something I call myself. I'll explain that in a bit.

First, let's go back to 1994. Before aunt B started sending the emails out, while claiming they were written by me. My father (my father) was the one who told the Atwaters about Etiole. My father and Dickie both called him "the white monkey". 

In 1994 and 1996 Bishop Paul Morgan asked me to his office and showed me a bunch of letters, all of them signed "The White Monkey, OST". He said the letters were written to sound like I had written them but he said he'd seen my handwriting before and knew I hadn't written these. The Bishop wanted to know if I recognized the handwriting. Some had been written by my father. Others had been written by Dickie. One was written by my mom's father David Henry Atwater who died several years ago now. This was the Mormon bishop in Cape Elizabeth. This bishop had more then one hundred letters laying on his desk, and he had several boxes more around his desk. He said he received no fewer then 5 letter every day for several months, and was quite concerned for my safety as he felt the letter writers may be "mentally unhinged" and "highly dangerous" based on what he called "several homicidal rants" contained in the letters. He said he was giving the letters to Paul Peterson, at Pine Land Centre Mental Health Institute in New Gloucester, because he felt my father and my uncle Dickie should be committed due to the contents of the letters.

The letters looked physically bizarre. Each one started like a normal letter, straight across sentences, line by line, but upon reaching the end of the page, the words spiralled around the outer edge and into a circle around the page, then upside down bottom to top between the first rows.

Each letter contained codes and cryptographers, and large portions of the letters were unreadable unless you cracked the "secret code" that was included with them.

Both my father and my uncle Dickie frequently wrote in that weird spiral and zigzag of lines fashion. My father's letters were the ones that included the cryptography and hidden codes. Dickies letters were just weird spiralling but no codes to solve.

I did not read any of the letters, but the Bishop was deeply upset by them, and stated that he used to be Catholic before becoming Mormon and said that if he was still Catholic he'd recommend my father had an excorsim down, because as the Bishop put it "the white monkey letters are the closet thing I've ever seen to demon possession".

Later that same year Paul Peterson from Pine Land Centre arrived at church and asked to talk to me. He had with him, some of the White Monkey letters and like the Bishop asked me to id the handwriting.

Stake President Earnshaw (of the same church) later called me in to his office for similar letters he had also received and again the white monkey letters were written by mostly daddy and some Dickie all pretending to be me, trying to make it look like I was pretending to be Etiole. 

In total 16 Bishops and 2 stake presidents had contacted me over the years about white monkey letters, all citing they were receiving them daily. Some said members were receiving them. When I stopped attending the Mormon church, my mother's minister's at the 15 churches she was attending at the time, all started getting the letters. (At the time my mom had a belief that she had to be in church as close to 24 hours a day as possible, so she was attending week day church services at every church that had them, even though she was not a member of most of those churches. She became an atheist last I had heard and attends no churches at all anymore as far as I know.) 

My father was in and out of the hospital a lot during this time period (1991 to 1996-ish), due to the violent fights between him and my mother which included him twice being hospitalized due to blood gushing head injuries from a brick, which also included OOB police arresting my mother for beating him said brick. The psychiatrist from Pine Land Centre felt that my dad suffered serious brain damage from one of the brick beating attacks, and wanted him to press charges against my mother, but he refused. The psychiatrist said he felt that my dad's White Monkey letters was a side effect of the multiple head injuries he was hospitalized for. 

The white monkey letters stopped in 2007 when the psychiatrist at Biddeford hospital diagnosed my father as having schizophrenia and put him on psychiatric medicine. The Biddeford police have this arrest on record. We were living at Water st at the time and my father had tried to kill me and my brother Joshua and also himself. The police arrested him. He was in the psych ward for around a week, and released because of the drastic change in his personality that was caused by the medication. He was only released on the condition that he maintained the meds.

Since 2007 no one has mentioned Etiole or the white monkey, until November 19, 2021, when things (the vandalism and harassment and threats) started escalating, the week Todd Murphy died when people started showing up in Biddeford driveway yelling about Etiole and calling him a suicide demon, claiming my Volvo was demon possessed, and accusing me of driving my car around town to drive people to suicide. I don't know who these people were. The one doing most of the yelling has very unique and very identifiable hair: it's a "high fashion" stick straight bob, like what you see in Italy Runways, super stiff as a board, stick straight, like she uses a few jars of jell to get it so straight. And a weird dark-purple tinted red. Very anime cartoon looking hair. You can't mistake it. She always wears big dark glasses, and usually has a little skinny blond man with her, who appears to be her husband or boyfriend. She frequently is beating him over the head with a baby car seat, while yelling at me and my car, while standing on the front porch of our building. They don't live here, I don't know who they re or where they come from. She did it almost every day of December, and most of the last week of November 2021.

This is the first time anyone has mentioned Etiole in years.

They call him Etiole sometimes, White Monkey other times. 

I should tell you where the term "white monkey" come from.

There was a white monkey, in OOB in the 1970s. It belonged to Helen Pearly of Pine Point and was part of her "White Animal Farm" zoo that she ran, which was a little petting zoo of all albino animals. I think it shut down in the early 1980s. Most older folks of the area remember Helen Pearly and her albino zoo animals - which included an elephant, and other such animals. Well, one day the white monkey escaped and Helen Pearly was a friend of my grandmother's (Helen Ricker Allen) and Helen Pearly showed up at 146 Portland Ave (than 862 because the road was renumbers in 1982) to tell my Grammy Helen the monkey had been seen nearby and to let her know if we saw it. Well, after that me and the other neighbour kids started going out into the swamps looking for the white monkey because Helen Pearly was offering a reward for it being returned. And one day we saw it, and tried to catch it and we followed it into the swamps and we found a homeless man out there. He was sick and starving to death. 

The white monkey belonged to Helen Pearly and has nothing to do with Etiole at all. In 1978 Helen Pearly had a pet white monkey that got lost. Me and Atwater cousin Micheal and my Murphy cousin Timmy (the one whose white cross is on the Ross rd he died in 2013) saw it in the woods out back and tried to catch it. We found Etiole the same day. Etiole is a homeless man who lives behind my land in the woods. Me and Micheal and Timmy took him food. And to this day, we still do, except Michael moved away and Timmy died in 2013 so that left just me taking care of Etiole today. Etiole is very old, probably 80s or 90s today. He's very small, not much bigger than a child, maybe around 5'1"-ish. He's covered with acid burns, scars, and tattoos. He has extreme PTSD and is terrified of the sight of people. He's very skittish, almost mute, speaks mostly with his hands, and run terrified from any people who try to get near him. The only reason he didn't run the day we found him, was because he was very sick, probably pneumonia or something like that. Had we children not found him and taken him food for the next several weeks, he probably would have died that same summer. He must have been in his 50s or 60s back then in 1978.

We told the adults about him, and they went to find him, but, they found some plants instead out there in the swamp, and my mom called the police, and the OOB police called the state police, and the state police called the FBI and the entire rest of the week was lots of police digging up lots of plants. Adam and the Babe, were 2 police officers who were left to stand watch over us children while every one else hauled out the plants. News reporters showed up and the news stations called it "Maine's largest drug raid". I don't know what drug plants look like so I don't know what kind of drugs they were. According the the FBI agents who talked to use kids (we were all 5 to 10 years old at the time) a "bad name named Bryan Cyr put those bad plants in the swamp". The FBI agents said they had been looking for Bryan Cyr and his Cyr Clan from Connecticut for several years and wanted to know had we seen him.  We had not, though we did see him about a year later when the big shoot out happened at 142 Portland Ave in front of the Dome house - the day the dome house blue up because Anne Cyr set fire to the meth lab inside- I saw her poured 3 gas cans on the house then throw several matches. Bryan fled in a robin egg blue micro-mini pick up truck, screaming that the meth lab was gonna blow. The whole house went up like a mushroom cloud. It's the only time I ever saw the Cyr Clan.) 

Adam and the Babe went with us kids to look for the sick homeless man/Etiole as he's now called by locals, but he was gone by then, because it had been 5 or 6 or more hours since the adults found the plants. The 2 police officers looked all over the forest for him, and stopped when they found a human leg bone in the Bachelder Brooke and took that with them and left to join the other officers. (144, 146, and 148 Portland Ave and the swamps and forest behind it is a massive Native American grave - there are at least 500 graves, that back in the 1970s all still had markers, most of the dates are 1400s to 1500, but in the mid 1980s someone stole most all of the slate grave markers, so they are unmarked today. I assume the leg bone was from one of those graves - human bones wash up out of the ground all the time on these sections of land because there are just so many Native American graves all over the place here, on my land and the lands abutting me. It's why the Powder Horn campground can't expand any closer to my land - they hit Native American graves last time they expanded the campground.)

So, because they got sidetracked by all the drug plants and all the police everywhere for the rest of the week, the adults never saw the homeless man or the white monkey as both had been scared off by the huge crowd of drug raid crews.

For some reason because we found him while looking for Helen Pearly white monkey my father and the Atwaters got it in their heads that Etiole was a demon alien shape shifter who turned into a white monkey to lure me and Micheal into the woods. And that's how their stupid ass alien and demon rumours got started.

I should point out, her family, The Atwaters, are the Scottish Traveller Gypsies, aka as The Scottish Mafia by several white Americans, her brothers Bruce and David and several of Davids adult children, grandchildren, and great grand children call themselves Scottish Mafia  and act every bit fitting on that title, which is both why the FBI is investigating and why I have nothing to do with them.

Right after the June attack on her car, a large group of Irish Travellers showed up from the Carilinas and Tennessee and were setting up squatting camps all around the area, The had set up a large camp on BB street behind my Main st/Cutts St apartment in Biddeford, setting up in the big chain link fenced yard on the corner (which is why the owners have since roped the land off.) I didn't think anything of it at first, because the Irish Travellers show up in Southern Maine every year for decades now, so there's nothing unusual about seeing them setting up camps on any space they can find, you see it every year. Usually they camp on the cow farms in Dayton/Buxton/North Saco area, so seeing them in Biddeford was a bit strange.

I point this out because the week they arrived on BB, my mother and her Atwater siblings and their families flipped out big time. They put heavy focus on "the brown house on the corner and the chain link fence yard across the street" and laid out to harassing the landlords of those two locations. They had a list of around 100 addresses in Biddeford, Cape Elizabeth, and many other places included Rhode Island and Connecticut. I saw the list because my mother showed up at my yard waving it around and demanding I help her and the Atwaters stage an attack on the Irish Travellers, whom she claimed was family of the man in the green truck with the 2x4 attack on her car.

A war between the Scottish Travellers/Scottish Mafia/The Atwaters and the Irish Travellers -which include The Cry Clan drug gang from Connecticut - the one the FBI is here looking for-, is the last thing I want to get involved in. Those same two clans are the ones who did the 4-5-8 shoot out back in the 1970s/1980s, when they blew up the dome house at 142 Portland Ave. They were armed to the teeth with truck loads and school bus loads of illegal military guns back in the 4-5-8 shoot out and I don't want to see what kind of weaponry that same group lugs around now 40 years later.

I am a Voodoo Priestess. Voodoo is also known as Folk Catholicism. It is a branch of the Catholic Church. Voodoo is a Christian religion, that focuses on reverence the ancestors. Hollywood Horror movies have slandered our religion to such an extent that the average person thinks Voodoo is dark magic, death spells, curses, and voodoo dolls. Those are all things that exist only in Hollywood and do not exist in real world Voodoo. The problem is made worse, when teens and young adults, not knowing the actual religion, call themselves Voodoo while practising things they see in movies.  While the older generations of Gypsies and Travellers know the difference, younger generation have fallen far from the old traditions, especially the old religion, and sadly, even among Gypsies and Travellers today, many in the age group of 60 years old and younger, only know Voodoo from Horror movies and not from their grandmother's actual practice.

I say this because my mother and her Atwaters wanted me to join then as a "figure head" for their cause. They specifically demanding I summon demons, make voodoo dolls, cast curses, and use magic to kill the list of people living at the addresses on the list they had. In short they attempted to hire me to be a quasi-hit-man for them.

When I explained to them that this is not what Voodoo is about, Voodoo is peaceful, non-violent, we shun weapons and hurtful acts of all types, they lashed out at Etiole -who was not here, it was just me they were yelling at, yelling about him. My mother called Etiole a demon, said he was my familiar, said "I know you work with demons, you can't lie to me" and "you cast death curses on people all the time you lying little bitch, you just won't do it for me because you want to spite your mother, after all I do for you!

I made a Twitch livestream video that same day, telling what was going on and what I feared was about to happen, because I have seen these same two Gypsy clans go to war with each other before.

Well, I have too much to deal with with my health. I'm bedridden 15+ hours a day, so I do nothing but play video games and write novels and edit novels, ALL of which I do on livestream - yes, I livestream for 12 to 15, sometimes 19 hours each and every single day, and I have 92TB of hard drive full of that video footage all the way back to 2015 - I have every minute of every day of my life not only live streamed on Twitch, but I have ALL the video footage files, which mean I have footage of all the attacks, all the yelling at my car, all the demanding I cast death spells, all the trying to hire me as a hit man - all of it. I have over 15k hours of video footage. And because most of the attacks happened during a livestream, there are also hundreds of witness online who saw and heard the attacks and threats already, seeing and hearing them as they were happening.

Going back to the suspecting someone is impersonating me... My mother makes the claim that it is her right to cut the wires off my Biddeford apartment building, because she claims I've put her name, address, and where she goes online. I've never put her address or name or where she goes on the internet. Don't know what she's talking about. I gave her the FBI contact info and told her that if she actually is seeing "me" posting this stuff she claims I'm posting online, then she needs to forward that stuff to the FBI because it's someone impersonating me, and that was one of the things the FBI has suspected was happening so they are actively looking for that kind of stuff. They are trying to get to the bottom of who it is spreading these wild, crazy ass rumours and lies, both doing it in my name and doing it about me.

They've already located a shut down a few dozen impersonation of me, social network accounts, and so far, to date, all of them have belonged to just one person: my mother's brother Mervin Bruce Atwater. Well, it makes sense that HE would know her home address and where she goes, seeing how, for the past decade they were kind of joined at the hip and did everything together. Yeah, of course he knows where she lives and what car she drives and where she goes. 

Also, I never went to school, she did not allow it, There were several legal/court battles between my mom and the OOB school and the state of Maine ad the department of education throughout the 1980s, over the fact that she was actively refusing to allow me to attend school. So I never learned to do math or numbers. I don't know how to count or do money or any stuff like that. And numbers don't register in my head for some reason. People will tell me a phone number or home address and 5 seconds later my mind is blank on the numbers. I can't remember them. That's why when something like an attack happens I write down the tie and date immediately and keep it on a chart - I have a list, day by day, all times and dates of every attack since June 2001. I wouldn't be able to remember what happened when if I didn't keep a list like that.

Well, my mother knows all of this, so she knows even if she had told me her address, which she didn't, I wouldn't have remembered it long enough to even write it down.

In June 2021, I found out she moved, because I was walking my dog -we walk 3 to 4 miles a day, all over Biddeford, Old Orchard, and Scarborough, because I am trying to rebuild my leg muscles after having been bedridden since 2013, with only minimal movement- Doctors said I would never walk again and I aim to prove them wrong and well I have, because I am at least walking enough to walk my dog each day, but it is very difficult, and every step I take feels like a sword stabbing up my right leg and into my spine, because of the nerve damage. It is why I walk so slow and limp so bad, because it hurts terrible to step down.

Well, one day I was walking my dog and all of a sudden, there's my mother, telling me that I'm standing in front of her house and I was surprised, because last I knew she lived several miles away. I had no clue she lived 2 streets over from me and that she had done so for 3 years!

I don't know how she expects me to even know where she goes considering I've had no contact with her in almost a decade now, not since the stunt she pulled April 10, 2015 when she broke into my motorhome, filled it with feces, and then locked her 13 cats in it to frame me for animal abuse. She did not expect the Old Orchard Beach police to arrive and confiscate her cats and then not give them back to her and she has been in a social media battle with several animal shelters, veterinarians, animal control officers, and police officers ever since. Most of her harassment of these people has been targeted at former OOB town hall worker DF  and OOB police officer WW , both of whom she has been harassing on FaceBook for the past 7 years. You can ask DF  and WW  and their family and friends on FaceBook, how bad it has gotten. In recent months she added a new person to her FaceBook harassment, I don't know their name, just that it's the ex-wife and 15 year old son of someone named Todd Murphy who recently died from being hit by a train in front of my Biddeford apartment on Nov 19, 2021. Sometimes she says his death was a suicide, other times she says he was murdered and thrown in front of the train. I don't know which it is, I didn't know him, and only have her word for any of it.

In her mind, the way the whole thing was supposed to happen was: you police were supposed to confiscate my motorhome and she would take her cats and go home. 

What actually happened was: you police confiscated her cats, and I kept my motorhome.

She has spent the last 7 years harassing every pet shelter and rescue in New England, trying to find the cats.

In answer to questions about the cats from April 2015—those were cats belonging to Wayne Whitten of Biddeford, Maine. I was never able to talk about it because of the court case going on between Wayne's family and the Atwaters.

To make matters even worse, the cats were not hers, either. Rather, they belonged to Wayne Whitten and his daughter. My mother had stolen the cats from Wayne, in an act of retaliation, after Wayne refused to hand over to her, his father, William's land.

If you do not know, there are several polygamists in my family, all on the Atwater side. My mother is one of them. Wayne Whitten is one of her many Husbands, and therefore Wayne Whitten is also my stepfather.

In May 2010, my mother took a chainsaw to my 1964 Dodge 330. But it was not the ONLY car she attacked that week. Two days earlier, she took a chainsaw to Wayne's black 1970s vintage Dodge. AFTER, she locked her Old English sheepdog in the trunk and left it there for 6 months, and then tried to say that Wayne killed her dog, when in fact, she had.

Many people in Biddeford, Maine knew Wayne Whitten and his father William Whitten, and both men were known for the wild tales of Wayne's 5th wife, Jeannie, who daily beat him, gathered her older brothers to beat him, and hospitalized him several times, multiple times nearly killing him. That wife is also my mother.

Unfortunately for Wayne Whitten, no one would believe him about how violent and psychotically deranged his wife was and in the space of only a few weeks, his father, then his cats, and then Wayne himself all died. Because of the violent nature of Wayne's death, details were withheld from the public.

Three cats—the white cat Old Lady, and the 2 tabby's Trouble and Sassy, were already dead before the police arrived, and all three were diagnosed as having been force-fed rat poison. This is why, even though my mother put 13 cats in my motorhome, the police only took 10 cats.

Wayne's father, William, owned the cape house next door to Ben's Flooring in Biddeford, behind Walmart. In his 90s, with his health failing, my mother arrived demanding William sell his house and give her the money for a down payment on a mansion in Kennebunk. The exact same demands she is now making at me, these 7 years later. She did this to William Whitten in 2015, and Wayne's daughter to this day maintains that my mother's threats, demands, and harassment were the major contributing factors of William's death.

My mother took the Whitten cats, intending to hold them hostage, until William sold his house and gave her the money. This was why she hid the cats in my motorhome. This is also why when the police showed up asking about the cats, I had no clue what they were talking about and let them search the motorhome telling them there were no cats in it. My mother broke into my motorhome and hid the cats in there, apparently 3 days earlier, and I was unaware she had done this so was unaware the cats were there.

This is also why, when police officer Will Watson asked how many cats there were and what their names were, why I did not know how many cats there were and only knew the names of a couple of the cats that I had heard Wayne talk about.

William Whitten died while the cat fiasco was going on.

Wayne, realizing what my mother had done to his cats, tried to get them back, but he died a few weeks later.

Wayne, his father, and his cats all died a few weeks apart from each other.

My mother went around triumphantly bragging that she had gotten Wayne's father's land, via being Wayne's wife, and set about to the process of buying the house in Kennebunk. And got slapped with a reality check when the two wills got read and both William and Wayne had left everything they had to Wayne's daughter.

In raging inferno, my mom lashed out at Wayne's daughter, and a lawsuit happened, with Wayne's daughter charging my mother with kidnapping the cats, and using rat poison to slowly poison Wayne. A massive Facebook war happened between the Whittens and the Atwaters as my mother got her Atwater thugs involved, and the Whitten's fled in terror once they realized the rumours that my mother was part of the Scottish Mafia, was in fact, very, very, very true.

To this day, the remains of Wayne Whitten's surviving family live in mortal terror, daily vandalism, and barbaric levels of harassment at the hands of my mother, and her brothers Bruce and David and David's sons and grandsons.

More details of what happened can be found here: Amphibious Aliens: https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html

And no, for the people who are confused, Amphibious Aliens has nothing to do with aliens. It is about a homeless man whom my mother and her brother Bruce, over hyper focused on, and together my mother and Bruce created an elaborate alien abduction and demon possession hoax, so they could try to scam several dozen locals out of their houses.

This cat stealing, house stealing scam is something they have been doing to people all over Southern Maine since BEFORE I was even born. The earliest known attempt at this house stealing scam dates back to their father David Henry Atwater and a house he stole in the 1930s in Rumford Maine. At the time, my grandfather used the hoax of an angel from heaven coming down and telling him to take the Rumford farm. And at the time, my grandfather was a transport driver for Honey Fizt's ACTUAL Boston Mafia, which is WHY, the Atwaters make the claim to be the Scottish Mafia. Their claim is that because they are Scottish, and their father worked for Honey Fitz that they are Mafia. But the Atwaters are neither Scottish nor Mafia, both claims are outright lies that are nothing more than part of the scam they run.

As can be seen with BOTH what she has spent the past 5 decades doing to Etiole and what she is currently doing to Todd Murphy's family on and off FaceBook, you can see how much my mother hyper focuses on homeless people and abusing their friends and relatives and using the homeless person's homelessness as excuses for the scams she runs.

That she spent decades running a land stealing scam in Etiole's name, and now is running another land stealing scam in Todd Murphey's name is utterly deplorable.

And you people who wonder WHY I've not had contact with my mother in 30 years, WHY I shun her. WHY I hate her and her Atwater thugs so much... you are right now witnessing it live as they do it all over again, this time taking advantage of the pain and suffering of Todd Murphy's family to try to steal land from people in the name of a homeless man who was killed by a train.

I am thoroughly and utterly disgusted with my mother's vile abuse of the Murphy family and what she is doing in the name of a dead man.

I've said it thousands of times before and I'll say it again: The Atwaters are scum.

The Atwaters devote their lives to abusing homeless people and the families of those homeless people, just so they can run their filthy scams, and I’m fucking sick of the Atwaters and their filth.


She has had several retaliation attacks happen to her, done by family and friends of the people she's harassing on FaceBook. the retaliation attacks included a Biddeford Public Works road grader being driven into her yard and over her car in 2017. Two additional attacks on her next car, the following year. And in June 2021 a man driving a green pick up truck drove into her yard and beat her car with a 2by4. (Note, I did not witness any of these attacks on her cars and only have her word on what happened.)

All of these people she is fighting with on FaceBook, I don't know, they are people she knows and they are not on my FaceBook and I blocked her and all the Atwaters from my FaceBook back in May 2015, when her and her nieces and nephews and siblings were posting death threats on my FB profile. One cousin cousin name, posted pictures of herself carrying a machine gun (not automatic rifle - but a machine gun - the big type you put on a tripod and have a belt full of hundreds of bullets slung over your shoulder- similar to a gatland gun but not as big, though she had pictures of her gatland gun too that she was also posting on my FB) She'd write under the pictures "This is the gun I'm going to shoot you with"... her husband was one of the guys arrested after the Jan 6 attack, by the way - the guy in Florida with the Nancy something's ( forget her last name, I think it began with a P? I don't know American politics, I find it all confusing so I'm not sure who the Nancy woman was). He stole her pulpit and  he was posting pictures of him stealing on FB. Her mom is aunt L, and she and he were among the 23 cousins that the FBI has been trying to find because they supplied a lot of the guns for the Jan 6th attack, according to posts they made on FB. I don't know, I never saw any such posts because I have them all blocked n FB since 2015. Her brother cousin name was also posting pictures of him carrying guns and writing death threats underneath on my FB wall. His messages said: "I'm an ordained Aaronic Priest and god has given me permission to blow your brains out with this gun". cousin name and cousin name are 2 of David and aunt L's 15 adult kids -all are 40 to 60+ years old. David is my mom's oldest brother, he's in his 80s. He is very violent, there has never been an occasion of him arriving on my land in Old Orchard, that did not involve his trying to kill me, usually by strangling me. He is the most violent of all the uncles. Several times while he's been here he beat up his adult kids by hitting them in the face with weights off of dumbells. 

Most of the Atwater men are retired Marines, and all of them are over 6'2" the tallest, is 7'3". These guys are HUGE and are all weightlifters. You don't want to cross one of the Atwater uncles, they are former Marines trained in weaponless combat. David runs a compound in Palmyra.. . and you might have just seen his crew in the news - they were doing a squatter's rights takeover of that big mansion next door to Stephen King in Bangor and somehow the place caught fire. The news reports didn't mention Stephen King and went out of their way to get camera angles that kept King's house out of the news, but I'm as familiar with Bangor streets as I am Old Orchard and Biddeford streets, so I recognized which house it was on the news, that got attacked by the squatters doing a take over war. 

My uncle and his kids are trying to confiscate the land all around Stephen King - they say they have the right to because no one was ever paid any money for being in The Thinner movie. That happened about 2 weeks ago, the news did not list the squatters name, but like I said, it's my uncle and his crew, they been focusing on the 20 or so houses around King's big red Victorian, for over a decade now. They tried to get me to help them do it, that's how I found out. They made the claim that because I'm an author I should be able to reason with Stephen King and convince him to hand over his red Victorian house in exchange for his never paying them for being in The Thinner. I told them to get lost and burn in hell. Just because I'm an author and King's film crew filmed a part of Thinner on my land in Old Orchard doesn't mean I know King himself, I never even met him, and them being obsessed with stealing land from people is just out of control. 

The whole Atwater clan does this. They don't see anything wrong with moving in, setting up camp, and driving the rightful land owners off their land at gunpoint.

They act like it's a family tradition to steal land from people, via squatting, harassment, corrosion, death threats, and outright just forging deeds and switching the files, like they did with my land.

And that's the issue we have going on right now. My mother has gone on a psych crazed warpath vendetta of taking my land or else, and or else so far has included her twice now having my father shove things up the tailpipe of my car, both times doing lots of damage t the car when I started the engine and everything inside blew up because of the fuel line blocked. And twice now - each time the same day as attacking my Volvo cutting the wires off the Biddeford apartment as well, in the same driveway where the car was parked.

Both times they admitted to doing it and both times used the justification that I deserved it because I was refusing to sell my land and give my mother the money to buy a house in Kennebunk. She says she has to move to Kennebunk to "get away from the niggars invading Maine, Kennebunk is all white they don't allow no niggars". She's very crude and vulgar and has an extreme hatred for black people and hangs around online with some group that calls itself "the workers of iniquity" which claims to be "a branch of the Ku Klux Klan because the original Ku Klux Klan is not strict enough".

Throughout 2016 people wearing KKK-like white robes and hood showed up in Old Orchard to make threats about my land. Back then I was unaware that my mother was friends with such a group. The robes are NOT KKK robes, the KKK robes are very distinctive, covered with fancy bead work and embroidery, and are not white, but are usually green or red or blue or yellow. It's a Hollywood myth that the KKK wears white, and that's how you can tell REAL KKK from fake wannabe's pretending to be KKK. Real KKK is not wearing white sheets and white pillowcases. The real KKK is a church that is organized similar to Catholic church and all their robes mean specific ranks, also they don't wear hood, they wear mitre hats like the pope does, and have a veil mask over their eyes. So its pretty easy to identify real KKK from fakers in white sheets, and the people showing up in my yard were not real KKK, they were fakers literally wrapped in white bed sheets with pillow cases over their heads. 

Well, various white-power groups show up in the area, that's nothing unusual. Neo-Nazi, Sovereign Citizens, ect. They've always been around Maine, so much so that there are KKK and white power history museums in Maine -one is in Saco. So, I didn't think much of the white hood idiots in my yard. We are Gypsies, white hooded idiots are a part of our non-white life.

Well, here's the thing: we are not white. My mother's mother was not a Gypsy. Eva Viola Little John Dyer Atwater was half Kickapoo Native American and half black. He mother was 100% Native America. Her father 100% black. My mom is 1/4 black, 1/4 Native American, and 1/2 Gypsy of Roumania/Arabian/Middle Eastern descent. There is not one drop of white blood in her. Which is why I was surprised to hear her say: "I gotta move to Kennebunk to get away from the niggars invading Maine, Kennebunk is all white they don't allow no niggars". Yes, Kennebunk is all white, and look at the news, the black school teach who lives in Old Orchard Beach and worked at Kennebunk schools is daily bombarded with swastika painted on her car while she's teaching class. I can't drive my Volvo down main street Kennebunk with out getting pelted with rocks and crowds running off the sidewalks screaming "death to Gypsy scum!" It's dangerous t drive through Kennebunk and not be white -they pull us coloured folks out of cars if we get stopped at a red light. Kennebunk is legendary for being the most white power town in the state of Maine.

One has only to look up the international news reports of the 10 year old school children dragging their black teacher into the streets and almost beating her to death -in 2020. That happened barely a year ago. Kennebunk is the most hostile anti-black town in America and they are proud of it, brag about it, and since the BLM stuff of 2020, Kennebunk has gotten ten times worse. And, she's been seeing all that in the news and wants to live there, and I'm not sure why, because like I said,  my mom is 1/4 black, 1/4 Native American, and 1/2 Gypsy of Roumania/Arabian/Middle Eastern descent and if she tries to buy a house there, and they find out she has black blood, they'll kill her. But she's all hyped up on a white power kick and wants to join Kennebunk's anti-black movement, and... I... I just don't understand it and I'm sure if that's actual why she wants to go thee or not.

There was a court case about the cats (3 different ones because the town hall dropped the case after evidence proved the cats were not mine and my mother had snuck them in my motorhome a few days earlier to try to frame me and then some MB guy crawled out of the woodwork to reopen the case a month later), which, for some reason was in my name, not her name, because the motorhome was mine, even though the cats were hers. Weirdly, half way through the court case the town hall dropped the case and some guy named MB Bureau took over it instead. Thing is, I don't know who this MB guy is. He's not anyone I have ever even met before and he was not at the court so I didn't meet him there either. He came in with lots of wild accusations about me harassing him, even though I had no clue who he was and had never heard of him before. MB's lawyer took photo copies of a conversation on Twitter between me and JB (the guy the FBI arrested for embezzling $30k out of the OOB town hall bank account - $3million in OOB tax money went missing, the rest was never found as far as I know. The Twitter conversation was this JB sending me death threats because he had just been released from prison, and he was claiming I had put him there, even though I didn't know him or that he'd been in prison or that he had stolen money from OOB town hall. According to FBI, JB was a church friend of my mother's and he and town manager Jim Thomas, had been Bishopric counsellors to Mormon Church Bishop DK and the 3 of them and several others from the Saco LDS church had taken over the OOB town hall in around 2010 and embezzled $3million in town taxes. Apparently my Uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, Richard Merlin Atwater, and aunt B had been involved, been involved and they had used fake social media accounts in my name to contact JB so he thought I knew him, that's why he contacted me on my real account after getting out of prison. I don't know the details I only know the small bit of info the FBI told me to let me know why this JB guy was contacting me.) For some reason, this MB guy, said the Twitter conversation with this Joel guy was about him. 

And apparently according to the FBI, this MB guy owns the old abandoned logging road across the street from me, which is numbered as 139 Portland Ave. I don't know, that road has been abandoned at least since the 1970s, I had no idea any one lived down there, but FBI says this MB guy does. I've been at 146 since 1975, and I've never see any one live there. FBI says there is another driveway on a different side that they probably use. Any ways, for some odd reason this MB guy took over the court case with the cats, only he suddenly said it was about me being transgender (but I'm not transgender, so I don't know why he said I was) His lawyer came into court saying I was a man pretending to be a woman, and here's where it got really weird, the lawyer copied what he SAID was an "About Me" page off of my website (eelkat.com) only what he copied was the about page for the main character of the novel series I write (I'm the author of 138 published novels). The series is about a male Elf who is possessed by a female parasitic alien jellyfish. So it's a female jellyfish wearing the body of a dead male Elf like a coat and passing herself off as him.

Well, this lawyer (Gene Libby) for this MB guy is waving THAT fictional character profile around in court, saying it was my personal about me page, and making the claim that I was a male to female transvestite who believed I was an Elf... and here's the kicker... his whole spiel was trying to convince the judge that I was insane so this MB guy could confiscate my land at 146 Portland Ave! It was the most bizarre thing, and the judge thought so too, because the judge tossed the whole thing out of court because the charges this MB guy had against me were so oddball off the wall nut job ridiculous. But the thing was, again, it was someone making wild claims that I had to hand them over my land, which is what keeps happening with every one of these weird attacks. And always, like both these 2 guys: JB and MB Bureau they are creepy ass strangers who crawl out of the woodwork, people I've never heard of before, making claims to being my friend (JB made the claim he was my best friend and said we talked all the time on FaceBook, but he wasn't on my FB and I'd never heard of him before. While MB Bureau in his court papers made the claim to be one of my uncles -he is not-and)

aunt B and aunt L of Bangor used to be putting stuff online about me and my brothers and JB would get it from aunt B and aunt L and forward it every where. This was in 2010 era, but I did not see the posts, because none of them is a FaceBook friend of me. The FBI however said they saw a lot of the posts, these people made, including several death threats. Seems likely something like that is happening again given the way people keep showing up here at the Biddeford apartment when no one even knew I was here.

I met aunt L about 3 times during my childhood, it's been 30+ years since I last saw her, and I've never spoken with her online or offline not once in my entire life.

aunt B I meet 10 or 12 times during my childhood, and likewise it's been 30+ years since I last saw her, except for 2 times. One in 2013 she showed up at my Biddeford apartment on Water St, with some medical scam idea she had that she wanted me to help her with. She said she was working at Blue Cross/Blue Shield and had found a way to get people's insurance money because a lot of people didn't file claims; she said she was also an EMT, and she could take the records from one job to cross with the other job, to have people's insurance money forwarded to a POBox she owned. I told her I wanted nothing to do with it and to get lost. I don't know how true any of the stuff she said was. I don't know if she worked at those places or could do the scam she was claiming or not.

aunt B showed up again in 2016, at the Gazebo Park (might be named Mechanic's Park?) on the Saco River by the water treatment plant. I was there walking my dog, and my mother showed up with an uncle Peter (now deceased) who was visiting from Utah. They were having a picnic. aunt B and Bruce showed up to trash everything, steal the food, and then leave. They were yelling and screaming the whole time. They acted drunk, except I didn't think they drank. I don't know. Mormons don't drink, not usually.

So I don't know aunt B and aunt L otherwise. I know nothing about them. Have never had contact with them, have never spoken with them online or offline. So, I'm puzzled as to why they were posting things online about me in 2010, or why they were acting like they knew me, when neither of them has ever been a part of my life or know anything about me.

But, they make claims that I say and do various things that I don't say or do. The list of things they've accused me of is massive and kind of crazy and include the claims that I am a prostitute, and that I am a Mafia gang leader ... like I said, it's just wild and also very slanderous and I'm sick of it.

Back in 2019 when my mother got her car, she had it over a month before I even knew she had gotten a car. I found out she had it when she flipped out saying I was online telling people she bought a car. And it turned out is was aunt B and Brucie online telling everyone she got a car, but I had told them,  even thought I had never talked to either of them since 2013 when FBI told me cut off all contact with them

aunt B and Bruce and aunt L all 3 are constantly telling people I said things, that I never said. 

I told you people been showing up talking about Todd and claiming I said things online about him, but I don't even know who he is or what they are talking about. It almost looks like someone is online impersonating me.

A few weeks ago an old man walked up to me, asked if I was EelKat and then asked me why I kept emailing him, and I said I don't email anyone cause I don't use email. He said some days he gets over 300 emails a day from someone claiming to be EelKat 

Last time my car had this problem was same day my father cut the internet on my mom's orders. Suspicious my car has same problem again, same day internet goes off again. It went off while my mother was here

aunt B showed up at water st day after golf club attack, but I never knew how she found out , I never told anyone online about it . Her and Bruce knew about it some how before any one else.  They wanted me to use my injury to help them run a medical scam and they were pissed when I refused to. They started spreading lies about me online because of that. That was Nov 2013

aunt B and Bruce knew about the cats and DAY BEFORE it happened. aunt B posted on my FaceBook wall "the next head nailed to the door will be yours" the day before any heads were nailed to door

I think it's aunt B online saying stuff about me and my mom, because she did it before and because FBI was here asking about her going down to Washington Jan 6 attack, but I didn't yet know the Jan 6 attack had even happened. They said aunt B aunt L and 23 cousins had been down there and they FBI was trying to find them. 

Old Orchard police and Biddeford police and a detective have all shown up asking about aunt B and aunt L and 23 cousins as well. But again I don't know anything because I not had contact with them. But FBI, 2 police departments and a detective are all saying aunt B and aunt L and 23 cousins are making claims about me, in connection to bombs and ISIS .

That's how I found out Paul Martel was in prison. According to FBI agents, Paul Martel built the bombs for the 2013 Boston marathon and the 2013 bomb at South Maine Community College and put the college bomb in my class to make it look like I made the Boston bomb. That's why the FBI showed up to begin with. They were at the college investigating both bombs that happened the same day

FBI said they believed the whole thing was aunt B and Bruce idea, but Paul martial was the one who actually built the bomb and sold it to ISIS, and put the second bomb in my class at college so Paul Martel was the only one they could arrest. FBI is trying to arrest aunt B because they think she's the one behind it. They said the whole thing seems to have started because Scott went to prison for selling drugs at Scarborough downs and for some reason aunt B thinks I'm the one who turned him in, even though I've not seen or heard from Scott since he was 8 years old

FBI thinks the attack on the cats was aunt B retaliating because Paul Martel got arrested. 

When Dickie died also in 2013, after the bomb in Boston but before the golf club attackers aunt B was with him taking charge of his medicine and his official cause of death was an overdose of his medicine, with a not saying unable to determine if accident or suicide. I found out this 2 days after he died when Jacksonville County state police from Florida showed up here in Maine to interview me about where I was the day Dickie died  because when he died aunt B called 911 and told the police I had killed him. 

The FBI thinks the golf club attack was aunt B retaliating because police didn't arrest me for murdering Dickie like she had demanded they do

FBI is full focused on arresting aunt B and Bruce. There's no evidence Bruce is dead. All evidence points to him being in New Zealand. 

FBI believes Bruce faked death because FBI was moving in to close and he didn't want to take the fall for what aunt B is doing 

In 1996 and 1997 aunt B sent out lots of emails to the family claiming the emails had been written by me. I did not have email, internet, or even a computer yet. She got Dickie and David and Joey in raving warpath over it. That's the summer they all showed up talking about Etiole and amphibious aliens and alien abduction. aunt B was the one who started all of that stuff about Etiole, who I never called Etiole. Etiole is not his name, it's always been the word the Atwaters used to describe him (it means man from the stars or alien it's a French word. I don't know French, aunt B is the one who knows French, so I never would have given him a French name) Bruce and Dickie went to a bunch on MUFON forums from 1996 to 2007 spreading lies about me and Etiole calling him a demon and alien and claiming I was an alien abducted. I found out about it in 2007 after they'd already been doing it for 11 years. I don't think aunt B has ever stopped sending out emails about Etiole while pretended to be me, I think she is still doing it.

My father was the one who told the Atwaters about Etiole. My father and Dickie both called him the white monkey. In 1994 and 1996 Bishop Morgan asked me to his office and showed me a bunch of letters, all of them signed "The White Monkey, OST". He said the letters were written to sound like I had written them but he said he'd seen my handwriting before and knew I hadn't written these. He wanted to know if I recognized the handwriting. Some had been written by daddy. Others had been written by Dickie. President Earnshaw later called me in for similar letters he had received and again the white monkey letters were written by mostly daddy and some Dickie all pretending to be me, trying to make it look like I was pretending to be Etiole. In total 16 Bishops and 2 stake presidents had contacted me over the years about white monkey letters

The white monkey letters stopped in 2007 when the psychiatrist at Biddeford hospital diagnosed daddy as having schizophrenia and put him on psychiatric medicine. Since 2007 no one has mentioned Etiole or white monkey, until the week Todd died when people started showing up in Biddeford driveway yelling about Etiole and calling him a suicide demon

The white monkey belonged to Helen pearly and has nothing to do with Etiole at all. In 1978 Helen pearly had a pet white monkey that got lost. Me and cousin Micheal saw it in the woods out back and tried to catch it. We found Etiole the same day. Etiole is a homeless man who lives behind my land in the woods. Me and Micheal took him food. For some reason because we found him while looking for Helen pearly white monkey my father and the Atwaters got it in their heads that Etiole was a demon alien shape shifter who turned into a white monkey to lure me and Micheal into the woods. And that's how their stupid ass alien and demon rumours got started.

I used to let him sleep in the Dodge at night, that's why people started saying the car was haunted. They said Etiole was a demon and the car was demon possessed. My father and Bruce used to stay up all night debating what kind of demon Etiole must be and kept calling me a demon child and a witch and saying I was demon possessed and they called Etiole my familiar and said I summoned him to cast curses and death spells. Bruce believed all that stuff as actual fact and after Bruce left for the night my dad would joke about how gullible Bruce was and how easy it was to convince him demons lived in my car. From there the rumours ended up on the internet through the Heaven's Gate group, that Bruce was a member of at the time. They were a group of around 200 people who went from one UFO forum to the next spreading rumours about me and Etiole. They did that for 11 years before I found out Bruce and his UFO friends were doing it. 

I found out when people started showing up in Old Orchard with beeping equipment claiming they were here the capture Etiole while calling him an amphibious alien and EBE and calling me "EelKat Etiole's friend" I did not use the username EelKat online and none of my books about EelKat (the black bobcat) had ever been published so there was no reason for internet people to know either the name EelKat or Etiole.  I was using the username xavychup online not EelKat, that's why my email address is xavychup not EelKat. EelKat is something Grammy called me back in the 1970s because she said eels and cats were my spirit animals. I never called myself EelKat online or offline so only the Atwaters had ever heard that word before and yet in 2007, I spent the entire summer with endless people showing up in my yard at my tent and all calling me EelKat and all looking for Etiole. 

Because I was living under the tarp I had no access to internet yet so had no clue what was going on online. I went to the library and searched Etiole and EelKat to see what came up and I found tens of thousands of forum posts and interviews and articles all written by Bruce and Dickie, including interviews with Buddy Hopkins, David Mack, and David Icke. All the stuff they said was how they had this demon possessed niece who had been abducted by aliens and has brought an alien back from the mother ship with her and was now protecting him. Every one of the forum posts. Interviews and articles had my full name, my old Orchard address, my email, and my old Orchard phone number listed. That was why so many people were showing up at the tent. In 2006 to 2009. The whole thing of people calling me a Witch and saying about curses and death spells and aliens and demons was started by daddy saying that stuff to Bruce and then Bruce and Dickie spreading it online for 11 years from 1996 to 2007

I started using the name EelKat online BECAUSE my uncles had spent 11 years calling me that on MUFON forums, and when I found out about it and started contacting all the forum admins, I had to tell every one:

"I'm Wendy Christine Allen. I'm the one you all call EelKat, Etiole's friend, the REAL EelKat, friend of the REAL Etiole,  and I'm here to slap every damned one of you with protection from harassment orders. I'm tired of the slander and lies you people are spreading about me of fucking UFO websites. I'm not an alien abductee, I've never claimed to be, until this morning I didn't even know what an alien abductee was. Etiole is not an alien. Etiole is not a demon. He's a local homeless man who has a skin deformity, so he hides in the forest because people are scared of him because of what he looks like, and they beat him up and bully him. The people telling you he's an alien are my uncles, who the ring leaders behind beating him up and bullying him, and I'm quite upset to find out they've been doing it online for quite some time and I'm only just finding out about it now, because earlier this week, I had 30,000 people in my driveway, trying to catch him while screaming that he was an amphibious alien and EBE. You UFO crazies are insane, and I want you people out of my yard. My uncles are lying to you about me and Etiole and you'll idiots for believing them."

I created an EelKat username EVERYWHERE just so I could post that message to every place my uncles had posted that fucking ass alien abduction shit about me and Etiole. THAT, is why you saw me start to use the EelKat username in 2007, when I was always xavychup everywhere before that.

And that is also why I do NOT have an EelKat email.  I've had the xavychup email since 1994, I still have it. And anyone using an eelkat email to contact you isn't me, because I don't have an eelkat email. It always has been and still is xavychup.

Last I knew aunt B and Bruce and aunt L and Bruce's daughters and David's kids and grandchildren were all still continuing to spread demon and alien lies about me and Etiole and were still putting my real name and address on everything. In 2019 they were putting my old Orchard address my high street address and also my water st address even though I was no longer at water street on thousands of forum posts and Facebook posts. In 2019 they were making several hundred posts daily across all there accounts and I found 27 fake EelKat accounts owned just by Bruce himself alone. They were all things like eeelkat, ee1kat, 33lkat, etc. Slightly spell different to look like it was me, yo someone looking quick and not paying attention.  They are likely still doing it and I assume they are doing the same to my mother as well. 

Also I don't even know what mothers address is. How could I put it anywhere? I didn't even know she moved until last summer and apparently she moved a few years ago. No one ever told me she had moved. 

Just like the saying about me saying she got a car. I didn't know about the white car until she came over in it to see Mickey last may and apparently she had a few cars in between. Last car I knew was the black one. I didn't even know she had a new car, let alone more than one.

No one ever told me those things, not her or any one else so it's utterly stupid for her to think I could put her address or cars online. Only people who knew about her address and cars could put them online.

Don't forget she never even told me when Dickie or Bruce died. Both times I found out from the FBI showing up to investigate accusations that I had murdered them

I'm the bed ridden, crippled by multiple attacks. The November 14, 2013 golf club attack, I was almost healed from, but the June 2016 shopping cart attack re opened the 2013 injury and doctors can't operate this time because of the bone shards severing my spinal column. I'm crippled for the rest of my life and no one in this family ever cared. 

Both attacks the FBI wanted to talk to my parents and they refused to talk to him both times. My baby was murdered in the first attack. I was 8 months pregnant and all any of them would do was gibberish about "rosemary baby" and say there was no baby because it was a demon because it was Etiole's. My parents and the Atwaters hate Etiole that much, that they shun the existence of my baby and act like it was never there. That's how much they hate me. That's how cruel and hate filled they are towards me. They spent the last 50 years calling me demon possessed and them saying that is WHY local people attack me and killed my baby and left me crippled for the rest of my life. 

I am in bed 15 or more hours a day, I can barely sit up, I can barely stand up long enough to cook, I have to wear adult diapers since 2013 because half my organs don't work any more because the nerves from those organs to my spine are cut off. My hands shake so bad that it takes me hours to eat a single meal. I can't go back to college, I can't go back to work. But do they care? No. Not my mother. Not my father. Neither of them give a shit. They are both too damned selfish thinking about their own greed to ever once lift a finger to help me. Daddy treats me like a fucking slave and my mother is so far out of my life shunning me because bishop kenning in Saco ward told her too that she hasn't got a clue how bad things are.

I'm not doing a damned thing to any of them. I mind my own business. I write my novels. I don't contact them. I don't talk to them. I don't talk about them.  Someone is clearly pretending to be me online and is slandering me and getting sick of it. My mother flips out about everything thing under the sun and I never have a clue what she's talking about, because I never did or said any of the things she accuses me of. And my father and the Atwaters do the same thing. Some one is out there pretending to be me to get them worked into a frenzy just to sit back and laugh while watching my mother, my father, and the Atwaters be too damned stupid to think. My mother and my father and the Atwaters are all filled with so much pure hatred for me that it takes nothing to convince them to attack me. And whoever it is posting online pretending to be me, knows that and is taking advantage of it. 

I'm too damned sick and crippled to even attempt to do half the crazy shit my mother and my father are accusing me of. And what's worse, my father is right here in the same apartment with me. He sees me every day, he knows how bad off my health is. 

Look how much I'm bleeding all over the house every day. Massive nose bleeds that last for hours to a time, not bleeding from my nose. Just coming out of my nose. I'm so dizzy I can't sit up for weeks to a time. I faint and blackout when I try to get up to go to the bathroom. The pain in my hip and pelvis and knee and spine is so bad I can't even move my fingers to type my novels. 

And look at what they do. Do they really think I'm physically capable of doing the things they accuse me of? They are so damned self centred and paranoid. It's all I can do just to sit up and eat something, how the hell do they think I can do the stuff they accuse me of? My day is spent focusing on trying to get my leg to move so I can make a meal, I don't even have time to think about them. 

It looks more and like my mother and my father are doing this stuff on purpose to try to kill me. My father knows how bad off my heart and lungs are and how difficult it is for me to breath after just a couple of steps. His mother left that land to me in her will in 1983. He stole it, had it put into his name illegally. He's been pissed ever since her death, because she gave everything to me not him. That's been a big problem for him for the last 40 years. He raves about it alongside his ravings about going to Utah taking him off the fire department. He hates my mother because of Utah, blames her every day for losing his fire department pension. He raves about it all night long every single night. He blames me for his mother disinheriting him. He raves about that all the time too. I was only grandchild That's why she left everything to me. Including the land that he stole and put in his name. That land is rightfully mine, his mother gave it to me, and he can't stand it. He's needling my mother about the land just to spite his mother.

He's only trying to get the land away from me because he is mad that the town didn't take it. His mother wanted it to stay in the family. It had been in her family since 1530. Her family was the original settlement family of old Orchard and my land is that spot that the first house in Old Orchard was built.  My father stopped paying taxes to spite his mother and lose the land. He said so many times. He was angry when I bought the land back from the town. He still is. He wants it out of the family because his mother wanted it in the family. That's why he's trying to turn my mother against me over the land. Because he gates his own mother that much.

Keep in mind the 4 door white truck showed up at my workplace daily. Even though I never knew ahead of time what store I would be working at. I was a retail merchandiser and stocked shelves at dozens of stores all over the state. Walmart's every where, CVS, khols, sometimes local, sometimes as far as Freeport and once in Vermont and once in Massachusetts.  I got the notice of which store to be at 15 minutes before I left. So the only person who ever knew where I was going was my father. 

And yet the 4 door white truck would also arrive ahead of me and be waiting. They didn't follow me, they got their first.

And the police caught the truck and the driver in 2017. Kathy BR owned the truck. Her son was the driver.

The smith's are my parents friends. My mother's visiting and home teachers for years.

Kathy was the district emergency dispatch for all the towns in the area, not just old Orchard. That's why none of the 911 calls went through during the attacks by the 4 door white truck. He only attacked while she was on duty. She never forwarded any of the calls so officers never were told to come help me.

That includes the November 14, 2013 golf club attack in South Portland. But the college security officer made a report even though the police never arrived. That big black officer who was head of security was on duty and him and 2 student officers from the police academy made the report.

And FBI found the data from the calls, that never got forwarded to police, that's why Kathy BR lost her job. Because she's the one who tampered with the 911 call files.

Tim and Kathy BR both, not together, individually, arriving separately, both arrived at my tent multiple times throughout the entire year of 2013, saying they were coming to speak to me on behalf of someone who wanted to remain anonymous. So I never knew who sent them. Each time they arrived all they would say was that I had to tear down "the little yellow house" as they called the shop. 

August 8, 2013 the backhoe drove over the shop while I was at work on the food truck down by the pier.

I never saw Tim or Kathy again after that. Not once. And these were people who stopped by to visit my parents daily for over 40 years. Since August 8, 2013 and the backhoe attack on my house, Kathy and Tim have gone to alarming extreme levels to avoid running into me. They just down the street, on one of the private drives, so it's difficult to avoid running into me, and we used to see them a few times a week at local grocery stores. They both, if they see me in a store, literally throw whatever they are carrying across the store and run out of the store like they have a pack of rabid wolves on their heels. It's pretty fascinating thing to see.

My cousin and next door neighbour Tim Murphy was murdered that same week, a few days before the backhoe. His body was left at the cascade Ross road crossroad. 14 days later his head was left at the Portland Ave Ross road crossroad road. His mother put up the big white cross a month later. 

The 4 door white truck showed up a few days later. 

Tim Murphy had an identical truck. The police and FBI initially thought it was his, but his truck was later found.

Tim Murphy owned Etiole's swamp and was the one buying most of the food and supplies for Etiole. 

Tim Murphy was with me and Micheal the day we tried to catch Helen pearly white monkey and found Etiole. 

The FBI believes that Tim Murphy was killed by someone trying to frame Etiole and believes the murder was a retaliation over Tim Murphy refusing to sell the swamp land behind me. 

At the time the FBI was looking at DF Feeney as a suspect but DF Feeney's family was killed in a murder suicide and he too is now seen as someone who was being framed.

The swamp, sandpit, and pond behind me, the Murphys own that, and 3 people in their family have now died horrifically violent deaths because they, like me were protecting Etiole from the people who would kill him because they believed Bruce's demon and alien lies about Etiole. 

Look at what is being done to me. They drove a backhoe over my house and they murdered my baby and they crippled me, all days apart.

Look at what is being done to the Murphys. And they're massacring the Murphy family. Tim's death the same time as the attack on me.

And look at who screams the loudest hate for Etiole. Look WHO calls him a demon.

And look at WHO the FBI's number one suspect in all of this is.

My family laughs and jokes about this whole thing like they think it's a fucking game. People are dying and the FBI is not laughing. 

Look at WHO keeps attacking my car. Look at WHO keeps cutting the wires off the apartment. Vandalism. Harassment. Bullying. Threats. Evil people Evil things. By their fruits yea shall no them, for no good thing springs from dead wood. Those are small petty crimes, but they are still crimes. But it's far beyond petty crimes. The list of people who have been murdered is quite long now. 13 died just at the Boston marathon bombing. I'm crippled for the rest of my life, and so far, I'm the only person who was attacked who lived through an attack. Every one else they've attacked is dead. Most of them beheaded or killed in a bomb. 7 different bombs, including one in my classroom at college in 2013, two in my workplace in 2015 and 2016, the house in Old Orchard in 2006, and my doctor on Saco Ave in 2003 where the doctor the nurses and 21 patients were killed. And the FBI was on site for every one of them, and my family thinks it's funny to laugh and make jokes about all of it. Because that's they do since the day me and Micheal and Tim Murphy found Etiole

Do you realize for all the shit my parents have pulled,  they've never once apologized for anything. And you know why? Because they aren't sorry. They feel no guilt. They feel no shame. They feel no remorse. Why? Because they hate me. They always have. From the time I was old enough to walk both of them reminded me daily that I was supposed to be a boy to replace the baby boy that was born before me. That's why Grammy Helen was the one who was always with me until I was 8. And after that it was Grammy Eva. And then BW. 

Do you know how I found out Santa wasn't real? Grammy Helen died when I was 8. That year for Christmas there were no Christmas presents. There was just my parents arguing over which one of them should have lowered themselves to buy a gift for the mistake that committed the sin of not being born a boy. I remember that Christmas better than any other. Because that's when found out exactly how much my parents hated me and thought I was worthless because I was a girl.

Look at my MRI scans at the damage the foundation nail through my hip did. The mutilated bones that were shattered when I was 6 years old and no one took me to the hospital. I've walked on a broken leg for almost 50 years. 

Look at the jaw surgery I had to have when I was 42 to repair an injury done to me with a brick when I was 14. 

Look at the Gremlin, 1974 orange, obliterated by a sledgehammer. 

Look at what happened when I was awarded phi theta kappa. No one went to the award ceremony. My mother said it was stupid. My father spent the day raving calling me an educated damned fool. BW was at the temple with Rick. And people with golf clubs were waiting at my car.

Do you realize if just one single person had cared enough to be at the phi theta kappa awards my baby might not have been murdered and I might not be crippled now. 

Grammy Helen would beat my dad's ass for the shit he does to me. And Grammy Eva would be ashamed of the stuff my mother does. Neither Helen or Eva would have let them get away with the constant abuse and harassment.

As for what happened to my car March 9, 2022 - KRA vandalized my car and tried to make it look like my brother did it. KRA stuffed the tailpipe full of McDonald's ketchup packets, which is what caused the fuel line to blow up. I could have died. He tried to kill me and make it look like my brother who works at McDonald's did it so my brother would be blamed.

KRA did the same thing in November, because of some guy named Todd who I supposedly convinced to kill himself via may painting a "suicide demon" on my car. There is a picture of Etiole on my car, that is what they are calling "a suicide demon"



UPDATE: February 27, 2022:

Do not underestimate either my willingness or how far I will go to protect my murdered son's grave from being destroyed by the bastards who are the @FBI s number one suspects in having killed him. The ONLY reason that bitch is hell bent on digging up my farm is because she wants to destroy the evidence of my baby having been murdered by golf clubs.

I'm sick of my mother and my mothers shit head Atwater relatives. They won't stop focusing on the cats. They are lost in a delusional refusal to face reality and that is impeding the fbi investigation of the murder of my baby and the crippling of my spine, because all either of them will do is say there was no baby and tell everyone lies about me and I don't like it. My baby is dead and that has nothing to do with the cats and I'm sick of my mother and her filthy Atwater thugs both ignoring what happened at the college 2 years before the cat event happened AND daily arriving to bully me and say it was “RoseMary’s Baby” and not a real baby because it was a demon, because Etiole was a from.

 

Etiole is not a demon, my baby with him was not a demon, you murdered my fucking baby because you are retarded religion crazed jackasses. Get the fuck out of my life and go burn were evil people like you belong!

 

I'm tired of every time I mention the baby that was murdered November 14, 2013 at Southern Maine Community College,  they wave their hand in my face and say, "no you're just upset about the cats". The cats happened May 14, 2015 and those cats were not mine, they were my mother's cats, that she hid in my motorhome because her landlord Nick didn’t know she had 13 cats in her Birch St apartment. And he evicted her a year later when he found out the cats were hers.

That's why SHE is the one making a fuss about them, not me. I'm not the one running around yapping about the cats constantly,  she is. I'm talking about my son. 

 

My baby boy that was murdered by 3 attackers wielding golf clubs in the SMCC parking lot. A blond woman whom the redhaired woman called Claire, a redhaired woman who the blond woman called Kendra, both in their 60sish, and a bald man in his 30ish.

 

I'm not talking about my mother's cats, I'm talking about my child. What the fuck is wrong with these people? 

 

As for my car … did you all forget when and why I painted it? May 12, 2014. Mother's day. The first mother day after my baby was murdered. I painted my Volo on mother's day to divert my mind from killing myself. That's why I painted my car 9 years ago and you all know that, I've said as much hundreds of times.

Ty Mother and the Atwaters are refusing to acknowledge the baby because also refuse to acknowledge Etiole, a local homeless Jewish man who is the baby's father. 

My Mother and the Atwaters are so damned bigoted and religion crazed that all they’ve ever done is call Etiole a demon or an alien, since the first day they ever saw him: September 23, 1978.

It’s been almost 50fucking years that they’ve harassed him because of what he looks like and harassed me because I won’t let them beat him to death. 

They fully 100% believe he is not human and they run around slandering him every chance they can get and they’ve been doing it for 50 fucking years now. 

And THAT is the ONLY reason, they are doing what they are doing right now. 

 

They have NO RIGHT to be on my land. They are fucking trespassing.

Because they are so damned brainwashed by their fucking religions, that they can’t stop believing anyone who is physically deformed MUST be a Demon.

 

And they’ve spent the last 9 years daily hounding me and whooping and cheering joyous celebration over “killing the demon” as they refer to my baby.

 

In you hadn’t watched the local news - January 2022 - there was a massive FBI raid on Main Street and Cutts Street Biddeford, Maine. 8 of the men who have been roaming Southern Maine beating up pregnant women with golf clubs, were arrested and are now in jail where they belong, soon to be moved to federal prison.

And THAT is what has got the Atwaters in a frenzy now, digging up my land in Old Orchard Beach. They are desperately trying to find my dead baby’s unmarked grave, because they know his gold club shattered skull is very damning evidence for them, now that the FBI made a move and started arresting a bunch of their thugs.

 

And those arrested that just happened, they happened because the FBI phone number was painted on my car and locals in Biddeford, came forward with witness testimony of the attacks.

 

What my mother and the Atwaters are doing is cruel and evil and hateful, and I’m sick of it.

They don’t care about or my life, and my baby or his life. As can be seen by the fact of how he died.

The FBI is still trying to ID the bond Claire woman and the redhaired Kendra woman. They caught the bald man with the 4 door white pick up truck, we now know who he is - the son of the Old Orchard Beach police dispatch woman, the woman who would never let any 911 calls begging for help while these attacks were happening, go through.

Don't be surprised if you see the signs - all 144 of them - go back up in my driveway. Because I'm fucking sick of being harassed, and the agreement to keep the signs down, specified that EVERYONE in Old Orchard Beach - ALL RESIDENTS would NEVER HARASS ME again. You people have broken your agreement. I'm painting new signs as we speak.

EVERYONE - includes real estate agents, developers, contractors, construction workers, and any Atwater bitch who thinks they have the right to daily show up at my Biddeford apartment to say: "What are we going to do about Wendy, she can't keep that land, I need a downpayment on a house, she is going to sell her land and give me the money or else!"

Burn in hell you fucking bitch, and take all your fucking Atwater shitheads with you.

There are more then 500 graves on my farm - more than half of them Native American, some of them buried as far back as the 1400s. I WILL NOT let you touch those graves. I take my job as the guardian of these graves VERY SERIOUSLY. And you WILL have an all out war on your hands if you dare touch them.

Now she's threatening to dig up the graves on my land.

My dead baby means a hell of a lot more to me, then her fucking house. She never gave a damn when my baby died, but look at what she did when the cats died. Her priorities are fucked up.

My dead baby means a hell of a lot more to me, then her fucking house. She never gave a damn when my baby was murdered. But look at what she did when the murderers returned and killed the cats!

Look at what she is STILL doing about the fucking cats!

That's all she cares about. Those damned dead cats and her glut lust to have a mansion in KennebunkPort.

Her priorities are fucked up.

She doesn't give a damn about Human life.

And you know what's worse, the FBI thinks she, her sister Barbara, her brother Bruce, and their friends Claire and Kendra, where the people wearing the fake KuKluxKlan robes and hoods on November 14, 2013, when they used golf clubs to beat my baby to death and break my spine leaving me crippled for the rest of my life. 

Her, Barbara, Bruce, Claire, and Kendra - those are the FBI’s #1 suspects in the murder of my baby, November 14, 2013.

And what the hell is with people mixing up me and my mother? 

I'm NOT the one hell bent on a house. I have been willfully homeless for decades I have no desire for the confines of a house. The one running around yapping hysterics about a house IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about cats. The one running around yapping hysterics about cats IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Todd, I don't even know who Todd is! I don't know any one named Todd! The one running around yapping hysterics about Todd IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Mark and Dan and Watson, I don't even know who Mark and Dan and Watson are! I don't know anyone named Mark or Watson and the only Dan I know is my cousin and it's clearly not him she's talking about. The one running around yapping hysterics about Mark and Dan and Watson IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one putting curses on people. I don't believe in curses. The one running around yapping hysterics about curses and claiming she's casting death spells on people IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about demons. I don't believe in demons. The one running around yapping hysterics about demons and calling Etiole a demon IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one calling Etiole a demons. I don't believe in demons. Etiole is a local homeless man and Etiole isn't even his name, I don't use his real name online to protect his identity. I'm not the one who calls him Etiole either. Etiole is the name the Atwaters call him. The one running around yapping hysterics about demons and calling Etiole a demon IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about aliens or UFOs or alien abduction. I don't believe in aliens or UFOs or alien abduction. The one running around yapping hysterics about aliens or UFOs or alien abduction IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one calling Etiole an alien. I don't believe in aliens and besides that, Etiole is a local homeless man. The one running around yapping hysterics and calling Etiole an alien IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

I'm NOT the one talking about Voodoo dolls and Voodoo curses. Voodoo has nothing to do with Voodoo dolls and curses. Voodoo dolls and curses are mumbo-jumbo made up by Hollywood movies and have nothing to do with the Voodoo religion at all. Voodoo is a branch of the Catholic Church. Look it up. Voodoo is a Christian religion. A Voodoo Priest is a type of Catholic Monk. A Voodoo Priestess is a type of Catholic Nun. Voodoo does not cast curses or use voodoo dolls. The one running around yapping hysterics about Voodoo dolls and Voodoo curses IS MY MOTHER NOT ME!

Open your eyes people. Me and my mother don't look that much alike. You should be able to tell the difference between me and her.

Stop showing up in my yard to to attack me because of some fucking shit you argued with my mother about.

If you've got a problem with my mother, take it up with her not me.

Her, Barbara, Bruce, Claire, and Kendra - those are the FBI’s #1 suspects in the murder of my baby, November 14, 2013.

No, I have no updates on Etiole.

He was shot, by a local lunatic.

No, he's not okay.

And I am getting sick of this fucking ass rumour of Etiole being an alien or a demon.

The fact of Etiole being an alien is a stupid urban myth started by some crazy ass locals.

The fact of Etiole being a demon is a stupid urban legend created by some religion crazed nuts.

Etiole is an old man covered with acid burns. His skin is white and face disfigured from acid burns. He's not an alien and he's not a demon. And you people who call him an alien and call him a demon, you're all fucking crazy. 

Etiole is a homeless Jewish man who has no skin because he was tortured in a Nazi concentration camp in France during WW2. He came to Maine in 1953 with a bunch of other refugees, He has post traumatic stress disorder really bad and he's terrified of people. He can't function in normal society, so hides in the forests. He's not an alien, he's not a demon, he's not a cryptid. He's a disfigured old man, now in late 90s. He barely get around. He doesn't you people harassing him like this. Why can't you people leave him alone? Why are you all so damned desperate to believe in aliens or demons that you have to harass a helpless old man? Leave him alone. Why can't you leave him alone? What is wrong with you people?

Read The Amphibious Aliens article, https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html where way back in 2007, I DEBUNKED every one of you stupid ass alien, cryptic, demon, and haunted car rumours. Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World's Most Haunted Car, goes over every event from the 1970s, that started the fucking rumour, and lists off how every alien, demon, and haunted car rumour was proven to be nothing but a hoax started by my mother's brother  Mervin Bruce Atwater. Every single one of those rumours was started by that one man, and were proven to ALL be hoaxes he perpetrated to try to get money out of Dr Larochelle, the man who hit Mervin's younger sister with a car. They tried to convince the old doctor his car had a demon living in it and they scammed the doctor out of $20,000 back in the 1970s. THAT is how and why the demon car rumour got started. I bought the car in 1975. Etiole started living in it in 1978. And that is how me and Etiole got dragged into the fucking ass rumours about a demon car.

The article Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World's Most Haunted Car DEBUNKS ALL of the alien, cryptid, demon, and haunted car rumours. Every last one of them.

The car is not haunted and Etiole is not a demon.

You people who believe my car is haunted or think that Etiole is a demon, you are all fucking retarded.

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I'm sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I'm sick of you people harassing me and Etiole over stupid shit started by brain dead idiots.

If you are having problems with my mother, tell FBI agent Andy Drewer about it not me. Have information, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about the murder of my baby, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about any of the attacks on my family, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

Have information about the people who shot Etiole, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322

If you have information about anything, call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207-774-9322 and give it to him, not me.

https://www.eelkat.com/AmphibiousAliens.html





UPDATE March 8, 2022

One sign is back up. 

How many more go up, is dependent upon YOU.

From now on, every time one of you Old Orchard Beach, Pine Point, or Biddeford shitheads decides to harass me, I'm going to put up another sign.

If you want no more, then you better make dammed sure you keep your friends and family and neighbors out of my yard and out of my life. I'm not selling my land, and I'll not let you dig up those graves.

Burn in hell.

No means no.

And I'm tired of saying no.

Just like rapist, you refuse to take no for an answer.

No. I'm not selling my land and giving you the money so you can buy a house in Kennebunk.

I've said no to you every single week since August 2021. And your current threats to dig up the graves on my land and move them to your land, is why the signs are going back up.

I'm tired of you bullying me.

I'm tired of your threats.

I'm tired of your gaslighting.

I'm tired of your lies.

You keep saying "After all I've done for you!" What have you done for me? When I was 8 years old you locked me in a racoon trap and left me there for 27 years, only letting me out on Sundays so you could parade me around in the Cape Elizabeth and Saco Ward Mormon churches to pedophile priests who paid you so they could rape me. That's why you never had a job until 5 years ago, because you made plenty selling your pre-teen daughter for sex to dirty old men.

You drove a foundation nail through my hip when I was 6 years old.

From the tie I was 14 until I was 42 years old I was near mute, because you broke my jaw with a brick. I was 42 when I had surgery to rebuild my jaw, that's why I can talk today.

You never allowed me or my bothers to go to school or doctors.

YOU took a sledge hammer to my 1974 AMC Gremlin, my 1976 AMC Gremlin, my 1976 AMC Hornet, my Olds station wagon, and you took a chain saw to my 1964 Dodge 330 the worlds most haunted car, the real Christine. YOU did that.

Since 1978 you have harassed me and me boyfriend, the one you call Etiole, because YOU believe he's a demon because of his skin deformities. You and your sister and your brothers contacted MUFON and told them lies about me and Etiole both. You called him the amphibious alien and claimed he had abducted me. Your alien abduction hoax, almost got him killed in 1997 and again in 2007 when ufo crazies arrived in my yard calling him an EBE and trying to shoot him "for science". An elderly man, a French, Jewish Nazis concentration camp survivor who lives in the forest because his PTSD and fear of people is so bad. A man who is scarred with acid burns from being tortured in WW2 and is neither a demon nor an alien and who deeply traumatized by YOUR endless harassment.

It was YOUR friends who drove a backhoe over my house August 8, 2013 because YOU paid them $600 to do so. Because you thought without a house I would sell my land. But I wasn't the one living in that house. My dad lived there. All you did was put him in a Biddeford apartment. I was already living in the tent since May 9, 2006, and I had the Biddeford apartment since February 13, 2007. 

It was YOUR friends who attacked me with golf clubs at Southern Maine Community College, November 14, 2013, while I was 8 months pregnant with Etiole's baby. That they murdered, on YOUR orders, because as YOU put it "It's RoseMary's Baby" while you gibbered about some horror movie about demon babies.

That was YOUR own grandchild that YOU hired those people to kill.

April 10, 2015, YOU broke into my motorhome, put YOUR 13 cats in it, them then brought YOUR friends to attack my family.

We now know the owner of the 4-door white truck, was YOUR visiting teach, Kathy, the driver who tried to kill me, was her son, and the reason the 911 calls didn't go through during each attack, was because she was the 911 dispatcher and her son, driving her 4door white pick up truck, only attacked me she was on duty. They were YOUR friends from the Saco Ward church, YOUR church, attacking YOUR daughter on YOUR orders.

Since August 2021, you arrive at my apartment 3 times a week, to tell me I need to put curses on people at your workplace, citing that I have to, because you're my mother and I'm demon possessed and I should be putting my demons to good use by helping you kill three people you don't like at work.

I'm sick of you calling me demon possessed.

I'm sick of you demanding curses.

You have a severe mental problem and you need psychiatric help.

I'm sick of you spreading slanderous lies about me telling every one around town I cast curses and death spells, when I've never done either.

November 19, 2021, YOU friend Todd commit suicide and YOU told YOUR friends, that me and Etiole used suicide demons to drive him in front of a train.

YOUR friend Todd, who I did NOT know and had never heard of until 6 of YOUR friends showed up at Rotary Park November 21, 2021 to gun down Etiole while screaming that they were "killing the suicide demon", while we were walking my dog.

Something YOU now brag that YOU tricked YOUR friends into do, because you needed to get Etiole off my land in order to convince me to sell it and give YOU the money for a down payment on a house in Kennebunk.

Christmas Eve 2021, you arrived at MY apartment in Biddeford, STOLE my father's psychiatric medicine, medicine he needs to keep him NOT violent, because he has extremely violent schizophrenia and one hell of a criminal record that requires him to never be in the same room with a gun, let alone never have one. He was committed to a mental ward in 2007, and they ONLY let him out because he came to Biddeford to live with ME in MY apartment, and I was monitoring his meds.

After YOU stole his medicine, you took him with you daily to Kennebunk, to a mansion by Bush's house, to daily tell him, you would give him that house if he forced me to sell my land and give you the money from my land to buy that Kennebunk house.

Tell, me, what of THOSE things, is YOU doing anything FOR me?

No, means, no.

I'm done saying NO to you.

You are nothing but a land rapist.

Just like a rapist you refuse to accept No for an answer.

Every week since August 2021, I've said no to you.

No, I will not sell my land and hand you the money so you can buy a house in Kennebunk.

No, means no.

And no, I'm not happy with the fact that because I won't sell my land and give you the money, you are now threatening to dig up the graves on my land and move them to your land.

No, I'm not happy with you saying "You don't need the land, you don't use it, I need a house in Kennebunk, you ought to want to sell your land and give me the money!"

Yes, I do use my land.

Yes, I did see the car YOU dumped behind my motorhome. You have till the end of summer to get it off my land or the police are taking it.

What I do with my land is none of your damned business.

And for your information, my land is where I write my novels. I sit on the hill, and I write every day, all summer long. The only reason I didn't in 2021 is because I had Covid for 3 months.

No, telling me that my grandmother's evil spirit is haunting my land. also does not inspire me to want to sell it.

YOU are an evil, hate fill, mean, cruel, sadistic, child abusing, vindictive sociopath.

Get psychiatric help.

You need it.

What you are doing is wrong and you know it. You won't be so upset about what is painted on my car, if you didn't know it.

You can't hide from the truth forever. 

You can't hide your sins, your crimes, your cruelties forever.

Good things will never come to you, until you stop doing evil things to those around you.


Don't forget, my camera runs 24/7 and it's a simple matter of my uploading the video footage of you doing and saying things thing. Plus a lot of it, you said and did while I was livestreaming so people online have already seen and heard you say and do these things.

Yes, I even have video footage of the 4 bicycle brats who chased the homeless man into the train November 2021.

EVERYTHING, I have said here I have video footage of. That is WHY the FBI have been able to arrest so many people these past few months, in Biddeford.

Cutting the wires off our house November 2021 - you did on a livestream. People saw you do it WHILE you were doing it. 

All 2 of the FedEx workers you demanded death curses for - you did on a livestream.

Stealing my dad's meds - you did on a livestream.

Saying "What are we going to do about Wendy, she can't keep that land, I need a house" - you did on a livestream.

Threatening to dig up the graves on my land - you did on a livestream.

All that n-word stuff you said about the black men at your workplace - you did on a livestream.

People been seeing and hearing you live. They've already seen and heard a lot.

How do you plan to explain away all the hundreds of hours of video footage I have of you breaking into my bedroom during a live stream to threaten me, my family, my land?












To the people who asked about weird emails that you claim you got from someone claiming to be me, here are a few things to consider:

#1: I DO NOT use email and I NEVER have. if you get a letter from me it is going to be written in ink on paper, and in a stamped envelope the mail truck delivered to your mailbox at the end of your driveway. Since 1997 my aunt Barbara has been sending emails out to people CLAIMING they were from me, so in all likelihood whatever you got was actually from her. Her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater did the same thing throughout the early 2000s. And 57 of their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren have done it at well. No, I’m not special. They do this to THOUSANDS of people. They run a medical scam and pretend to be LOTS of big name famous authors, hoping you’ll click whatever link they put in the email, because the link is going to open a .exe phishing program to steal your credit card data and medical records. The FBI is currently investigating their medical fraud, email fraud, scam operation, so if you ARE getting emails claiming to be from me, PLEASE print up the email ad take it to the FBI office on Middle Street in Portland, Maine. FBI Agent Andy Drewer is in charge of not only the investigation of the 2015 murder of my family, but he is also in charge of the email impersonation fraud, and the stalker doing the email fraud.

#2: As you have stated, the topic of the emails is Etiole... do know that I have NEVER talked about Etiole, with ANYONE, online or offline. Unlike my mother, and her sister, my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, I happen to respect people’s privacy. As I have said before: Etiole is a Jewish, French, Nazi concentration camp refugee who came to Maine in 1953 with a boatload of about 300 other concentration camp survivors. He is covered with acid burns, so his skin looks ghastly white and horrifically disfigured, which is why he lives in the swamps around the Saco River. he is now in his 90s and is still as homeless as he was in the 1950s. He has severe posttraumatic stress disorder, can not speak/is mute, does not have the mental capacity to function in normal society on any level what so ever, and me and a few others have been taking care of him, giving him food and clothing and supplies and medical attention since 1978. There is nothing else you need to know. You do not need to know where he is or how to find him. If you want to see him, go to y livestream/video archive and watch the VOD where I visited him on livestream so you could see what he looked liked and how crippling his metal condition really is.

#3: I feel I shouldn’t have to say this, but apparently I do NEED to say this: Etiole is NOT an alien, nor is he a demon. The article Amphibious Aliens is free to read online. It goes over all the details of both the alien rumours and the demon rumours and debunks them all, while proving all the proof, including medical records and documentation of the people behind the rumour.

#4: The ONLY person who ever claimed I was abducted by aliens was my uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, who was the leader of the Mane division of Heaven’s Gate for over 40 years. Heaven’s Gate if you do not know, was the UFO suicide cult who murdered 39 people with poisoned Kool-Aid in California in 1997, because Comet HaleBop flew over that night.

#5: I found out about my so-called alien abduction in 2007, when a MUFON tour group showed up in my yard asking to interview me. They carried with them more than a dozen books by various UFO/alien experts and over 100 newspaper articles, all featuring interviews with my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, interviews all from the 1970s, 1980s, and 1990s, all of them telling of how I was supposedly a demon possessed child, whose best friend was an alien named Etiole. It was 2007, and it was the first time I had ever heard the term “alien abduction” I didn’t even know what it was. The MUFON group - a group of 30,000 people - standing in my driveway 2007 all wanted to interview me as they pointed out NONE of the 30+ years of several hundred interviews with my aunts and uncles, not ONE of the interviews was WITH ME. This was the source of the April 2007 article titled Amphibious Aliens, where I shocked the MUFON world with the revelation that I was NOT an alien abductee, nor had I ever claimed to be one. It also infuriated me to find out that my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater had been running around telling people about Etiole, as I had never told ANYONE - NOT EVEN THEM - about Etiole. It turns out my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater go their alien and demon stories about Etiole from my mother and THIS is WHY I disowned my mother, shun her, and have had nothing to do with her, or her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, since 2007. The slanderous alien and demon, gossip, rumours, and lies my mother and her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater spread about me and Etiole are deplorable and I HATE my mother and her sister my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, and I hope they burn in hell for the alien and demon shit they pulled on me and my homeless boyfriend.

#6: That same Amphibious Aliens article ALSO debunks the stupid ass haunted car rumours. My 1964 Dodge 330 is NOT haunted and we fucking proved that. And AGAIN, the haunted car rumour, is sourced to my aunt Barbara and her brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater. That car ran over my aunt Barbara when she was 2 years old. At the time, the car belonged to Dr. Larochelle of Ocean Ave Old Orchard Beach, Maine. My than 2-year-old aunt Barbara almost died and her older brothers Richard Merlin Atwater and Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater, came up with a haunted car/demon possession hoax to scam that elderly doctor out of $20,000, which my grandmother Eva Viola Atwater spent on a 3 year trip to Hawaii in 1973. The Atwaters scammed and terrorized the doctor so badly, that he sold the car to me in 1975 for $5 because he was convinced it was attacking people. The car became famous in 1983 when my then neighbour Stephen King used the demon possession story of my car as the basis for his book Christine. He named the car Christine because Christine is my real name and I owned the actual car. Stephen King returned 10 years later in 1994 to film the Thinner movie in my yard, because I’m the real world “Gypsy Witch” (priestess) that he based his fictional Gypsy Witch in Thinner off of. The movies Christine and Thinner are what in turn made ME famous, and started locals accusing me of being a witch with a demon car.

And as for the fucking Thinner movie - those bastards were trespassers. They just showed up unannounced, barged in, set up filming, without permits or licenses or contracts or permission or even telling us ahead of time that they were coming. No one in Stephen King’s crew acted legally, we are not in that movie willingly, they were not on our farm legally, no one ever received a penny for any of it, and to make things worse, Steven King had no right or permission to go o late night television and tell people my home address and tel his fucking fans to “go visit the Thinner Gypsies of Saco Maine”. They had no right to be on my farm, they had no right to be filming my family. They just dropped in one day. We had no clue who they were or why they were there and it took us fucking 5 hours to chase those trespassing bastards and their film crew off our farm.

In short: I don’t use email, so you NEVER got an email from me. I’m not a witch. My car isn’t haunted. Etiole is not a demon. Etiole is also not an alien. And I was never abducted by aliens.

Also, I don’t know what you are talking about with the house stuff. I’m NOT trying to build a house, I’ve NEVER tried to build a house, I have never applied for a house permit, I’ve never been denied for a house permit because I’ve never even tried to get one. You clearly have me mixed up with someone else.

I’m at 146 Portland Ave. I have 2 neighbours who are building a house: 144 Portland Ave next door to me and 139 Portland Ave across the street from me. I think you mean one of them. My neighbour at 144, has been trying to build a house for 17 years and the town hall has been giving them the runaround. I think SHE at 144 Portland Ave is the one you mean, not me at 146. You seem to have us mixed up somehow.

SHE at 144 is the one putting in a septic system, not me at 146. I’m the one with the pink motorhome and the 35-year-old black Volvo. she’s the one with the brand new big black car and the log cabin house.

You have seriously mixed the two of us up big time.

Understandable considering it was HER family at 144 fighting with the Cyr Clan over a septic tank in 2014, and the Cyr Clan hired a hitman who accidentally murdered MY children, ten of them and nailed their heads to my motorhome door, at 146 than the white-haired man with the green pick-up truck has spent the last 7 years TELLING YOU via running up the street knocking on doors, tell you that it was EelKat trying to build a house, ONLY telling you that to try to cover his ass for mixing up my children at 146 when it was my neighbours children at 144 that was the ACTUAL target.

This is not speculation, the FBI have 100% positive proof that she and her children, not me and my children were the intended target because her family was having a fight with some Connecticut based heroin drug gang that calls itself the Cyr Clan over the septic tank. The hit men the Cyr Clan hire got the wrong house when they murdered my family. And now the Cyr Clan’s trying to convince you that I was the one building a house. I have no interest in a house. Why would I? I’m a Gypsy, I’ve never lived in a house. I’ve always lived in cars and tents my whole life. I have no interest in a house on any level whatsoever. I don’t NEED one, I never have. And you local people should know that. When my health is bad, I rent apartments in Biddeford. I’ve done this for 50 years now. You know that. You ALL know that. I’ve owned 146 Portland Ave since 1975. You people know me. Why are you pretending you don’t?

I’m the feral child who lived in a cage in a woodshed from the time I was 8 until I was 31. Did you all forget that? Etiole was the local homeless man who used to break into the woodshed and break the lock off the cage and take me out into the swamp to hide me from my bastard uncles. Did you forget that too? The ONLY reason any of you spread your fucking rumours and lies about me and Etiole, calling me a witch and Etiole a demon or alien, and spreading lies about me building houses, is because my Uncle Bruce and his Heaven’s Gate friends, told you those lies.

Did you forget what Heaven’s Gate is, what they fucking did? They are an UFO Alien Cult, who murdered 39 people with poisoned koolaid, because they comet Hale Bop was God’s fucking mother ship. They see fucking aliens EVERYWHERE. In everything. And THEY are the ones who started the stupid ass rumour of Etiole being an alien.

Look at the SOURCE of the alien abduction rumour. My Uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater. One of George Applewhite’s thugs. George Applewhite, a follower of Jim Jones, that’s WHY they killed everyone with kool-aid, because they were fans of Jim Jones, and they wanted to jump onboard God’s mothership like Jonestown did! Did you forget that? THAT fucking lunatic, a fan of Jim Jones, who worked for George Applewhite, called Etiole an alien, because Bruce CALLED EVERYONE aliens.

Bruce locked me in a cage, and Etiole broke me out of it and hide me in the swamps, and THAT is what Bruce called an alien abduction. But Etiole is no alien. He’s just a local homeless man. Etiole’s not even his name. I don’t tell anyone his name to protect him from you fucking jackasses who are too stupid to believe he’s just a normal man. My uncle Buce is a fucking lunatic who spends 24 hours a day gibbering madness and nonsense about aliens and demons.

As for the garbage that keeps being dumped on my land… you have all SEEN the big green dump truck with the black and silver striped nose, that illegally trespasses on my land and dumps that fucking garbage.

Open your eyes and look around. You can SEE the truth. The house being built is at 144 Portland Ave NOT 146. You can SEE that, now that the house is up.

Like I’ve been saying right along, it is NOT me building a house. It NEVER has been. I don’t know why you let that idiot try to gaslight you with lies about me building a house, when you can SEE the house is NOT going up on MY land. It’s going up on my NEIGHBOUR’S land.

I know you people are NOT THAT stupid. The white-haired man with the green pickup truck is LYING to you, and you can SEE that for yourselves, just by looking at WHICH property the house is being built on.

Look around... does it LOOK like there is a house being built at 146 Portland Ave where the pink motorhome is? Use your brain and open your eyes. See the truth. The truth will set you free.

Now look next door to 144, you CAN SEE that THEY NOT ME are the one building a house, now that it’s almost finished.

I’d say the white-haired man in the green pickup truck has a lot of explaining to do, like explaining WHY h’s hell bent on trying to convince the town I’m the one putting up a house, when I’ve never even applied for a building permit. Building permits are public record. Go look at the town hall for yourself.

Also, please explain to me HOW the white-haired man with the green pick truck has such very detailed info about the murder of my family, when the records are sealed, not public access, and about 90% of the details were withheld from the public and are know ONLY to myself, the murderer, the police, and FBI? There is ZERO public access to the stuff h is saying happened on April 10, 2015... you know that, right? So HOW did he get the info he has? Explain THAT.

please report any future such emails you receive to FBI agent Andy Drewer 207-774-9322

>>>I’m just more cowardly than they are and I’m afraid of the truth and criticism. In your opinion, what makes someone mean?

When I think of mean, I think of my uncles. 3 in particular. My mother had 12 older brothers and 3 of them all claimed to be “king” (we are Gypsies, Gypsy Kings are a thing). And they fought over it badly. They ended up jointly ruling over the clan, each competing with each other to out-king the other, each doing progressively meaner things to the clan members, especially the female children.

Things they did, just to me, included:

When I was 4 Uncle Bruce stabbed me with a foundation nail - an iron rod over 2 feet long - he drove into my hip, through my pelvis and out my other thigh. I have been crippled and walked with a cane since I was a toddler, because of it. His reason? I was unable to memorize the entirety of chapter 1 of the book of Genesis.

When I was 8 years old, same uncle locked me in a cage that was made for trapping raccoons. He gave me 1 salted herring fish to eat once every 12 days. He let me out only on Sundays to go to church. I lived in that cage for 27 years, until the Heaven’s Gate FBI raid shut down Heaven’s Gate in 1997, after they killed 39 people with Kool-aid. Yes, I am THAT EelKat, the child who lived in a cage, the feral child you see pictures of in almost every college Psychology book. I am the child who survived Heaven’s Gate because I was locked in a cage in a woodshed when they drank their kool aid under the shadow of comet HaleBop. I was 31 years old when the FBI raid rescued me from that cage.

When I was 14 years old, because I was unable to recite from memory the entire book, all chapters of Ecclesiastes, that same uncle beat me in the face with a cinder block brick, breaking my jaw, and cause me to be “mute” until had surgery to fix my jaw when I was 42 years old. From the time I was 14 until 42, I was unable to speak due to the damage of my jaw.

In those 27 years from age 8 to age 31, I was let out of the cage every Sunday to be taken to church and sold or $12k to the priests, who raped me repeatedly, weekly, for 27 years.

While my uncle helped Applewhite to run Heaven’s Gate, he fled the night of Hale Bop. He did not kill himself with everyone else.

Social workers took me after the FBI raid. It took them years to teach me how to not be terrified by the sight of Humans. They say I suffer from having no outward sign of emotions, and that it was caused by my never having experienced a single good event in my early life.

At the time of the FBI raid at 144, 146, and 148 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, I was one of more than 120 girls the FBI rescued out of cages. All of whom had been raped hundreds of times by priests from Cape Elizabeth, Saco, and Sanford wards of the LDS/Mormon church. Including 16 bishops, an OOB town manager, and several OOB motel owners, all of whom were in the habit of paying $12k to rape girls under the age of 10 years old.

The man with the green truck, who likes to spread rumours about me and Etiole and my house, was one of Bruce’s top customers. He had a thing for numbers and raped 7-year-olds, 14-year-olds, and 21-year-olds because he was obsessed with doing everything in 7s.

After years of social workers teaching me how to live with normal, not abusive Humans. I was 37 when I got my GED and while I was at the high school doing that, those uncles built a grease fryer bomb burned my house down to punish me for getting a GED.

2 years later, while I was in college taking classes to learn grammar and writing, three of them, that same uncle and 2 women I had never seen before, arrived at the college armed with golf clubs and attacked me when I was coming out of the college. I was 8 months pregnant at the time. They killed my baby, broke my spine, broke my hip, broke my pelvis, broke my knees. I was paralyzed for 5 months. It took me 18 months to get out of the wheelchair and relearn to walk, and to this day I am still crippled.

That’s the price I paid to learn how to read and write, in a culture that believes it is okay to execute women who commit the sin of learning how to write.

August 8, 2013, that same uncle paid a local construction worker $600 to drive a backhoe over my house.

April 10, 2015, that same uncle and a group of 74 members of the new reorganized Heaven’s Gate, attacked my farm. 14 men held me down with guns to my head, while the others used hand band saws to kill and behead 10 of my 12 children and then nailed their heads to my door.

And it’s very easy to Google the news reports and photos of all of it.

That is what I think of when I hear the word “mean”. My uncle Bruce was a very mean person.

My uncle Bruce Mervin Atwater is a monster. And he calls EVERYONE an alien abductee or a demon. Did you fucking forget that?

No, I have no updates on Etiole.

He was shot by a local lunatic.

No, he’s not okay.

And I am getting sick of this fucking ass rumour of Etiole being an alien or a demon.

The fact of Etiole being an alien is a stupid urban myth started by some crazy ass locals.

The fact of Etiole being a demon is a stupid urban legend created by some religion crazed nuts.

Etiole is an old man covered with acid burns. His skin is white and face disfigured from acid burns. He’s not an alien, and he’s not a demon. And you people who call him an alien and call him a demon, you’re all fucking crazy.

Etiole is a homeless Jewish man who has no skin because they tortured him in a Nazi concentration camp in France during WW2. He came to Maine in 1953 with a bunch of other refugees. He has posttraumatic stress disorder really bad and he’s terrified of people. He can’t function in normal society, so hides in the forests. He’s not an alien, he’s not a demon, he’s not a cryptid. He’s a disfigured old man, now in late 90s. He barely get around. He doesn’t you people harassing him like this. Why can’t you people leave him alone? Why are you all so damned desperate to believe in aliens or demons that you have to harass a helpless old man? Leave him alone. Why can’t you leave him alone? What is wrong with you people?

Read The Amphibious Aliens article, where back in 2007, I DEBUNKED every one of you stupid ass alien, cryptic, demon, and haunted car rumours. Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World’s Most Haunted Car, goes over every even from the 1970s, that started the fucking rumour, and lists off how every alien, demon, and haunted car rumour was proven to be nothing but a hoax started by Mervin Bruce Atwater. Every single one of those rumours was started by that one man, and were proven to ALL be hoaxes he perpetrated to try to get money out of Dr Larochelle, the man who hit Mervin’s younger sister with a car. They tried to convince the old doctor his car had a demon living in it and they scammed the doctor out of $20,000 back in the 1970s. THAT is how and why the demon car rumour got started. I bought the car in 1975. Etiole started living in it in 1978. And that is how me and Etiole got dragged into the fucking ass rumours about a demon car.

The article Amphibious Aliens The Story of Etiole and The World’s Most Haunted Car DEBUNKS ALL of the alien, cryptid, demon, and haunted car rumours. Every last one of them.

The car is not haunted and Etiole is not a demon.

You people who believe my car is haunted or think that Etiole is a demon, you are all fucking retarded.

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I’m sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I’m sick of you people harassing me and Etiole over stupid shit started by brain dead idiots.

And the same goes for the so-called World’s Most Haunted Car. That rumour was started by the same person. That car was proved years ago, to have a mechanical issue that caused it to start and drive ahead until it hit something. No one ever thought to look at the starter. I’m the 3rd owner of the car. I changed the malfunctioning starter and a so called ‘haunted” stuff the car did, went away. It was a problem with the starter, only that and nothing more.

And these people in Biddeford right now, getting you all worked up - if you hadn’t noticed they ARE Mervin Bruce Atwater’s family.

So it’s STILL the same one fucking person running around getting things stirred up. The Atwaters. My fucking uncles. Like usual.

Yesterday at Rotary Park, Biddeford, Maine, a group of people armed with rifles, went down the track team trail behind the soccer field and started shooting... scared the crap out of the 50 or so children and their 100+ parents, got the 30+ dogs in the dog park howling... the sky filled with thousands of Canadian geese, and the park goers assumed the group was hunting geese and started commenting on the fact that hunting was not allowed in Rotary Park.

A few minutes later, a grey/white haired, bearded man, who looks a lot like Kenny Rogers, but not as fat, with a black dog of a German Shepard-Lab mix look, and a woman with pageboy greyish-blond hair, both about late 60s, marched up to me in the park, bragged they had killed Etiole, stating that he has caused their son whom they called “Todd” to jump in front of a train 3 days earlier.

You know what, I knew that homeless man and HE never mentioned it.

You people are just looking for someone to blame, and think because I’m not white, I wear a hijab, and I have a mural painting on my car, you think you are justified on pointing blame at me for something I had no part in.

That homeless man was obsessed with the fact that his dog and son had been taken away from him.

It’s NOT the evil eye as they called it. It’s The eye of The Grigori Archangels aka The Watchers, from the Apocrypha in the Bible. It’s the blue wings of the Seraphim Archangels aka The Watchers. The Watchers are my Guardian angels. I paint them on everything, I sew it on tapestries, it’s on my car, my motorhome, I embroider it on pillows and clothes, paint it on mirrors, paint canvases art for art galleries with it. It’s the blue eyes wings of the archangels as described in the Bible. I’m not sure why they were calling it the Evil Eye.

It’s the Eye of God, the hamsa. A Jewish protection symbol. Etiole’s Jewish, he draws it on everything, so that’s why I do as well.

I’m sick of you jackasses spreading you wild ass rumours about me.

You’re nothing but a bunch of trouble making busy bodies who can’t mind your own fucking business.

I’m not bothering a single damned one of you, so why the fuck are you bothering me?

Why can’t you stupid ass people leave me alone?

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be in my yard.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be chasing down Etiole.

There is no reason for a damned one of you to be having psychotic meltdowns over my car!

What is wrong with you people?

Fucking brain dead herd mentality that’s all this is.

One of you ran around screaming like a lunatic and rest of you all decided to join in.

But I also ask... WHY would you be scared of me or Etiole? It makes me ask who has been feeding you lies about me? Who has been feeding you lies about Etiole?

I am a crippled elderly woman. I can barely stand up. I’ve been paralyzed and bedridden since the golf club attack November 14, 2013. I’m only just now in 2021 just starting to walk again, and I can barely do that. I have no grip strength so I struggle to even hold me cane. The golf clubs damaged my spine, my nerves, most of my organs don’t function because of the nerve damage to my spine. I struggle to even breath, just sitting up in bed is enough to collapse my lungs. I have no bladder or bowel movement control, I have to wear diapers. What exactly is it you think I can even do?

And Etiole? The old hermit Nazi concentration camp survivor? He’s over 100 years old now, he hasn’t been able to walk, or sit up, or eat on his own, in almost 20 years. He’s dying. What exactly are you expecting him to do?

Etiole is NOT an alien.

Etiole is not a demon.

I am not a witch.

None of my cars are haunted.

I’ve been saying it for years. Why won’t you listen to me?

You are slandering me!

You are slandering Etiole!

You are slandering my cars!

I’m sick of it!

Grow up and go get a damned fucking brain!

I’m sick of you calling Etiole a demon.

I’m sick of you calling Etiole an alien.

I’m sick of you calling me a witch.

I’m sick of you saying one car after another is haunted.

This whole thing boils down to your fucking white privilege. You know that right?

Your white ass can’t stand the fact that we non-white Gypsies live here, so you have to make up stupid ass supernatural spooky shit about us.

You don’t like that I wear the traditional dress of my people instead of dressing like an American, so you feel justified in calling me a witch and making up spook occult lies about me.

I wear hijab and veils and caftan and silk and it bother’s you that I’m not scum diving in trashy t shirts and jeans like the rest of you.

I paint my cars, same as we painted our wagons and vardos for centuries, and it bothers you because it looks different.

Etiole is a Jew, and your anti-Semite white privilege kicks in to hate him for being born Jewish.

Etiole has scars, so you’re scared of him

I’m different.

Etiole’s different.

My cars are different.

And when you get right down to it, that’s ALL any of this is about.

Me, Etiole, and my cars don’t fit in with your fucking ass white privileged ideas of “normal” and that makes you uncomfortable and you try to make the uncomfortable go away by dehumanizing us with your stupid ass rumours.

There are no witches.

There are no aliens.

There are no demons.

There are just a bunch of whinny ass white privileged brats running around making trouble for anyone who’s not white enough for them.

Grow the fuck up!

Readers' Imaginations Seeing Things I Didn't Write In Twighlight Manor & Quaraun 



Reader's With Wild Imaginations
Seeing Things I Didn't Write.

Common things people say I wrote that I did not:

Quaraun is gay.
BoomFuzzy is gay.
GhoulSpawn is gay.
The series is Gay Romance/Gay Erotica.

Nope. None of them is gay.
All 3 of them are bi-sexual & polyamorous.

>>>Quaraun is gay. 

This is incorrect. Quaraun is NOT gay.

A few things to consider:


#1 - I'm a Mormon. Fundamentalist. 5th generation.


#2 - I was 31 years old before I knew the existence of things like electricity, plumbing, toilets, non-polygamous relationships, white people, clocks, math, time, calendars, money,  Americans, beds, phones, tv, movies, radio, gay people, coffee, soda, cigarettes, bathing suits, bras, deodorant, make up, and other such things that don't exist within FLDS compounds... in fact I was unaware there was a world on the other side of the compound so I thought the 400+ people inside the compound where the only people on the planet


#3 - oh, by the way, the FLDS compound I was raised in was the one called Heaven's Gate... you know the UFO Murder Suicide Cult who killed 39 people because they though Comet Hale Bop was God's Mothership Kolob...


#4 - the FBI raided the compound a week after the Heaven's Gate Murder Suicide Event, and me and 140+ other girls were rescued from our cages...I was 31 years old at the time and it was my first time learning that they were people outside the compound or that things like electricity, plumbing, toilets, non-polygamous relationships, white people, clocks, math, time, calendars, money,  Americans, beds, phones, tv, movies, radio, gay people, coffee, soda, cigarettes, bathing suits, bras, deodorant, make up, and other such things existed.


#5 - I had already published 100+ novels in the Quaraun series before the first time I ever heard the words gay, homosexual, sex, erotica, lesbian, transgender, etc.


#6 - The BULK of the Quaraun series was written and published BEFORE the 1996/1997 Heaven's Gate events, so, at the time I wrote the first editions, I had not knowledge that gay people or the erotica genre, even existed.


 write as a way to work through my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Agoraphobia (which at it's worst, I was unable to leave my bedroom for 15 years, at one point could not even step on the floor - it was EXTREEME agoraphobia)(all 3 caused by the same trauma). EVERY EVENT that happens to Quaraun in the series I write, is me retelling the abuse I went through via a fictional character, and than having him deal with the abusers in ways, I cann not (he's a mage - he can point a wand at them and blow their head off - violent yes, but, it really is the only way I can go outside - the person causing the fear of going outside has to be removed before I can go outside, so I write that person's death, them being killed by Quaraun who takes on the abuse the real world abuser did to me in real life). 

It's me trying to deal with what happened, by writing about it happening to a fictional character so that I can try to distance myself from what was done to me. The end result is that what I write is VERY violent, because I write and rewrite over and over again, every day, the abuse that happened to me, and than write Quaraun killing the abusers in different ways every day. Which is why the series is a time travel series so Quaraun can keep going back in time and killing his abusers over and over and over and over again, with a different method each day. It results in an MC who becomes just as brutal and violent as his abusers, without me doing so myself. The MC is a fictional version of me, who can do to his abusers, all the things I want to do and can not legally do to the men who abused me in real life.

So I never write anything with a goal of publishing it (though many things do eventually get published, usually 3 or 4 years after I wrote it). Thus I never write with any specific goals or deadlines or wordcounts in mind ahead of time. I write scenes. Every day I write a scene of Quaraun being abused, than I write a scene of him murdering his abusers because the law won't do anything to punish them. That really is ALL the Quaraun series is.

So, yes, if you have ever hurt me, Quaraun, HAS killed you in one of the Quaraun novels.

So if you read the Quaraun series and you saw politics, Erotica, or anything else, that's all stuff YOU put there because YOU WANTED it to be there. I don't write politics or Erotica - I write the abuse my uncles and their friends did to me and I write a character who kills them, so that I can stop having PSTD agoraphobia attacks for a few hours, long enough so I can go to WalMart and buy food. But the effect only last a couple of hours, so if I want to go outside again the next day, I have to write the abusers being murdered by Quaraun all over again the next day.

It's the only way I am able to go outside. My panic attacks and phobias of being beaten up is so severe that I can not set foot outside the front door.

This is WHY I say, I don't write for YOU the reader, I don't give a shit about YOU the reader. I write so that I can get from one day to the next. I write as therapy. I write, so that I DON'T kill my abusers in real life. I write for ME and my own mental hell and I don't give a rat's ass about you the reader, writing for the market, writing for trends, writing to be published, writing for income. I write because I severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Agoraphobia and writing keeps my from killing everyone who ever hurt me than killing myself.


Moving on to the April 10, 2015 murder of my family at the hands of a local church group from Biddeford, Maine, who arrived waving copies of my novels over their heads while accusing my books of being "gay erotica"...



  • * People who call Quaraun gay, have NEVER READ THE SERIES. 

People who HAVE read the series are aware that:


  • *  ...  he has a wife and 4 children at the start, 
  • * ... this first wife is also his sister...

  • *  ...  takes on a male lover after that, 

  • *  ...  has an affair with a female lover after this resulting in a 5th child, 
  • * ... this 5th child, goes on to be his 3rd wife and the mother of Vilder & Melca

  • *  ...  adds a 2nd male lover

  • * ... after that, he adds 2 more wives at the same time, the 3rd one also being his daughter by his 2nd wife

  • *... after that one of these 2 dies/is murdered by racists, causing him to become fiercely protective of the survivor who goes on to be the mother of Quaraun's twin sons Vielder & Melaca - Melaca being Roderic's father, Roderic being the father of Etiole and The Dazzling Razzburry (YES - Etiole is a FICTIONAL CHARACTER from the Quaraun series - which says a lot about the locals in Maine who are quick to tell you Etiole is real, Etiole is a demon, or that I am a witch who summons the demon Etiole), 

  • * .... when wife #3/daughter#5 is murdered, Quaraun retaliates with the event known throughout the series as "The Battle on Ongadada" which results in him mass murdering the populations of 3 entire planets, killing 20billion people, the battle ending with him taking all of their souls to resurrect his dead 3rd wife/5th daughter as The Twighlight Manor, the huge mansion that comes to life at night and roams the forest eating Humans (Yes - this is Friends Are Forever - the first book I ever wrote/published - the one published September 23, 1978 - the stand alone story from which the entire rest of the series spun off of)

  • Quaraun is female

I'll wait for that last bit to sink in.

Missed it?

Let me repeat it:

Quaraun is female.




  • *  ...  he than marries an Empress fathers yet another son (Dr. Vangonese) through her

  •  *... Quaraun than goes on to build a massive army of millions of Liches known as The GoldenEyed Ratzins and slaughters every last white American human in the universe, starting with Old Orchard Beach, Maine, to once and for all eradicate their filth from society so that minorities can live in peace without fear of being terrorized (Yes - the Old Orchard Beach rewrite happened in 2016 a year after my family was murdered BECAUSE of the original 1987 version of this book, which was not original set in Old orchard Beach, Maine)

  •   *  ...  and in between all of that, is seen with MORE THAN 300 FEMALE PROSTITUTES over the course of the series, sometimes just one prostitute, other time several at once... several of these prostitutes, give birth to children, who they claim Quaraun fathered and he is seen in several scenes, with their children, and giving the women money to raise his children, those these women he never marries

In total Quaraun has 7 spouses that he is married to, all at the same time. 5 of them are female and 2 of them are male.

This makes Quaraun a bisexual polygamist, not a gay man.

...so is you call Quaraun gay, you are either an idiot who doesn't know what the word gay means, or a gay-hating idiot who never read the series and brands it as gay without knowing the content of the story simply because you live by the philosophy gay = evil.


Just like the same way:


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!

But than, let's look at how OLD Quaraun and BoomFuzzy are.

Why?

Because we see the same thing happen with Quaraun's age, that we see happen with BoomFuzzy's skin.

   *   READERS SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE and DO NOT SEE WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE!

Let's look at another place where readers commonly see things I did not write.

A common question readers have with the Quaraun books is: "Is this supposed to be like this?" And yeah, every time you encounter a thing that seems "off" or "wonky", it is style choice. For example, in Night of the Screaming Unicorn, you see very early in that BoomFuzzy addresses Quaraun, by name, and about 20 or so pages later, Quaraun is hiding the fact that he's a wizard because he doesn't want BoomFuzzy to find out who he is, and yet, it's clear BoomFuzzy already does know who he is, because he's already called him "Quaraun". 

A couple of readers pointed that out and, saying that it felt like a writing error, a consistency error, felt like the author (me) had forgotten BoomFuzzy already knew who Quaraun was, so why is Quaraun trying to hide it? Well, if you pay attention to the story, you ARE told that Quaraun is very old, he's elderly, he's having a hard time getting around. 

Try to remember: Quaraun is elderly, nearing the end of his life, and BoomFuzzy is already dead. BoomFuzzy is a ghost. BoomFuzzy had two lovers: Quaraun and Gibedon. And Quaraun murdered Gibedon and a few days later BoomFuzzy commit suicide. And it's now 300 years later, and Quaraun is planning to kill himself, and BoomFuzzy's ghost shows up to try to stop him.

The story tells you that most Elves live around 300 to 400 years and Quaraun is nearing 700, maybe 800, he doesn't know how old he is, he can't remember. He can't remember what year it is. He can't remember when he was born. That's the point. Quaraun has some server old age memory lose issues, maybe dementia, possibly Alzheimer's, what it is exactly isn't important. What's important is that Quaraun is struggling to remember: ANYTHING.

And BoomFuzzy sees this, and he knows, Quaraun can't remember something he said, barely 5 minutes ago. Which is WHY you see BoomFuzzy, constantly repeating himself, constantly talking about the same events over and over again.

Quaraun is seen by most people in his world as insane, a raving lunatic, just plain crazy. No one takes him seriously because of how he talks, how he acts, how he dresses. And than there's BoomFuzzy who has been avoiding Quaraun for centuries. He's mad at Quaraun. Quaraun murdered BoomFuzzy's lover Gibedon and BoomFuzzy can't forgive Quaraun for that, so he refuses to talk to Quaraun for 300 years.

Night of the Screaming Unicorn is the first time they meet up again after 300 years away from each other. And BoomFuzzy, recognizes that something's wrong with Quaraun, something's seriously wrong. Quaraun is confused, stumbling around, gibbering madness. Quaraun doesn't recognize BoomFuzzy, and than Quaraun does recognize BoomFuzzy, but then 5 minutes later, BoomFuzzy is a stranger to him again and Quaraun doesn't know who BoomFuzzy is all over again.

BoomFuzzy was in love with Quaraun, when Quaraun was young and healthy, but that was years ago, and Quaraun's changed. Now Quaraun's old, and alone, and in very poor health, he can barely function - physically or mentally, he's in desperate need of someone to take care of him, but he has no one. No friends, no family, and society is so scared of him, that he can get help no where.

This is an elderly man in need of constant medical attention, and he's wandering around homeless, and no one cares. BoomFuzzy sees this, he sees this person that he used to love, wandering around homeless and alone, in desperate need of medical attention, half starved to death, and not mentally capable of remembering one minute to the next, let alone having the mental compacity to take care of himself.

It breaks BoomFuzzy's heart to see Quaraun like this, because it is so far vastly different from how Quaraun had been in his youth. BoomFuzzy had thought Quaraun had moved on, and he's now seeing that Quaraun didn't. Guilt over what he did (murdering BoomFuzzy's lover, Gibedon) absolutely shattered Quaraun's mind, he's spent his life isolated and alone, reliving the day of BoomFuzzy's suicide in his mind. 

Quaraun is nearing the end of his life, and his advanced old age had lead to serious memory issues, where he can remember things that happened in his childhood, but he can't remember what his did even an hour ago. If fact Quaraun acts like he just murdered Gibedon and BoomFuzzy just killed himself. Quaraun's mind is stuck in the day BoomFuzzy died. He can't moved passed it. He can't see that 300 years have gone by and he hasn't moved on. And THAT is why you see the story written the way it is.

And I remember when people first pointed that out and I explained this memory issue is what is going on (which, IS explained IN THE NOVEL, so I shouldn't have to explain it anyways) people pointed out: "OMG! Wait... is Quaraun an old man? I imagined him like being a teenager. I thought he was like a young adult. Ain't he like only 15 or 21 or..."

No.

Quaraun is an old man. So isn't BoomFuzzy.

Uhm... yeah. Do you know what the following words mean?


   *   old - 123

   *   elderly - 6

   *   ancient - 27


Also here's some more words for you to look up the meanings of:


   *   forgetful - 2

   *   forgot - 18

   *   remember - 81


 As usual with these kinds of comments, I use Night of the Screaming Unicorn to judge by, as most of these comments come from people whom have read the ebook edition of that novel, AND because this is volume 1 of the series and is the novel MOST people have read if they've read the Quaraun books, and is the novel which introduces both Quaraun and BoomFuzzy.


   *   The Night of the Screaming Unicorn describes Quaraun as being "old" 123 times.


   *   The Night of the Screaming Unicorn describes Quaraun as being "elderly" 6 times.


   *   The Night of the Screaming Unicorn describes Quaraun as being "ancient" 27 times.


  *   The Night of the Screaming Unicorn describes Quaraun as being "forgetful" 2 times.


   *  The Night of the Screaming Unicorn says Quaraun "forgot" something 18 times.


   *  The Night of the Screaming Unicorn says Quaraun could not "remember" something 81 times.

Uhm... again... yeah.

You ARE told what is going on.

It's NOT hidden.

I'm not one of those writers who likes to weave hidden meanings and messages. I tell you outright, Quaraun is old, elderly, ancient, nearing the end of his life, has outlived all other Elves, has lost his ability to remember things, is very forgetful, can't remember things that happened moments ago... you just ignored what I wrote, and imagined things as you wanted them to be instead reading them as they actually were.

With the lone except of the flashback novel 'BoomFuzzy', Quaraun is literally described -in every single novel- as: "the Elf was somewhere around 750 years old, the equivalate of a 90 year old Human"

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy are both elderly men who used to love each other when they were young but, a really horrible event broke them up and they haven't seen each other, in 300 years, BoomFuzzy has already died and is a ghost, while Quaraun is dying from old age, and he knows it. He's suffering. His health is falling apart. His memory is almost no-existent any more. He knows he won't live much longer and he just wants to see BoomFuzzy before he dies.

And yet, readers, are shocked when, they are talking to me on Twitch livestreams and hear me say Quaraun is elderly. They reply to say they thought he was a young kid, a 15 year old boy, a high schooler, a young adult around 21.

How?

How do you read the Quaraun novels and think Quaraun is young?

How is that even possible?

Why do I ask how is that even possible?

Well, for 40+ years the Quaraun series has been the biggest selling series for elderly readers.

Yep.

And it's ONLY in the last 5 years when teens got a hold of the series and started reading it, that people - teens - had trouble seeing Quaraun his correct age.

Clearly there is an issue with reading comprehension skills being taught in school, these days, because everyone who went to school BEFORE 1994 has no trouble at all comprehending the age, race, and gender of the character. While everyone who graduated after 1994, sees what they want to see. It's like they never read a book before so they don't know how to see what the author says (reading comprehension) and instead only know how to imagine what they want to see.

Not knowing BoomFuzzy is black, not knowing Quaraun is actually a female living as a male, not knowing Quaraun is elderly... for 40+ years 57 million readers have never had this issue, and yet, since 2014, every young person who reads it, doesn't know BoomFuzzy is black, doesn't know Quaraun is a female Thullid living as a male Elf, doesn't know Quaraun is elderly.

How does something like that happen?

Readers never had this problem before. So clearly the problem is the school system, not teaching these new people the very basic skill of reading comprehension, something that used to be taught in 3rd grade.

How do I know readers never had this problem before very recently?

Because as recently as 2012, this was not an issue.

My characters tend to be the age range of my readers... or rather, readers the same age as my primary main character (MC), went total gaga over him, because there was literally no other MC that age group.

What age range is that? Well, in 2012, 2 big tour buses pulled into the field next door to me, and the bus driver sheepishly got out, and asked me, if it was alright to let 2 bus loads of 73 little grannies in their 80s and 90s, have a tour of my yard and get books signed. He explained that they were on their way to a fall foliage trip and one old lady noticed the street they were on, said her favorite author lived 3 blocks down, could you drive the bus down there. He said he was scared the load of 80 year old grannies would riot if he didn't stop, because they all started chanting to turn around.

A few minutes later, 146 elderly women were toddling around my rose garden and pulling my Unicorn Porn series out of their tote bags. Turns out, they knew beforehand the bus trip would go near my farm, and so a whole group of my fans bought all the tickets, not to see the fall foliage, but to convince the driver to stop at my house so they could get their books signs.

If you think preteen screaming fangirls are wild and determined at CosPlay conventions, they can't hold a candle to 146 screaming fangirl grannies on canes and walkers, taking a tour bud hostage because they were hell bent determined to meet their favorite author.

But how did this come to be? Easy. The MC of the series in question is an elderly Elf wizard, Quaraun, described as the equivalate of being a 90 year old Human, and he is written very realistic to his age. He suffers arthritis, hip dysplasia, walks with a cane, has heart trouble... and a myriad of other old age health issues, which get in the way of his being the world's most powerful supervillain.

Quaraun is very much a comic book BatMan style super villain, but he's elderly, run down, and is finding it hard to keep on top of killing adventurers and heroes on quests any more like he used to do in his youth.

Think of the Quaraun series as the Batman's Joker now elderly and trying to avoid being put in a nursing home, because that's EXACTLY what it is. I'm a huge Joker fan and way back in 1978 when I started writing this, that WAS the question I asked: What if Batman's Joker now elderly and trying to avoid being put in a nursing home? That WAS the original writing prompt that the whole series was based off of.

These old ladies said they deeply identified with this character because they knew what it was like to live with arthritis, hip dysplasia, walk with a cane, have heart trouble.

They explained that most old characters in novels are side characters to teen MCs and that most old characters are also just, as they termed it: "young people in old face, like white people in black face".

According to them, my character felt real, felt actually old, actually acted and talked like a 90 year old man.

He was not some young kid with a high age number slapped on him. He had trouble getting out of bed on rainy days because of creaking bones, sore muscles, and a bad hip all of which hurt worse in damp weather. No other elderly character in fiction was written this way.

I inadvertently created a elderly women's heartthrob character without realizing that it what I had done.

I wrote this particular character the way I did, because I am myself elderly, have arthritis, hip dysplasia, walk with a cane, have heart trouble, and so I was simply writing this character to have the same health issues I had.

When I first started the series, I originally intended to traditionally publish it, as I had done other series before it. But, no publisher would touch it. I got rejection after rejection, all saying the same thing: The MC is too old. Change his age, make him 20 or 30. There is no market appeal for an elderly MC. This won't sell.

So I self published it. Do you know how many copies it sold? When volume 3 was announced, it 10,000 copies the first hour. Passed 100,000 by the end of the week. As of today, that book has passed 57million copies now.

Why?

Because publishers were RIGHT. There was no other elderly MC out there, so I literally cornered the market on readers aged 70 to 90, who wanted a male MC the same age as them.

When I first started the series, I never dreamed that elderly women 70s to 90s would become my primary readers. But these women are rabid in their obsession with the series, and unlike teens who get bores after reading 2 or 3 books in the series, the series went on to reach 138 volumes and counting.

Funny thing is when young people try to buy it online and find out it has no eBook editions and isn't available on Amazon. It's ONLY available for sale at tiny hole in the wall gift shops found in hospitals and nursing homes and senior centers and I market it by putting free copies in every waiting room at doctors offices and hospitals. Because once I found out elderly women were reading it, and not just every elderly women, but specifically elderly women were reading it while they were in hospital rooms to cheer themselves up, I put full focus of marketing it on hospitals and nursing homes.

It always stuns people online when they find out the series reached so many sales without having ebook editions, without being trade published, without being sold online, without Amazon, and buy only being sold at 3 hospitals and 5 nursing homes in a 14 mile radius of my driveway.

The lesson here: know your audience. Find out WHO actually WANTS a book like yours and market ONLY to them and no one else.

Once I realized I had hit n an unmarketed niche, I ran with it. I was laughed at by other writers, by editors, by agents, by publishers, because they ALL said the best market to write for was YA and young adults were not going to want to read a 90 year old man with health problems as a MC. 

>>>Trying to pin down what age range my story is appropriate for? Thoughts on New Adult and Teen Fiction?

Teens and 20 somethings are fickle. They'll read your book than toss it in the trash. Use you than lose you. It's why so many authors of books for teens and young adults are quickly forgotten. And yet, it's the ONLY demographic any writer targets these days. Why? Teens and young adults don't even make up the majority of novel readers. 12 to 24 year olds were only 27% of readers when Harry Potter was big, and since the pandemic, that age range has plummeted to just 17%. The age range that does the most reading is still as it ever was women who are 50+, and yet, in my experience of running reading clubs, the 50+ readers are quick to complain that since the mid1990s nothing worth reading has been published because all the MCs are young kids. 73% of the reading population is being completely ignored.

So when I see someone say something like this:

>>> if it's not an interesting story in the new adult range, I could tone it down to be a teen novel.

I'm left asking: Why?

If you novel is intended for adult readers, then write it for adult readers and don't worry about the 17% of readers who have more then enough YA books coming out every month.

Adult readers exist, and they are 83% of the readers out there. And they are being largely ignored and treated like they were horse shit not worthy of being given new books to read.

If your book is aimed at teen readers, than write it aimed at teen readers. But if your book is aimed at adult readers, don't feel you have to dumb it down for teens, like teens are the only readers on the planet. Teens/young adults/and under 50s are the EXTREME MINORITY when it comes to book buyers/readers in America.

All that said, I don't think you should change you characters or story to fit a market. Rather I think you should write your story as you envision it, than aim your marketing at the niche of readers who want that type of story.

That's what I did.

I wrote my story, my way. It wasn't planned to be a series. It was 1 stand alone novel, about an elderly man at the end of his life, contemplating suicide vs natural death, because his health was so bad that he thought he could no longer live a valuable existence, and he walks across the country looking for a reason not to kill himself. Publishers said to make him a young man in his 20s, struggling with suicide for other reasons. They said teen readers wouldn't be able to relate to him. I said: NO! This is who my character was and I wasn't going to change him. They said they couldn't publish it because teens wouldn't read a story about a 90 year old man. So I self published it and for a few years sales flatlines, but suddenly they took off, and readers started writing me letters asking for more. Elderly readers said they loved him because he was so relatable. They explained they had struggled with suicide vs living old age in failing health and he struck a nerve with them because he was so relatable to them.

If I had changed my MC to a young adult, like publishers wanted, that book would have been read by teens and then been forgotten in the slush piles of millions of other teen books that addressed suicide. But because there were no other Fantasy novels about an elderly MC facing elderly issues, word of mouth spread like wild fire through elderly reading/book clubs at senior centers and nursing homes and, that stand alone book is now volume 1 of a 138 volume series that is adored by elderly readers.

Ask a teen or young adult and they will say they never heard of me, ask an elderly person and they'll gush love for my MC.

That is what you need to do with your book: Stay true to your original vision, than look for the right type of reader who wants your vision. Don't change your vision to match a fickle market that might not even be around by the time you finish writing your book.

When teens started reading the Quaraun series, in recent years, it became very clear, that not only was an elderly main character too much for them to identify with, but also black characters and a female who passes for a male, were also concepts teen minds are not capable of grasping.

Never noticed Quaraun was a female? And NOT a male, and that that is why it is so ridiculous when people call the series Gay Romance or Gay Erotica or "gay" anything else.

Yes.

Quaraun is female.

Yes, he uses male pronouns, but pay attention to what he says in his dialogue and you'll see it.

Heck, he's not even an Elf and it's not like that fact is hidden from readers either.

Perhaps you glossed over scenes like this one, that appear in nearly every chapter of every novel in the series:

"It's cursed. It'll kill you if you don't feed it souls."

Quaraun laughed.

"Why is that so funny?"

 "I am a Necromancer soul bound to a Lich. Beyond that, there is a JellyFish living in my brain. So technically, I think I’m already dead. Elves only live 400 years, yes, that is true, but I’m a Thullid living in an Elf’s body. I’ll live for many thousands of years. I already have. I just never lived in a host before coming to this planet. Never needed to before."

"A host?"

"I am the Sacred Pink JellyFish."

"You said that before."

"Yes, I did. I am not an Elf. I simply wear the skin of a dead Elf the same way you wear a coat. I am a Thullid, living inside the body of an Elf. I am a female. He is a beautiful male. Think of him as being like the fox fur stole worn by a wealthy noble women, because that's what he is to me."

"You are a female Thullid?"

"Yes."

"Wearing the body of a male Elf?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he is beautiful."

"I thought you were joking."

"I never joke."

"Yeah, I'm starting to think that's true. So, you are saying that you ACTUALLY are, quite literally, you ARE The ACTUAL Sacred Pink JellyFish?"

"Yes. I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. You Humans are so annoying. You never believe anything anyone says, because your society is built on a web of lies. You all lie to each other so much on a daily basis that you think everyone else automatically lies like you do. We are not as corrupted and perverse as you deviated, immoral, lying thugs are. I am not a Human, nor an America, nor a Christian, I'm not even from this planet, Earth is not my native home, so stop treating me like I'm a lying ass piece of white trash, shit faced American Christian Human Earthling."

"I wasn't accusing you... hey, you know, I'm not a Christian, myself. Christians don't exactly abide with having us witches around, you know!"

Moving on to the topic of Quaraun being transgender.

No.

Quaraun is NOT transgender. He is transvestite, and that is quite different.

A transvestite is a woman who wears pants, a woman who cuts her hair, a woman who wears t-shirts, a man who wears dresses, a man who wears skirts, a man who does not cut his hair.... this accounts for a whopping 73% of Americans total population, with more than 89% of all transvestites being females who wear pants or cut their hair.

In fact, female transvestites are so common that women with long hair and women who do not wear pants make up only 4% of the total females in America. Yes, 96% of all females in America are transvestites.

Think about that for a minute.

Now tell me this: when was the last time you if you are female, your mother, your sister, your daughter, your niece, your grandmother, or your female best friend wore pants? Do YOU or any of THEM consider yourselves to be transgender?

No! Of course you don't. You are JUST wearing men's cloths, and cutting your hair short like a man. You ARE NOT trying to to actually BE a man. You are just wearing his clothes and sporting his hair.

WHY is it okay for women to wear men's clothes and men's hairstyles WITHOUT being accused of being transgender, but it is not okay for men to wear women's cloths and women's hairstyles without being called transgender?


*  ...  A transgender person is a person who is trying to BECOME the opposite gender from the gender they were born.


*  ...  A transvestite is a person who believes cloths hare just pieces of fabric and have no gender, so can be worn by anyone.


*  ...  It is HIGHLY OFFENSIVE to call a transvestite "transgender" because transvestites are okay with their birth gender and not trying to be a different gender.


But in the case of Quaraun, you go one step further, because, not only is he NOT transgender, but in his own culture, he is NOT wearing women's cloths at all.

Keep in mind that Quaraun is Persian/Iranian, and he wears traditional outfits, meaning, he wears long caftan and robes that are TYPICALLY WORN BY MEN in REAL Persian/Iranian culture.

HERE... THIS, is a visual image of the outfits Quaraun is described as wearing:

MOST descriptions of Quaraun clothing, are describing THIS:

Other descriptions of Quaraun are describing the images below:

As you can see from the pictures, how Quaraun dresses, is a REAL FASHION worn by REAL MEN, n and DOES NOT make Quaraun transgender, gay, or effeminate, any more than it makes REAL MEN in REAL Persia/Iran transgender, gay or effeminate.

And may I remind you, this is MY CULTURE... we Gypsies are Persian, and THIS is the type of fashions that are EVERY DAY NORMAL, for the clan I was born and raised in.

THIS TYPE OF FASHION IS NORMAL FOR MY PEOPLE and Quaraun is the same culture as me. I write what I know, and just because you Americans don't dress like this, does not mean EVERY man on the planet dresses like you!

You hating gay men is deplorable, and you calling me in my culture gay, trans, or effeminate because embroidered pink silk is a common colour/fashion for men in my culture, just makes you gay hating bigots look even more idiotic than you already are!

And speaking of his cloth...


People who call Quaraun gay, do so, often because he wears pink, BUT... consider this:

BEFORE 1959... yes, just 60 years ago.. it was FORBIDDEN for a female to wear pink.

Why?

Because pink was seen as a man's colour and it was reserved for royalty.

Kings and Princes, in England, France, Germany, and the rest of Europe were the ONLY people allowed to wear pink. This law was made by each of those countries between the 700s to 800s and were not done away with until the rise of a group known as The Shirtless Seven's rose up in 1959, and invented something called: The Barbie Doll.

The Shirtless Seven's made sure EVERYTHING Barbie had was pink, SPECIFICALLY to rub in the face of men the message: Women can do anything men can do... included wearing pink.

Interestingly, in the 1970s, Barbie's super pink everything, inadvertently CAUSED the idea that pink was a girl's colour and could not be worn by men anymore.

However, Quaraun is a Persian Emperor from the 800s, and so, it is historically accurate for him to be a man and always wear pink.

And NO, wearing pink does NOT make a man either gay" or "effeminate".

And here is a line from Quaraun himself, explaining why he wears pin:

"Necromancy has to do with death and we Elves don't like death. We like life. We have a strong connection to the energies of the world. We feel the tears of the grass every time you cut it. We feel the pain from the tree, it's silent agony as your axes cut through it's flesh."

"You're saying plants are alive?"

"Yes."

"And they feel pain?"

"Yes," Quaraun answered. "I am surprised you do not know this. They feel pain.  And joy. And sadness. And sorrow. When two trees grow together side by side and one falls down and dies, the other weeps tears and becomes depressed. Gives up the will to live, and soon too falls over and dies. Plants, like you Humans fee all the same emotions you feel. As do birds and animals and fish and insects. All life, gives off energy and I feel that. I see the auras around life and the emptiness around death." 

"Auras?"

"Glow of colour..."

"I know what an aura is, but... you see them?"

"Yes. Everything has a colour it gives off."

"Does that have anything to do with why you wear pink?"

"It does."

"Can you see your own aura?"

"I can."

"Is it pink?"

"It is. Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"Often it turns black."

"Black?"

"When I think about killing myself. The colour leaves my aura."

"You think about killing yourself?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I am unloved and unwanted. Cast out. Unwelcome. Alone. I have no friends. No one to talk to. BoomFuzzy was my only friend and he is dead. He's been dead for centuries. It is hard to go on. I try to make friends, but everywhere I go, people have already heard of me. I am famous. As you know. People fear me. So they hurt me. They won't even try to get to know me. I'm a killer. A monster. That's how they see me. I always alone. They only way I can get any one to spend time with me is if I pay them to spend time with me. It is distressing. I want so much to belong. Somewhere. Anywhere. I have no one. I am alone."

"I'm sorry."

"No. You are not. So do not say you are."

"You don't know..."

"Yes. I do know. I am a Psion. I can see your thoughts. You are not sorry at all."

"Why is your aura usually pink?" Ghirardelli asked, ignoring what the Elf had said.

"Rape."

"What?"

"Rape."

"You know. Of all the things you could have said, I think that is the last one I would have expected. What does rape have to do with the colour pink?"

"People who suffer deep traumatic stress after having been raped, have a bright, fuchsia pink aura."

"Really?"

"Yes. I know immediately when a person has been raped, because they are the only people whose auras are brilliant shades of fuchsia pink."

"No one else has a pink aura?"

"No. No one else."

"Only rape victims?"

"Yes. Only rape victims have a pink aura."

"Why is that? Do you know?"

"I don't know. It has something to do with the Archangel Raphael. I do know that."

"You believe in Archangels?"

"I do."

"And this archangel..."

"Raphael."

"Yeah, what does he have to do with pink?"

"Pink is a colour of protection. The Archangel Raphael, puts a circle of pink energy around rape victims in order to help their minds heal. It is why I weave only pink silk. I sell very few of my items. I tend to give most of it away to girls who have pink auras. It helps them to heal, emotionally, if they surround themselves with bright pink."

"Helping people again?"

"Yes. It's what I do."

"You're actually good aren't you?"

"I try to be. I told you I am not evil and I'm not the monster that busy bodies and their gossiping rumours make me out to be. People make up horrible things about me all the time. I'm continually amazed the new things people come up with to accuses me of having done."

"And, the apple trees?"

"Apple trees?"

"Yeah. You were turning them into Liches, you said."

"Oh. Yes. That. Most Elves fear necromancy, same as you Humans do, because you fear death. And I started to wonder, why? Why fear death? Why can we not use death. Death is a plentiful energy force that exists all around us. Everything died, and the energy of the dead wanders, aimless and useless. We Elves, we seek to heal the world. Heal nature and Humans are part of nature, are they not?"

"I suppose."

"So many Humans are hurting and suffering. It's terrible. I feel their pain. I'm a Psion. I'm used to living in a Hive Mind with other like me, but now the others are dead and I am alone, and alone in my head, same as you Humans are. So I try to find connections elsewhere."

"And the apple trees?"

"Elves avoid necromancy. In fact, I believe I may be the only Elf to ever become a necromancer. Necromancy is usually used by Humans who are greedy and seek for power and control. Gold. Sex. Lordship. Government control. That is what drives most men to necromancy. So they use it for evil intent, leading others to believe necromancy itself is evil, when in fact necromancy is neither good nor evil. It can be used for good or evil, but men have evil hearts so they choose to use it for evil, when they could use it for good.”

“But why plants?”

“I’m an Elf,” Quaraun said.

And NO, wearing pink does NOT make a man either gay" or "effeminate".

Which brings us to another point.

No. Quaraun is NOT effeminate. 

In fact, Quaraun is quite the opposite. He is very aggressive, very violent, takes shit from no one, does think twice about punching out other men, is prone to get drunk and start bar-room brawls, and, is a serial killer whose method of killing people is to slit their throat with his dagger.

Did you notice how all the men in those pictures were carrying a dagger?

No.

Go back and take a look.

I mean really, is THIS REALLY what you call an effeminate man:

"You were going to help me," she reminded Quaraun.

"Was I?"

"Wasn't you?"

"Did I say I would?"

"Did you say you wouldn't?"

"No. I did not say I wouldn't. That is true. But I also didn't say I would. I said I would listen to what you had to say, and serve you tea."

Loud thunder crashed outside the tent. Lightening flashed soon after, causing a red glow through the tent's pink stripped silk.

"What was that?" Ghirardelli jumped and spun around.

"It was only the thunder. There is a storm raging out there, remember? A hurricane. It was WHY I stopped and set up my tent. I was travelling. But this storm came up on me, so I set up the tent. Was weaving for a bit. Ate my meal. Took a nap. Got woken up by you. Now I'm having my tea."

"You know it isn't tea time."

"It is always tea time."

The sound of pouring rain came rumbling down on the roof of the tent. Ghirardelli looked up at the thin pink stripped silk.

"Is this tent strong enough to keep out the rain?"

"It's not just strong enough to keep out the rain, it's strong strong enough to keep out raining cats and dogs."

"I wish it WAS raining cats and dogs."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? More rain would keep the men from chasing me."

"No. That's not what I meant..."

As Quaraun said this, a flurry of growling and hissing started happening outside the tent.

"Oh dear," he muttered. He put his teacup on the table, used his cane to pull himself and tottered his way over to the front door flap of the tent to look outside. Cats and dogs were falling out of the sky. "Oh, bother."

Ghirardelli joined him in the doorway. 

"You know I never realized how short you were, " Ghirardelli said to the tiny, little necromancer, who was shorter than her shoulder.

"My height has nothing to do with anything," Quaraun snarled. He hated when people mentioned how short he was.

"No, but, you're a man and you don't even come up to my shoulder."

“It’s raining cats and dogs,” Quaraun said as he watched a herd of wet cats scurry away, hissing and growling, while packs of small muddy dogs rolled in the mud puddles. “Did you do this?”

“No! I didn’t do it, but I wish I had. This is frigging awesome!”

“Don’t say that. Especially not around me.”

“Say what?”

"Wish."

"Wish?" 

"Don't wish for anything."

"What? Why?"

"I'm a wishing mage. When people around me wish for things, those things happen."

"You're joking."

Quaraun pointed through the door to the down pour of cats and dogs tumbling out of the sky.

"Does THAT look like a joke to you madame?"

"No, that looks like a lot of cats and dogs falling out of the sky. How did that happen?"

"You wished for it."

"And you granted that wish?"

"No. But that's what happens when people start wishing for things around me. It's part of why I stay away from people. Especially you filthy Humans. Most especially you vile jackassery white Americans. Nothing but gutter scum filth, that's all you Americans are. I should do this world a favour and rid this planet of the entire vile American existance. No good was ever birth out of a white American Human. Not a one of you deserves to live."

Quaraun pulled out his wand and drew a few sigils in the mud while muttering something in Thullid. The cats and dogs stopped falling out of the sky. Quaraun turned to Ghirardelli and snarled at her.

“Don’t wish for anything else, or I WILL kill every last fucking white American Human on this entire planet. I'm so sick and fed up to death with all of you. Careless words once spoken are often difficult to undo. Wishes cause more harm than good. And no good comes from you evil ass Americans. You white Americans aren't worth the shit it takes to dung on your face. A wish spoken out of turn can be devastating. And I can't always fix them as easily as this one.”

Quaraun pushed past Ghirardelli and went back to his pile of pillows.

Ghirardelli laughed for several seconds, thinking the old Elf was joking, but she stopped laughing when she realized how very grave and serious he looked.

“Wait. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Madam, I am an Elf."

"Yes. I can see that." 

"I am always serious."

"Is that an Elf thing?" 

"Yes, that is and Elf THING. We do not show our emotions with  mindless, simpleton frivolity, the way you retarded American white Humans do. Nor do we waste precious time telling jokes and lies."

"You know people call you Arabs terrorists for a reason, don't you. You can't go around saying things like that."

"Like what? Praising a none Christian god while we slit your filthy, vile, immoral American throats? I'm not a murderer or a terrorist, Ghirardelli. I'm a Di'Jinn Priest cleaning up the world of sex crazed immoral filth. If that means I have to kill every last white American Human to clean up this world and make it a decent, moral place worth living in again, than so be it. You kill my people oncommand by your Christian god, and my god tells me to protect my people from your god's immoral, sex crazed, child raping Christian army. If me doing the will of my god makes me a terrorist, what than are YOU, doing the will of your god, when your god tells you to invade my country and kill my people. My family is dead at the hands of your god's Christian followers, Ghirardelli. It IS my duty to execute every last person involved in murdering my family. I will see you all dead. Even you, Ghirardelli."

Quaraun paused, picked up his teacup and stared into it without taking a drink or saying a word. He stirred the tea, intently staring into the liquid less bottom of the whirlpool his stirring created. He sighed knowingly, then set the cup back down and continued talking, as he got up and returned back to the door of the tent. 

"Nor are we sneaky, like you white American Humans. You knew I was a Di'Jinn before you came here didn't you?"

"No..."

Quaraun spun around and stood on tip toe to be able to look the woman in the eye.

"Don't lie to me madame. You worded that wish on purpose to get me away from the table."

"I didn't..."

"You did."

"You are very short, aren't you?"

"Stop telling me what I already know."

"Well, you are. I'm not even tall and you barely come up to my shoulder. You're tiny."

"I am short. I know I am short. I don't need to be reminded that I'm shorter that everyone around me. Stop changing the subject. What did you put in my drink?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Who sent you here?"

"No one."

"Don't lie to me, you filthy white American scumbag." Quaraun pulled out his dagger and pointed it at the old woman's face.

"I'm not."

"I'm not someone you want to cross, madame," Quaraun snarled through his teeth. "Finderu sent you didn't he?"

"No one sent me." 

Ghirardelli backed away from Quaraun, looking around for a way to escape. The angry little Elf stood between her and the door of the tent, and small though he may be, he seemed fierce. 

Vicious even. 

She suspected that given the right mood, he could become violent. Was he not, after all rumoured to be the most deadly serial killer to ever walk the face of the earth? Every nation feared the very thought of Quaraun the Insane, precisely because of his extremely violent nature and the fact that he had killed so many people. And he didn't kill with magic. 

No. 

Though billed the world's most powerful mage, Quaraun was said to rarely ever use magic at all. He killed with the ruby hilted dagger that hung from his belt. Quaraun liked to get close to his victims, hold them tight against him, while he slit their throats, so he could feel the life drain from their bodies.

It was not for Quaraun's use of magic that people feared him, it was instead for his deadly skill at wielding the Elf Eater's dagger, which struck fear into the hearts of every man, woman, and child.

Ghirardelli felt that fear now, as she stared into the cold, lifeless icy-white-blue eyes, with the red veined pink pupils.

Quaraun's corpse like eyes terrified Ghirardelli most of all. There was no emotion in them.

No glint of life.

No twinkle.

No gleam.

They were the lifeless eyes of a dead Elf.

And was that not, what Quaraun was rumoured to be? Not just a Necromancer, but also, an Elf soul bound to a Lich, and himself turning into a Lich because of it.

Immortal.

Lifeless.

Not dead. But not alive either.

Undefeatable, because, he could not be killed, because he was already dead. An Elf, centuries older than any Elf had ever lived, because he was an Elf who could never die.

A male Elf, whose male lover had been ripped apart by an angry mob, centuries ago, surviving only a few days before killing himself to end the agonizing suffering he'd been left in.

An Elf, who had devoted his life to hunting down, not only every last person in the mob, but also their children, their grandchildren, their great-grand children.... every last relative he could find. Annihilate the entire bloodline of the people responsible for The Hanging Tree.

Ghirardelli was one of those people. She knew this. The Elf Eater had died nearly a thousand years ago, and someone in her ancestry had been there at The Hanging Tree. For centuries members of her family had been hunted by this Elf, The Pink Necromancer, Quaraun the Insane, who killed hundred of her relatives, across hundreds of years, and was now standing face to face with her.

Ghirardelli had heard this rumour many times before. The rumour that Quaraun could not be caught, could not be stopped, could not be imprisoned, could not be killed, because he had long ago, transformed into a lich and was now the living dead.

She had never believed this rumour, but now, looking into the icy dead eyes of the necromancer himself, Ghirardelli had no doubt in her mind that the rumours were true. That Quaraun was dead. The Pink Necromancer was a wraith of some sort. A wraith with a physical body. A strange, new type of lich, something, not quite dead, but, not quite alive either.

"You tried to poison me," Quaraun said, his voice now lowered to a rabid, dog-like growl.

"No..." Ghirardelli.

"Do you really think you can kill me, madame?"

"I don't..."

"I can't die. I am immortal. I am soul bound to a lich. I am his phylactery. He lives in me. He and I are one being now. Two souls in one body. Your poison has no effect on me."

"I didn't..."

"You KNEW I was a wish granting wizard. You knew that before you came here. You WROTE this wanted poster of me, and that is exactly how you described me. You made that wish on purpose, because you wanted to see what would happen."

"I'm not trying to upset you..."

"Why? Scared I'll do to you what I did to Gibedon?" Quaraun pulled Gibedon's head from his bag as he spoke. "Poooooor Gibedon. Poor, poor, sweet Gibedon. He done gone and lost his head. THIS is what I think of The Guild, Ghirardelli!"

Quaraun shook the dead mage's head in Ghirardelli's face.

"Gibedon thought he could beat me. Gibedon tried to fight me. Gibedon tried to kill me. Don't make Gibedon's mistakes, Ghirardelli. I have no qualms about adding your head next to his."

"I wasn't trying too..."

Quaraun shoved Gibedon's head back in his bag, pushed passed Ghirardelli, nearly knocking her over as he did, and stormed back to the far side of his tent, leaving  Ghirardelli, standing alone near the door. 

She contemplated making a run for it, while the old wizard rummaged around in his boiling pots, but than thought better of it. 

This was after all, The Pink Necromancer himself, Quaraun the Insane. Most feared and most powerful mage of all time. Defeating him, capturing him, killing him, any one of those things would land her the respect of the wizarding community, and she wanted that. She wanted that a lot.

Gingerly, Ghirardelli crossed the tent, to stand beside Quaraun and watch him work.

"What are you doing?"

"Too stupid to leave?"

"What?"

"I gave you a chance to leave. Go. I don't feel like killing any one today. Go. I'll find you and kill you later."

"You're the greatest wizard of all time."

"So every one tells me."

"I could learn something from you."

"Really? What could a white magic, goody-two-shoes Guild member who sucks up to Finderu ever expect to learn from me, the closest thing to the boogy man there is?"

"I don't know. You were talking about helping people."

"Hhhhm. Helping people is what I prefer to do."

"But you're a murderer. How do you justify that?"

"I only kill in self defence. Attack me and lop your head off. Simple as that. Leave me in peace and I'll let you live. You send your little groups of adventures on a quest to defeat big bad mega boss super villain me and I'll explode the lot of them into dust, then resurrect them as nzambies to do my bidding. So, all you are doing is building my army a little bit more, every time you try to kill me."

Quaraun pulled out a map, folded it out onto the table and set able to eyeing it with a compass.

"What are you doing now?"

"Looking for BoomFuzzy."

"I thought you said he was dead?"

"He is. He's a lich."

"And you don't know where he is?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I lost him. He got out of his bottle and ran away. Now I'm trying to find him. Hunting liches is never easy. But according to this map, he's nearby."

"According to this map? How can a map..."

"This is The Elf Eater's Enchanted Map. It leads any one carrying it to his location. I am in the process of resurrecting him. As a normal lich, he has only an incorporeal wraith form. No physical body. So I built him a golem. Now I have to find him, to put his wraith body into the golem, so he can live a normal life again."

"You are trying to bring The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley back to life?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"He's the most evilest evil of all evils to ever exist."

"I thought you said that title belonged to me."

"No. You are the evilest evil currently alive?"

"You consider me to be alive? How droll."

"Aren't you?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. Quaraun died some nine hundred or so years ago."

"Uhm... but you are, standing right here in front of me."

"What? You mean this Elf body? Oh. No. I have no idea what this Elf's name was. I am the Sacred Pink Jelly Fish."

"The Sacred... wait... the Thullid Elder God?"

"Yes. The Thullid Elder Brain. I ate this Elf's brain centuries ago, to make room in his skull for me to live in it. I animate his corpse and walk among you, the imposter that I am. Used to blend in back when Elves were everywhere, but not that Elves are extinct, I stick out like a sore thumb. Logic would dictate that I get myself a new host to live in, retire this body, but look at him. He was beautiful."

"I'm confused."

"The only problem with this body is every one wants to have sex with it and we Thullids did away with the need for sex millanias ago. I do get so tired of how sex crazed you Humans are. Elves at least showed some restraint. But you Humans just want to fuck everything that moves, wither it wants to be fucked by you or not. Rape. Rape. Rape. Rape. Rape. It's all your Human men ever put any effort into doing. You creatures are so disgusting."

"I'm sorry... are you an Elf or a Thullid?"

"Both. I'm a Thullid living in the reanimated corpse of a dead Elf's body."

"And you're a lich?"

"No. I'm soul bound to a lich. We cut our souls in half, back while he was still alive. Half his soul is him my body and half my soul is in his body. And than decades later when he commit suicide in a lich making ritual, the spell didn't work because he wasn't in possession of both halves of his soul. Now I am half lich and he is stuck in between lich and dead. I'm trying to correct that. Make him into the lich he wanted to be, and free myself of becoming a lich with him."

"So you're a lich hunter?"

"Sort of."

"What was all that earlier with the cats and dogs falling out of the sky?"

"Before I became a necromancer I was a Di'Jinn. A wish granting wizard. Somehow, the spell BoomFuzzy did, that caused me to become part lich, also caused me to have an unexplained energy field around me, that causes wishes to happen exactly as people word them. So when you wished for raining cats and dogs, the hurricane outside, stopped raining water on us and started raining cats and dogs on us."

"That's not possible."

"It most certainly is. You saw it with your own eyes."

"It had to be an illusion. A hallucination."

"I assure you madame, it was real."

"You can't grant wishes like that. That's just stuff from fairy tales."

"Just because you Humans are incapable of telling the truth on any level whatsoever, does not mean that this is a problem, I myself have. You seem to have forgotten that I am not Human. We Elves neither think nor act in the same you do, so do not expect us to. Your degraded, immoral, barbaric culture leaves you crude and lacking in any level of dignity or self respect. Do not expect me to devolve myself to your levels of evolutionary stupidity.”

“Yeah, well, okay, but you were acting like wish granting was real. I mean, come on.”

“You do not believe in wishes?” Quaraun mocked being horrified.

“Do you?”

“I am Quaraun. The Pink Necromancer. I am a wizard of the Di’Jinn Order. Granting wishes is what we do.” Quaraun picked up his teacup again and stared at it than set it back down again. "But of course you knew that."

“Oh. Like, really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“For real?”

“Yes.”

“You grant wishes?”

“Yes.”

“But aren’t you a Necromancer?”

“I am.”

“So, how exactly does granting wishes mix with Necromancer?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. We are lucky it was normal cats and dogs just now."

"Are there any other types?"

"Yes. It could have been Zombie cats and Vampire dogs."

"Seriously?" 

"Yes. Thus I why I recommend you get better at guarding your words and thinking more carefully before you speak. P.S.: Your sword shouldn’t be talking to you. If it does, please return it to the store immediately for a refund or replace it. I'll take it off your hands if you don't want it. I could find uses for a soul eating sword that talks."

"It's supposed to talk."

"Really?"

"It's a cursed sword."

"Like a cursed box."

"What?"

“I locked my memories into a memory box,” Quaraun pulled said box out of his bag of holding and showed it to her. The little glass vials tickled around inside it.

“And you threw away the key,” Ghirardelli said, anticipating the end of his sentence.

“No.” Quaraun stared at her, perplexed. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are a very strange woman.”

“You are a very strange man.”

“I’m not a man. I’m an Elf.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

“No. Not whatever. It is what IS. I am most certainly not a man, I am an Elf. Pure-blooded. A rare thing these days. Feels like ninety percent of the Elves I meet any more are half-Elves or quarter-Elves or less.”

I'm sorry if your gay hating psycho-babble tells you that EVERYTHING that is pink = gay or that men wearing embroidered silk = gay, because in both instances you are wrong, and either way, it doesn't give you the right to show up at my house and murder my family, because, one, gay people have the right to live, and two, just because someone is different from you doesn't make them evil.

And I'm going to put more pictures of men dressed the way Quaraun does here, just because I like men who dress like this and I don't see anything gay, transgender, or effeminate about it at all.

In fact, you know what... the fact that YOU see this style dress as gay, transgender, and effeminate, tells me that YOU are yourself gay.

Why?

Because ONLY a gay man horny for other men, is going to think a man wearing pink is gay, because pink excites YOU.

YOU think men in pink are gay because YOU are sexually attracted to men wearing pink.

YOU think men in silk are transgender because YOU are sexually attracted to men wearing silk.

YOU think men in embroider are effeminate because YOU are sexually attracted to men wearing embroidery.

YOU calling Quaraun gay, transgender, or effeminate, just says that YOU are gay, NOT Quaraun.

You might want to think about that before you spend too much time running around York County, Maine screaming gay... because you know what: the wheel that squeaks the loudest, is the wheel that wants to be oiled.

The more YOU squeak your gay-phobia around town, the more you prove that you ARE gay and don't want any one in your church to know it.

I'm sorry you find all of this to be so "gay" and think only gay men dress like this, but I've personally known a hell of a lot of gay American men, and I've yet to know one who dressed like this.

On the other hand, very few men in Gypsy culture are gay and yet MOST Gypsy men dress like this every day!

Your perception of what is "gay" or "effeminate" is bizzarre to say the least.

The very fact that half the crown characters Quaraun meets in taverns, refer to him as "that Arab over there" or call him "a towel head" when they are mad at him, that alone should tell you what he's wearing brands him as Middle Eastern, even if the narrative wasn't constantly saying he was a member of the Di'Jinn Gypsy Clan of Persia...every novel says he's from Persia in almost every chapter, with him constantly talking about his life there.

And for those whom have said his being a silk merchant brands him a "gay" and "doing feminine things"... again, you might want to do some research.

Quaraun is a silk merchant in 800 A.D. Persia. He grews tea trees, mulberry bushes, and rose bushes for his silk worms. He spins the cocoons into threads, he dyes the threads, he weaves the fabric, he embroiders the cloth... and ALL of this was a common, and normal MAN'S JOB in Medieval times. It was NOT unusual, out of lace, effeminate, or "gay" for a man to be doing these things.


*  ...  In Medieval times, growing tea trees, mulberry bushes, and roses WAS A MAN'S JOB, not as it is today, a hobby of women.


*  ...  Contrary to what Disney princesses tell you, in Medieval times, spinning wool/linen/silk into thread and yard WAS A MAN'S JOB, not as it is today's fictional Medieval Fantasy's, a hobby of women.


*  ...  In Medieval times, weaving fabric WAS A MAN'S JOB, not as it is today, a hobby of women.


*  ...  In Medieval times, knitting sweaters, crocheting scarves, needle-pointing pillows, and embroidering cloth WAS A MAN'S JOB, not as it is today, a hobby of women.


*  ...  In Medieval times, and right up into the 1950s, being a tailor WAS A MAN'S JOB, not as it is today, a hobby of women.


*  ...  Before World War Two, it was seen as BAD for women to be doing MEN'S careers involving spinning, weaving, knitting, crocheting, embroidering, sewing.... and in MOST countries, a female could be executed if caught doing them. And had WWII not happened, spinning, weaving, knitting, crocheting, embroidering, sewing would STILL be men-exclusive careers right now in 2021.


*  ...  WOMEN did not take up spinning, weaving, dyeing, embroidering, knitting, crocheting, and sewing as careers until 1943, when all the men were at war and women had to take over the men's jobs as part of the war effort.


So, NO, it is neither "gay" nor "effeminate" for Quaraun to be a silk merchant who grows, spins, dyes, weaves, and embroiders his own handmade silk. In fact, it was a rather common hobby for noblemen of both his region and his tie period. So, how about you take your bigoted gay-hating head out of your ass, and research a little real world Medieval history before the next time you bring your gay hating to me or my novels.

And here, by the way, is a picture of a real world Persian/Iranian silk merchant, who is selling his real world striped silk that he wove himself:


and HERE... is a scene from the Quaraun series which describes his clothing:


"Yeah. That. Witches are all coming though here. They have little pow wows, casting spells and curses on the locals. Folks 'round here are scared shitless of Finderu and his witches. Won't surprise me none if they what caused this here storm."

"This, here, storm, as you put it, is a hurricane and no witchcraft caused it, however, given the type of magic Finderu does, he could have put a spell on your village so that you didn't see it coming."

"Yeah? You think so?"

"Well, considering this is a port full of sailors and fishermen, who usually are pretty good at seeing big storms before they get here, does it not seem logical, something stopped you all from seeing it?"

"Yeah." The man turned to his friends. "The old Arab's got a point."

"Arab?" Quaraun puzzled over the term. "Why do you call me this?"

"Ain't you one of them Arabians?"

"No. What makes you say that?"

"The get-up you are wearing. Seen drawings of men dressed like you in The Arabian Nights."

"Ah! I see. No. I'm Persian."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, quite a lot, but I suppose not enough for you to understand."

"Yeah, well all you towel heads are alike."

"Towel head?" Quaraun had encountered this term before and it never came from the mouth of anyone good. He was uncertain how to respond t this, so he said nothing further.

Looking around the room, Quaraun was now paying closer attention to how these people wear dressed. 

Mostly in black, brown, grey, or midnight blue.

The men wore hats.

The women wore white bonnets.

Quakers.

Puritans.

In New England.

Just outside of Boston.

The fishermen and sailors dressed in hemp and worn rags. 

Field hands and harvesters fared no better.

Peasants. 

Serfs. 

Something of that nature. 

These were poor people.

Uneducated.

Superstitious.

And lead by religion crazed men who waved Heinrich Kramer's Malleus Maleficarum higher over their heads they they waved their beloved Bibles.

This was no place for a magic caster. 

Especially not a necromancer like Quaraun, who practices blood magic, summoned demons, raised the dead, and devoured souls.

Quaraun fell silent as the men took to talking of how they would kill Ghirardelli, the Swamp Hag and Finderu the sorcerer. 

Here, have another one....

“How does one become a client?”

“Why don’t you just rent a bed for the night, like every other traveller does?”

“Do I LOOK like every other traveller? I'm an Elf. Or did you not notice that?”

The innkeeper stepped backward and stared at Quaraun, studying him up and down, scrutinizing every inch of him, with an expression that suggested he had not, until just now, noticed how Quaraun was dressed or that Quaraun was not Human.

“No,” the man shook his head as he spoke. “No, you certainly don’t look like no traveller I’ve ever seen before. You from Morocco or something?”

“Morocco?"

"Yep. You look like you from Morocco."

"What makes you say that?"

"Look robes, all striped in silk." 

"Do they have have striped silk in Morocco?"

"Don't they?"

"I don't know."

"You ain't from Morocco?"

"No," Quaraun shook his head as he spoke. "I'm not. That’s in Africa. You’re a long ways away from Africa. Do you know Morocco here?”

“Aye. Seen pictures of it before.”

“Really?”

“Ah-yep. In a book. When I was a boy, there was a learned man in town, who had a lot of books. Couldn’t read the words none, but they had lot of pictures. One was a travel book. Showed lots of drawings of people showing how they dressed, all exotic, like you, what kinds of food they ate, exotic culture traditions, and the places, you know, the buildings and architecture and stuff, and also the strange plants and animals. He would read the words to me and tell me about the places. He’d visited ‘em. Always wanted to go see those places. Morocco, Egypt, Persia, Babylon, Baghdad, Bangladesh. But it costs money to travel and one gots to work to feed his family, you know?”

“I am from Persia.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I am a Di’Jinn.”

“So, you’re like one of those Arabs, then, right?”

"No."

"Same difference though, yes?"

“Not exactly, no, but, uhm, well, it’s similar, I suppose you could say. No. I'm not Arabian, though I suppose in your mind everyone from the Mediterranean is Arabian? You don't know enough about our cultures to know they are different."

"So you're saying you're from Arabia, but you ain't an Arab?"

"No. I'm from Ivujivik."

"Where's that?" 

"Ivujivik is in Quebec."

"Canada?

"Yes."

"So you're one of them Frenchies?"

"French and no, I'm not French. I already told you. I'm an Elf."

"Ooooh."

"You don't know what an Elf is, do you?"

"Elves is like Vikings, right?"

"Scandinavian."

"What's that?"

"Viking is the Scandinavian word for pirate. A Viking is a sailor turned rouge, like most pirates. Scandinavia is the region."

"Ooooh. Right. So, if you're one of them Vikings, why are you dressed up like an Arab?"

"I'm not a Viking. I'm an Elf. And it's Persian, not Arabian. I'm dressed like a Persian."

"Same diff."

"No, it's not the same thing... I am an Elf. I was born in Ivujivik, but after my mother died I was adopted by a Di'Jinn priest, who took me back to his home in Persia. I was only three years old when my mother died, so I was raised my whole life as a Persian, with the Di'Jinn."

"And the Di'Jinn are who?"

"Many Humans call them The Magi or Wisemen, perhaps you know them by that name instead?"

"You mean, like The Three Wise Men what gave baby Jesus gifts on Christmas?"

"Yes. Exactly them. They were looking for The Chosen One. And they were still looking for The Chosen One when I was born. I'm possessed by an alien JellyFish, that arrived on Earth via a spaceship that fell out of a portal, and landed in the Hudson Bay, crawled out of the ocean, and up the nose of the first life form it saw. A little 3 year old Elf boy."

"Did you now?"

"So you're saying you are a JellyFish, living in someone's nose?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I am."

"Riiiight. This ain't your first drink tonight is it?"

As it was clear the innkeeper thought Quaraun was drunk, Quaraun saw no reason to not continue.

"Yes. The Di'Jinn have based their entire religion on looking for Thullid possessed babies. And as they know the Thullid to be aliens who arrive here on ships from other solar systems, they are always looking for and following fallen stars, shooting stars, comets, just any star that moves."

"The wise men from Gospel of Luke?" 

"Yes. They were searching for the mother ship, and god. They thought it was Jesus in Bethlehem, but that star was just a comet, and not a Thullid ship, so they left, but they made such a fuss about the baby before they left, that every Human in the area assumed the child to be the Messiah from the Hebrew Torah, so a bunch of witch haters got together and murdered him in a bloody Necromancy sacrifice, then resurrected him as a Lich."

"Murdered who?"

"Jesus. They hung him on a cross for 3 days. And once he'd become a Lich, hoards of Humans started following him assuming him to be God or the Son of God and thus Christianity rose up."

"So you're saying Jesus is a Lich?"

"Yes. He was. He is. He stills roams the Earth today, that's why so many Christians claim to have seen him."

"So you're like one of those new fanged Concrenites than, right?"

"Concrenites?"

"Yes, follow that Jacob Concren around. Seventy three of the women in his church have married him so far."

"Have they now?"

"Ahyah. They live out on the Heath Road. Just off the Flag Pond Road. Out near where that Swamp Hag supposed to be. She lives near the Cascades. Lucy over there," he pointed to a women sitting at a far table. "She wanted to marry him too, but her father had himself a right fit over it."

"The Concrenites are polygamists, than?"

"Yep."

"You don't see polygamy often in America."

"Nope. Ain't you're people polygamists?"

"Elves?"

"Arabs."

"I told you, I'm not Arabian."

"Oh, yeah. You did. I forgot."

"My people are polygamist though. I had two spouses at the same time."

"Will they be needing a room too?"

"No. No. They both died many years ago. That's why I'm here in fact. I'm looking for the man responsible. I heard Finderu lives in the area." 

"So, you're not a Concrenite."

"No. I'm not a Concrenite."

"Don't they believe Jesus is a corpse walking around in South America?"

"I don't know. I'm not familiar with any Concrenites. I never heard of them before. I don't know what they believe. Though if they do believe Jesus is a Lich, they may just be the one religion that has Jesus right."

"So, you are saying Jesus wasn't The Chosen One?"

"No. I'm The Chosen One. The baby with a Thullid in his brain. The Elder Brain reborn. The Sacred Pink JellyFish. It's why the Wise Men carried off me and not Jesus. They left him laying in a manger. Poor baby. Left in a dirty feed trough, to be fed to pigs. What a horrible thing to do to a baby."

"Aye-yep. Nothing filthier than a pig sty's manger."

"Do you realize, I remember the world before the Christian religion was even invented?"

"Really?"

"Yes. You Humans didn't start worshipping baby Jesus until over a thousand years after he had died. But all that is beside the point."

"And the point is?"

"The point is, not every one in many layered long stripped robes is Arabian. Some are Jewish, some are Islamic, some are Romanian, some are Persian..."

"Like you?"

"Like me. I am not a female."

"Didn't say you was."

"Yes. I had noticed that. That's why I brought it up."

"Eh?" 

"Ninety-nine percent of every American Human I meet, thinks I'm a man in a dress."

"Do they?"

"Yes. It's really annoying."

"I should think it would be." 

"They can not comprehend that there are places where men dress like I do. It is so tiring. Every time I walk into an American village, I am bombarded with teasing and taunting and bullying and being hit and pushed around and rocks thrown at me, because they say men like me can not be around because the Bible says this or the Bible says that. And do you know what?"

"No. What?"

"I've read the Bible."

"Have you now?" 

"Yes Every word of it several times. And you know what?"

"No. Tell me." 

"Half the stuff they say is in it, isn't in it at all. It's just some bigoted, racist ass shit their minister or pastor or preacher SAID was in the Bible, because he knew his followers were too damned stupid the read the damned book for themselves, so would follow him like brain dead sheep. It's so annoying."

"Churches?"

"No. Well, yes, they're annoying too, but, no. Americans. You Humans. You really are an evil lot, when you get right down to it. All you do bicker and fight and beat up everything that is different than you. Which is why I find you, you, personally, to be so odd."

Or how about this one...

Quaraun had busied himself with weaving and embroidering and sewing, the entire week, but, the ground was cold and damp, and he was old and weak. His bones were hurting, his hip was aching, and the moist, foggy, rain filled air, was wrecking havoc on his rheumatism and arthritis, making it painful for him to sit at his weaving loom today.

And so it was not yet night and not yet time for bed, but Quaraun was sitting in his tent, contemplating going back to bed, to sleep off his aching bones and hope that the rain will finally have stopped by the time he woke up. 

Listening to the pitter patter of the rain, Quaraun was stuck sitting in his tent, waiting for the rain to stop, not quite tired enough to sleep, but hurting too much to do anything else. 

Some days, immortality and eternal beauty were nice. 

Other days, like today, the side effects of old age reminded Quaraun just how very old he was. 

The ancient wizard tried to figure out how old he was. The problem with this, was he didn't know exactly when he was born. Quaraun had been born some time around the Human's year of 800 A.D.

The other issue with this, was he did not know what the current Human year was.

The other problem, was the local Humans were protest English rule, so, they had stopped using the English calendars, around the same time they had tossed all the English tea in the Atlantic Ocean.

Quaraun was not good with math or numbers in general, so he struggled to calculate his age. 

An exact age was near impossible to determine, but even a rough estimate was difficult. 

Quaraun finally concluded that he was somewhere older than four hundred years old and somewhere younger than a thousand years old, and decided that seven hundred and fifty years sounded like a good number. So declared himself to be seven hundred and fifty years old. And he had spent the past three hundred or so years telling people that he was seven hundred and fifty years old. 

And now today, he sat in his pink and magenta stripped silk tent, resting on his pink and purple striped silk pillows, wearing his pink and fuchsia stripped silk robes, wondering how many years it had been since he had started telling people he was seven hundred and fifty years old. He wondered this now, today, because his creaky bones were hurting worse than usual and he wondered could it be he was now over a thousand years old?

After concluding that he must by now be over a thousand years old, the old Elf sat on his pile of pink striped silk cushions for a few more moments, struggling to determine of what he could do to pass the time. Specifically, he concluded that being old was a depressing thought and he wondered what it was he could do to take his mind off the thought of old age. 

The ancient wizard contemplated getting up and working on his weaving, needlepoint, or sewing some more, but his hip was sore, so he continued to rest lazily on the pillows. 

Quaraun suffered from poor health. This was not because of his greatly advanced age, however. He'd been born a runt. Small, sick, and weak, straight from the womb, no one had expected him to live to the end of his first week. His youth had been spent mostly indoors, in bed, reading books. There had been little else he was capable of. Though he had grown stronger as he grew older, he remained forever, two heads shorter than most other men and a full head shorter than most women. Quaraun wondered what it was that bothered him most: being short, or that he had gotten old?

At least he had immortality. That was the advantage of being a necromancer who was soul bound to a lich. The lich was immortal and now, so too was the necromancer whom had created the lich.

But immortality did not mean a life without suffering, or life without pain. 

Quite the contrary. 

The aches and pains of old age creaked through Quaraun’s muscles and bones. 

Quaraun decided that since rain poured down outside, and this area seemed off the main road and somewhat secluded, with so little chance of anyone disturbing him, to set up his bedroll and go to sleep for a few hours. And so he did exactly this. A few moments later, Quaraun drifted off into sleep, to dream pleasant dreams of his youth spent with his lover BoomFuzzy.

“Argh!” Quaraun half screamed from fright and half yelped from pain in his hip, as he felt someone shaking him out of his dream.

A stranger, an old female Human, was in his tent with him, leaned over him, shaking him, trying to wake him.

“You gotta help me! Please!” The woman desperately pleaded, almost screamed, while trying to still be quiet and whisper. “Please, help me!”

Quaraun blinked sleepily and yawned, before slowly sitting up and looking around, dazed and confused and trying to remember where he was. It took him a moment to remember he had set up his tent to wait out the rain, and had now been here in Pepper Valley for ten days still waiting for the rain to stop.

He shivered. 

The cold from the wet, rainy night air drifted through the tent, chilling him. He yawned again, then pulled his fox fur blanket up around his shoulders, before finally addressing the terrified woman.

“Who are you?” Quaraun asked.

“You gotta help me,” she said, completely ignoring his question.

“Why?”

“They’re after me.”

“Who is?”

“Please, you gotta help me.”

“I don’t gotta do a damned thing. Who are you and why the hell are you in my tent?”

“My name’s Ghirardelli. I’m from The Godforsaken City.”

“Ghirardelli? The Swamp Hag?”

“I’m a Human. I’m not a hag.”

“Fair enough. Why are you in my tent?”

“Some men...” she stopped and paused for a moment, carefully eyeing Quaraun up and down. “Wait. Are you a man?”

“I’m an Elf.”

"Elves went extinct centuries ago."

"I know. I'm the last one."

“I thought this tent belonged to a woman when I came in here. You look... you look... female. But your voice...”

“I assure you I am a male, or at least I was before a group of wretches castrated me, regardless of what my features may tell you. What exactly do you want?”

"Castrated, you? You mean you don't have..."

"Do you want me to show you?"

“No. I... uhm... no. I am so sorry."

"About me being castrated or you so rudely waking me up?"

"Uhm. Both, I guess. It’s just that I saw the tent. It was pink and, decorated and ruffles and beads and, I came inside thinking it was a lady’s tent. I didn’t realize. And then I saw you asleep, you looked, I thought, your hair and your dress and your face, you...”

“You thought me a woman, yes, I understand. I get mistaken for being female all the time. It’s annoying really. You'd think no one in America ever saw anyone from the Middle East before. What do you want?”

“Are you... are you trying to be a woman?”

“No. This is just what I was born looking like. I can't help the face and hair I was born with." 

"And your clothes?"

"I'm Persian, this is how Persian men dress. These are not women's clothes. These are not dresses. They are caftans and cloaks. Every man in the East wears them.”

"In pink?"

"What is wrong with pink?"

"It's a girl's colour."

"I like pink."

“You sure do,” the woman said as she stepped back away from the Elf and looked around the tent.

Everything was pink.

Everything.

Every stitch of absolutely everything was pink.

Every single thing.

Pink curtains.

Pink pillows.

Pink quilts.

Pink blankets.

Pink tapestries on the walls of the tent.

Pink rugs and carpets tossed around covering the dirt and grass making a soft, pink, plush floor.

A gold throne with bright pink velvet cushions. 

As she examined the gaudy pink decor, it suddenly occurred to her that this tent was much bigger on the inside than it had been on the outside. From outside it had appeared to be a small little circular marquee, perhaps big enough for one person to sit and sip tea. It was certainly not big enough to lay down or stand up in. And yet, once inside, the room was so incredibly vast. 

And pink. 

So very, desperately pink.

The ceiling tall, the walls lined with shelves of books and trinkets and potions. Herbs reducing down to their oil essences, bubbled in various double boilers, while small cauldrons simmered with spices.

"You're a witch?" the woman asked as she examined the rows of pots bubbling away.

"I'm a silk merchant," Quaraun said.

"I see," the woman said as she peered into the large cauldron and found it full of silk worm cocoons, soaking in a strange pink liquid. 

On the table near the cauldron were rows of bright pink cocoons drying on wire, mesh racks. Near those were cocoons already dried, and partly unravelled. The outsides of them were deep dark pinks, but the dye did not seep through to the worm in the middle, so the innermost strands were pale pink, almost white. Beside those were racks of long wooden poles, from which hung lots of strand of variegated pink silk threads. It was easy to see how Quaraun achieved the delicate striped pattern of his stripped pink silk cloth, when one saw how he dyed the cocoons before unravelling them.

 "These are dyes?" she asked, pointing to the smaller boilers filled with herbs.

"Yes."

"I've never seen silk woven like this before."

"Have you ever seen silk woven?"

"Yes. Once. Years ago. A local tailor had ordered some silk thread to weave a shawl with. She said silk was too slippery to work with so, she never did it again. But, you don't order the thread from elsewhere. You're making it. You make your own silk threads."

"Yes. I raise my own silk worms. Make my own dyes. Spin my own thread."

"You make, your silk from scratch. That's pretty amazing, actually."

The woman continued around the room. The bulk of the tent’s interior looked like a tailor’s sewing shop. A spinning wheel, sat it's spindle full of soft freshly spun pink strands. Baskets of full spindles sat around the spinning wheel. 

Near the spinning wheel, a large weaving loom was set up, with yardage of fine, delicate striped pink Shantung slubbed silk partly woven. More baskets full of spindles sat around the weaving loom. 

Several large embroidery hoops stood on stands near the loom, each with pink silk stretched across it. Some hoops had fuchsia embroidery partly started on the pink silks, while others, already finished being embroidered, had tiny magenta seed beads and small disc mirrors being sewn on to them. 

Dozens of pink dresses, pink scarves, pink shawls, pink sari, pink hijab, pink coats, pink cloaks, pink capes, pink blouses, pink corsets, pink hose, pink skirts, pink shoes, pink boots, pink ruffs, pink collars, pink cuffs, pink hats, pink slippers, pink bags, and pink petticoats all hung and displayed around the tent, some finished and ready to be sold, others in various stages of construction.

“What’s all this?” Ghirardelli asked, pointing to the weaving, embroidery, and sewing.

"I told you. I am a merchant. As I can not travel due to the storm, I am working on replenishing my stock. I sell these at markets along the coast. Each year I travel to the south, selling as I go, than I return to the north, selling as I go yet again. I'm a silk merchant."

"Of only pink?"

"Yes. Only pink. Pink is my specialty."

"So, you're a merchant of only pink merchandise?"

"Yes."

"Why only pink?"

"I like pink."

"Isn't that like a sinful colour?"

"Is it?"

"Well, if you listen to the ministers around here, yeah."

Quaraun shrugged. "I don't listen to them."

"A merchant who specializes in pink. That's kind of weird."

“I’m a tailor. I weave silk, embroider it, then sew it into items that I sell to merchants and peddlers, so they can, in turn, sell it at markets and bazaars. Nothing weird about it.”

“Is everything only pink?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I like pink."

"Ever considered anything other than pink?" 

"No reason to. There are hundreds of shades of pink, all makable with dyes from plants, petals, roots, mushrooms, and tree bark.”

“I can see that. But, you're a merchant?”

"Yes. I sell pink silk."

"To who? Everyone around here wears black on black."

"Yes. I had noticed the Humans in this region love their lack of colour."

"Than what are you doing in Pepper Valley?"

"My lover was from Pepper Valley. He talked about it often..."

"He?"

"He. Yes. We are both males."

"But that's... thats..."

"Illegal. I know. I know that better than any one. It's why I was castrated. They said if I was going to to let another man fuck me like I was a woman, than they were going to make me a woman. Well, you know what, there's more to being a man, than having a penis. So even without one I am still a man. A man doesn't magically become a woman just because Christians cut his dick off."

"Not many people in Pepper Valley wear pink."

“I’m going to ask again. Why is it that you are in my tent and what do you want?”

“Some men are after me. I shook them off for a bit, but they’ll catch up with me again soon. I... I hoped you knew the area and could help me hide or get to someplace safe... or...”

“Why are the men after you?”

“Souls.”

“Souls? What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s kind of a long story and you probably won’t believe half of it.”

“I like long stories. So sit, pull up a pile of pillows, make yourself comfortable and tell me. Would you like some tea?”

“Tea? How are you going to make tea in a tent?”

Quaraun waved his hand and a steaming hot pot of tea water appeared in his hand. In front of him appeared a low to the floor Chinese tea table dressed in pale rose petal pink silk cloth, set for two, with dainty teacups and saucers, biscuits and crumpets. He placed the teapot on the table, then pulled out his rainbow wand and used it to draw several sigils on the ground around the table. Several piles of even more magenta pillows appeared all around the table.

“Come, sit. I will pour your tea. Do you prefer actual tea leaves, herb tea, or poppy infused tea?”

“I... uhm... tea leaves. Are you a mage?”

“I am.”

“But, I thought, didn’t you say, I thought you said you were a tailor?”

“One can be both. Sit. Tell me your story. I so rarely have company. I live alone, you see. Travel the world. It gets very lonely. I’m often weeks with no one to talk to, save for myself. And I'm afraid not dreadfully good company for myself. The conversations I have with myself tend to devolve into depressing thoughts of old age rather quickly. I'm too depressing a person to talk to so I would rather ignore myself and talk with someone else."

"You're kind of crazy, aren't you?"

"Most people say I am insane. I'm really not insane though. Just dreadfully lonely. I’m always glad for company. Please, sit.”

Quaraun busied himself with serving tea. The woman sat on the pillows and looked around.

“I should have known you were a mage when I first noticed the tent was so much bigger on the inside.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Don’t know. Wasn’t thinking. Are you a Guild member? I’ve never seen you at any of the meetings.”

"The Guild? Haha! That IS funny."

"Funny? How?" 

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Should I?"

"Well, I DO so love pink."

"Yes, you certainly do."

Quaraun glanced up at her and smiled, then continued fussing over the teacups. When he finished mixing the drinks Quaraun handed Ghirardelli her teacup then took his own and sat down on his fuchsia pillows once again.

“I have not attended a Guild meeting in very many years."

"So you are a Guild member?"

"Well. I did join The Guild, some where around 9nine hundred years ago, I think."

"You must be one of it's founding members than."

"Oh no. No. But I did know two of the founders."

"Really? Which ones?"

"Finderu."

"And?"

"And uhm... BoomFuzzy."

"I don't know that name. You said it before."

"Yes. BoomFuzzy was from Pepper Valley."

"Only mage I know of from Pepper Valley was King Gwallmaiic, The Elf Eater. He got kicked out of The Guild for practising necromancy and blood magic."

"Yes. He did."

"You knew The Elf Eater?"

"Yes."

"You poor thing."

"How so?"

"Well, you're an Elf. He murdered Elves and ate them. That's why people called him The Elf Eater."

"True that." 

"You should come to the next Guild meeting with me. Some of the old non-Human members are from The Elf Eater's time. They remember him. You must know them. It'd be good to see old friends, wouldn't it?"

"I’m, ah, how shall we say it? Not well liked by most of the currently active Guild members these days. Finderu and I had a bit of a falling out and well, eh, you know how it is.”

"You had a falling out? Over what?"

"He didn't like my lover."

"The Guild doesn't tell you who you can and can not love."

"Oh, they did in my case. My lover was particularly hated by Finderu and, well, just about every one else on the planet. I'm surprised you haven't figured out who I am yet."

"Should I know who you are?"

"I'm a purveyor pink silk. Not many of us around. In fact I'm the only one."

"What's that got to do with The Guild? Plenty of mages are also merchants."

"Yes, but, I'm the only mage who sells pink silk."

“Are you practising magic illegally?”

“Well, I suppose that would depend on what you consider the legality of practising magic is, now, wouldn’t it?”

“The law states, you have to be a member of The Guild of Wizardry, and have all the necessary papers and permits on you at all times.”

“Well, I do have papers on me. Not sure they are the ones you’d expect them to be.”

“Can I see them?”

“Perhaps. Maybe later. For now, tell me your story. You said you had men chasing you, so you ran in here and woke me up, out of my nice restful beauty sleep...”

“I thought Elves didn’t sleep. Don’t you like just sit around and meditate or something? Go weeks, months, years without needing to sleep?”

“Elves with a hive mind, yes. The hive mind makes sleep rather difficult, nearly impossible. Especially when one’s brain is jelly.”

“Jelly?”

“Yes. Speaking of jelly... jelly?”

A pot of grape jelly appeared in front of her.

“Grape is not pink, of course, but it is so hard to get good pink jelly these days, now that BoomFuzzy is dead. He did make the best jams and jellies and jelly beans...”

“Uhm. Thank you. What do you mean by that, what you said earlier, Elves with a hive mind? Aren’t all Elves part of that hive mind thing they do?”

“Usually.”

“Are you saying that you’re not part of the Elven hive mind?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Are you an outcast Elf?”

“I am.”

“What did you do?”

“Why do you think I did something?”

“I’ve always heard that Elves only cast criminals out of their hive mind. Are you a criminal?”

Quaraun took to spreading jelly on a slice of anise biscotti.

“I am the tailor who is serving you your tea and jelly with crumpets and patiently waiting to hear the rest of your story."

Quaraun handed the woman the fragrant, crunchy jelly coated cookie, than jellied another for himself.

"Quite patiently waiting, I might add, after you so rudely disturbed my sleep.” Quaraun said in between bites of biscotti. “Waiting ever so patiently, trying not to envision ramming my wand through your eye, while you interrogate me. Interrogating me ever so rudely after the equally rude awakening you gave me, dragging me out of my bed. You ask so much of me and yet I know so precious little of you? Now I ask you, is that fair? Why should I tell you anything about me, when it is you who invade my privacy and offer nothing of yourself?”

“No. You’re right. This is your campsite, and I barged in uninvited and disturbed your peace. That was rude of me. I should go.”

Ghirardelli got up to leave.

“No. I did not say you had to leave. Sit and tell me why the men are chasing you, dear, sweet, Ghirardelli, Swamp Hag of The Godforsaken City. Let’s see if perhaps I can’t help.”

“I told you my name. Can you at least not do the same?”

“Why should I?”

“You know who I am. How come I don’t at least get to know who you are?”

“All in good time. The men? Why are they chasing you?”

“Okay, so, here’s the deal: I obtained this legendary evil sword.”

“Evil sword? How can a sword be evil?”

“It just is, okay? It is said to require souls to keep placated, otherwise it goes berserk and starts killing people.”

“A soul eater? Those are rare.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“How did you come by it?”

“I... I just did. Okay. It doesn’t matter how I got it. Alright?”

“My, my defensive are we. So we can assume you obtained it illegally? All right. Continue on then.”

“So, at first I’m thinking I got gypped...”

“Gypped?”

“Yeah, it means scammed and ripped off by Gypsies.”

“I know what it means. Do you have any idea how offensive it is?”

“What do you care? It’s just fucking Gypsies.”

“I AM fucking Gypsies. You are making a slur against MY people and I find it highly offensive.”

“You’re a Gypsy? I thought you were an Elf.”

“I am a Gypsy.”

“Your skin is way too white for you to be a Gypsy. No Gypsy is as pale as you.”

“I am albino. Did you not notice my pink pupils? Or my white hair.”

“Is that why you wear that?” Ghirardelli reached out and brushed her fingers along the edge of the Elf’s pink silk sari. “This is not like any Elf fashion I’ve ever heard of before.”

“Yes. I lived with the Di’Jinn.”

“The Di’Jinn? In Persia?”

“Yes. They raised me.”

“You’re a long way from Persia, aren’t you? What are you doing in Maine?”

“I was born in Ivujivik.”

“Ivujivik? Where’s that?”

“In Quebec, not far north from here.”

“Your a French Canadian Elf, but you lived with the Di’Jinn in Persia?”

“Yes. I was born in Quebec. But I was not raised by Elves. I grew up in Persia. In a Gypsy caravan. We raised horses and travelled across the desert to sell them in city markets. They adopted me as one of them, though I was born an Elf. My biological family abandoned me when I was just 9 years old. The Di’Jinn adopted me. Thus, how it is that an Elf came to be a Gypsy. When I was young. I was sick. I lived in the Deep North, where the snow always falls and summer never comes. My father murdered my mother and then he was going to murder me. His older brother had a friend, ZooLock, a Di’Jinn priest who was staying with him at the time."

"ZooLock?"

"ZooLock."

"Not ZooLock the Great?"

"Yes. ZooLock the Great."

"You're friends with ZooLock the Great?"

"Not exactly. I wouldn't call us friends. We know each other. But we aren't friends. I never said ZooLock was my friend. He was my uncle's friend."

"Yes. That is what you said isn't it?"

 "He gave me to ZooLock, told him to take me with him, raise me as his own child. And he did. Thus, an Elf came to be adopted by the Di’Jinn. The Gypsies are my family. Not the Elves. I was happy with the Di’Jinn. I felt more at home with them, then I did my own people.”

“My understanding of the Di’Jinn is that they is an evil people. A nomadic band of criminal magic users. The Guild wouldn’t even allow them to be members.”

“That is an urban myth. Gypsies are not criminals. They are good people. They live in tents and wear bright colours, have big families. And that scares settled people."

"I suppose I can relate. Whole reason I live in the swamps is because people in the town are scared of witches and they think I'm a witch." 

"Yes. Never trust settled people. I certainly don't. Settled people make up rumours. Spread lies. That doesn’t mean those rumours are true."

"Do settled people spread rumours about you?"

"Yes. They do. I live in a pink tent, travelling on foot from town to town, selling pink silk and wearing pink silk. It terrifies people.  But now we are talking about me again. You keep doing that. Changing the subject to me. Are you a spy? Here to find out information about me? I’ve seen no men chase you yet. I’ve only your word on that part, now don’t I?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t pry.”

“Tell me about your evil sword. Do you know how to feed it souls?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I had it for weeks and it did nothing and I thought maybe I got scammed. One night I hear a voice whisper ‘feed me’ and a shadow comes out of the sword. Well, I didn’t know how to feed it souls, so I decide to see what happens if you feed it something other than a soul.”

“What did you feed it?”

“Anything I could find. Bread, Butter. Jelly."

"Jelly?" 

"Yes, jelly."

"I like jelly."

"Also, corn. Carrots. Potatoes. Green beans. Blueberries.”

“And did it eat them?”

“It did. At least I think it did."

"You don't know?" 

"The food would vanish."

"That doesn't mean it ate it. I can make food vanish too. One wave of the wand and POOF! Gone forever."

"That's dark magic."

"It is. But isn't owning a soul eating sword, also illegal dark magic?"

"Yes. That's why I bought it."

"You trying to get on Finderu's bad side?"

"No. I was going to give the sword to Finderu, next Guild meeting." 

"Why would you do that? He'll accuse you are necromancy and have you killed."

"No. Finderu has asked Guild member to bring him any cursed blade we can find."

"Ah. So Finderu has taken to collecting cursed swords has he?"

"No. Finderu has set out a search for The Elf Eater's cursed obsidian dagger."

"Ah!" Quaraun pulled a curved obsidian bladed dagger from his belt. The hilt dripped in teardrop shaped pigeon blood star rubies. "You mean this?"

"Is that..."

"It is."

"How did you get it?"

"You don't know?"

"No. Should I?

"Well, I am a mage who is also a merchant of pink silk. It should be rather obvious how I came to possess the obsidian dagger of The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, now shouldn't it?"

"Should it?"

"Enough about me. Tell me about your sword. What was Finderu going to do with it once you gave it to him?"

"I'm going to have him remove the curse."

"You think he can?"

"He's a powerful sorcerer."

Quaraun scoffed.

"You think he's not."

"Honey. I have more power in my little finger than Finderu will ever have in his entire lifetime."

"You really think you're that powerful?"

"I don't think it. I know it. But that's beside the point. Tell me about the food that vanished."

"I don’t know where it went."

"You aren't a very god witch are you?"

"What?"

"A mage who knows enough about magic to become a member of Finderu's Guild, SHOULD, be competent enough to figure out where things go when a magic swords makes them disappear."

"Are you calling me incompetent?"

"I am."

"I'll have you know I'm one of The Guild's best mages!"

"Really? Well, than times have changed. If you are the best The Guild has to offer, perhaps I should pay The Guild a visit, one meeting soon. Rid the world of all of you at once."

"Rid the world... are you a mage hunter?"

"No. I'm a wizard of The Di'Jinn Order who sells pink silk. You don't get the joke."

"That was a joke."

"Some would find it funny. Finish telling me about your sword."

 "Anyway, the sword seemed satisfied with that instead of souls. So, I have this sword for a few months, while I’m researching the history of it. Supposedly it belonged to a serial killer, who was a knife salesman, so nobody suspected that he was a serial killer for a really long time. And he somehow got his soul messed up, sold it to a Necromancer or some such evil wizard and he ended up with his soul trapped inside of his own sword and the mage used the sword to draw souls out of the living.”

“Ah, well, then, perhaps you are in just the right tent.”

“What do you mean?”

“Souls are my specialty.”

"Souls?"

"Souls and necromancy. Necromancy and souls."

“I thought pink silk was your specialty?”

“Yes. That too. Which would be why I’m known as The Pink Necromancer."

"The Pink Nec... Wait. No. You're The Pink... No. You can't be."

"Oh but I am. No one loves pink more than I. And no one knows necromancy better than me. I'm the world's most powerful wizard."

"Wait. You’re... my god! You’re Quaraun the Insane? The serial killer!" 

"I'm not insane. I don't like that title. My name is Quaraun Swanzen. How may I help you?”


Let's quote part of an email from  reader here...

>>>I was reading your book and at a point, your political leanings were shining through. It was a bit off-putting (not the politics, per se) but the way it wasn't handled (in my opinion) professionally.

>>>I don't know about you, but I like an invisible author. I want to be absorbed in the characters/world you've created; I don't want to have to roll my eyes when you make another political/religious/cultural jab with your character's voice. It can come off unrealistic and sometimes even forced.

>>>If I am being pulled out of the work (because my suspension of disbelief is being tested), one of the possibilities I am pointing out in that the author is showing him or herself too much. It's distracting. Nuance is a nifty thing.

>>>Visual media is a worse offender. I was watching the Ip Man series and the cringe...I'm shuddering just thinking about it (the action was great, though).

>>>I'm not avoiding these books and movies so much because I feel I'm too old for it, but more because (when done wrong, and it's very easy to do wrong - extremely easy - it tends to distracts from an otherwise nice story.

I'm afraid I can't comment on your dislike for that TV show. I know nothing about TVs so I've never heard of that show and I don't know what it is.

I have no political leanings.

EVERY EVENT that happens to Quaraun in the Quaraun books - from the Hanging Tree to being dragged naked while tied to horses to being force feed live maggots to being locked in a cage full of thousands of rats to being stabbed in the arm with forks to having jaw broken by being beaten in the face with brick, to sleeping outside under a tarp for years with no other protection from now or rain - ALL events that happen to Quaraun in the novela are events that actually happened to me. Done by my mothers brothers Mervin Bruce Atwater and David Atwater. There is nothing political about me retelling the abuse I went through via a fictional character.

There is nothing political about me trying to deal with what happened, by writing about it happening to a fictional character so that I can try to distance myself from what was done to me.

I don't write the Quaraun series to publish it. There are twice as many novels in the series that have never been published and likely never ill be.

I write the Quaraun series, as a way to work through my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Agoraphobia, which was caused by the daily torture I was subjected to for 27 years from the time I was 12 years old until I was 31 yeas old and the FBI raid rescued me.

I'm sorry that you think so, but I know nothing of your government or politicians.

If you are seeing anything political in my work, that is YOUR OWN MIND putting it there. It's YOUR POLITICAL LEANINGS  translating my words to fit for or against YOUR political views.

Do you not know who I am?

Really?

You are reading a book I wrote and you don't know who I am?

Where are you from that you think I would even begin to know the first thing about politics?

I write as a way to work through my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Agoraphobia (which at it's worst, I was unable to leave my bedroom for 15 years, at one point could not even step on the floor - it was EXTREEME agoraphobia)(all 3 caused by the same trauma). EVERY EVENT that happens to Quaraun in the series I write, is me retelling the abuse I went through via a fictional character, and than having him deal with the abusers in ways, I cann not (he's a mage - he can point a wand at them and blow their head off - violent yes, but, it really is the only way I can go outside - the person causing the fear of going outside has to be removed before I can go outside, so I write that person's death, them being killed by Quaraun who takes on the abuse the real world abuser did to me in real life). 

It's me trying to deal with what happened, by writing about it happening to a fictional character so that I can try to distance myself from what was done to me. The end result is that what I write is VERY violent, because I write and rewrite over and over again, every day, the abuse that happened to me, and than write Quaraun killing the abusers in different ways every day. Which is why the series is a time travel series so Quaraun can keep going back in time and killing his abusers over and over and over and over again, with a different method each day. It results in an MC who becomes just as brutal and violent as his abusers, without me doing so myself. The MC is a fictional version of me, who can do to his abusers, all the things I want to do and can not legally do to the men who abused me in real life.

So I never write anything with a goal of publishing it (though many things do eventually get published, usually 3 or 4 years after I wrote it). Thus I never write with any specific goals or deadlines or wordcounts in mind ahead of time. I write scenes. Every day I write a scene of Quaraun being abused, than I write a scene of him murdering his abusers because the law won't do anything to punish them. That really is ALL the Quaraun series is.

So, yes, if you have ever hurt me, Quaraun, HAS killed you in one of the Quaraun novels.

So if you read the Quaraun series and you saw politics, Erotica, or anything else, that's all stuff YOU put there because YOU WANTED it to be there. I don't write politics or Erotica - I write the abuse my uncles and their friends did to me and I write a character who kills them, so that I can stop having PSTD agoraphobia attacks for a few hours, long enough so I can go to WalMart and buy food. But the effect only last a couple of hours, so if I want to go outside again the next day, I have to write the abusers being murdered by Quaraun all over again the next day.

It's the only way I am able to go outside. My panic attacks and phobias of being beaten up is so severe that I can not set foot outside the front door.

This is WHY I say, I don't write for YOU the reader, I don't give a shit about YOU the reader. I write so that I can get from one day to the next. I write as therapy. I write, so that I DON'T kill my abusers in real life. I write for ME and my own mental hell and I don't give a rat's ass about you the reader, writing for the market, writing for trends, writing to be published, writing for income. I write because I severe Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Agoraphobia and writing keeps my from killing everyone who ever hurt me than killing myself.

I'm going to repeat what I already said:


#1 - I'm a Mormon. Fundamentalist. 5th generation


#2 - I was 31 years old before I knew the existence of things like electricity, plumbing, toilets, non-polygamous relationships, white people, clocks, math, time, calendars, money,  Americans, beds, phones, tv, movies, radio, gay people, coffee, soda, cigarettes, bathing suits, bras, deodorant, make up, and other such things that don't exist within FLDS compounds... in fact I was unaware there was a world on the other side of the compound so I thought the 400+ people inside the compound where the only people on the planet


#3 - oh, by the way, the FLDS compound I was raised in was the one called Heaven's Gate... you know the UFO Murder Suicide Cult who killed 39 people because they though Comet Hale Bop was God's Mothership Kolob...


#4 - the FBI raided the compound a week after the Heaven's Gate Murder Suicide Event, and me and 140+ other girls were rescued from our cages...I was 31 years old at the time and it was my first time learning that they were people outside the compound or that things like electricity, plumbing, toilets, non-polygamous relationships, white people, clocks, math, time, calendars, money,  Americans, beds, phones, tv, movies, radio, gay people, coffee, soda, cigarettes, bathing suits, bras, deodorant, make up, and other such things existed.


#5 - I had already published 100+ novels in the Quaraun series before the first time I ever heard the words gay, homosexual, sex, erotica, lesbian, transgender, etc.


#6 - The BULK of the Quaraun series was written and published BEFORE the 1996/1997 Heaven's Gate events, so, at the time I wrote the first editions, I had not knowledge that gay people or the erotica genre, even existed.



I have never once in my entire life written anything that is any way related to government.

Please explain to me how you think it is possible that I have any political leanings whatsoever?

Where do you see political leanings in my work?

I do not know how your laws work or how your get the jackasses you have leading your country in the government.

I have no political leanings. I know you Americans like to fight about Republicans and Democrats and the woman's right to murder her children, beyond that I know nothing about your government.

I'm sorry that you think so, but I know nothing of your government or politicians.

If you are seeing anything political in my work, that is YOUR OWN MIND putting it there. It's YOUR POLITICAL LEANINGS  translating my words to fit for or against YOUR political views.

Do you not know who I am?

Really?

You are reading a book I wrote and you don't know who I am?

Where are you from that you think I would even begin to know the first thing about politics?

If you see anything offensive in my work, that you feel offended by, that's a YOU problem, not a me problem.

If I'm writing something that could be offensive (like the n-word for example - which yes, I have put in novels before), I make sure that it is spoken in dialogue, by a character who was previously shown to be an offensive person. And that the dialogue is immediately followed by a 2nd character calling them out in it. I NEVER put the offensive/racist/whatever line in narration.

Why?

Because MANY readers (not all) view/interprete narration to be "the voice of the author" and will see an offensive line in narration as being the author thinks that way, whereas MOST (though not all) readers immediately understand that an offensive line in dialogue is the opinion of the character and not the author, and USUALLY (though not always) will not be offended because they will OFTEN (though not always) look at it as the author using the character to show why that thing is offensive and shouldn't be done in real life.

So, I personally recommend putting any potentially offensive statements in a character's dialogue, and NEVER in narration. 

And if you are writing 1st person, than avoid offensive lines like the plague, because readers WILL be 100% convinced that the offensiveness is the author opinion if you write it in 1st person.In my experience, very few readers are capable of understand "I said" dialogue as anything other than the author themselves expressing personal opinions. 99% of the time, when a writer is on Reddit saying readers found their writing offensive, and they post a link for us to read and give feedback, it turns out that it WAS a character speaking offensive dialogue, BUT it was the MC in 1st person perspective, so the readers (largely immature children and teens not yet old enough to grasped the concept that "I" characters are NOT in fact the author) end up calling the author racists, insensitive, offensive, etc.

You almost never see this sort of thing happen in 3rdperson perspective, where it is clear the character and NOT the author is speaking offensively.

If your readership is largely between the ages of 10 to 24, and you are knowingly putting offensive lines in the story, you should avoid 1st person writing like the plague because a good 80%+ of that age group is not mature enough to understand the difference between "I said" as a fictional character and "I the author said". Most of this age group assumes the "I" in the story is the author telling a TRUE non-fiction story about things the author ACTUALLY did (and yes - that applies even in Fantasy - you'd be surprised how many young people I've encountered who were 100% convinced Elves, Dwarves, et were real, and will point to video games and fiction novels as "proof". The under 24 age group as a serious inability to understand the difference between fiction and reality and this is where you will run into trouble with offensive lines, and why 1st person should be avoided when writing knowingly offensive material.)

In most cases of young readers being offended, it's often a reading comprehension issue combined with a lack of understanding that fiction = not real. This is not something we as authors can do much about, and those same readers, will find the work far less offensive if they read it again years later, because when they are older, they now have a grasp of the difference between fantasy and reality and are better able to read fiction as a story, not as the author's straight up opinions.

As a general rule, if you write for an older age group (65 to 90+ people) you will find that 99.99% of the time, they get offended by nothing at all and will never take offense at anything you write even if you go out of your way to be over the top offensive. Why? Mental maturity, a better understand of how fiction works, and more life experiences to fall back on and realize not every author has an axe to grind. It's why I prefer writing to the 80+ readership and why the bulk of my MCs are 80+ age range characters.

But that said, adult people (the 24+ age group, especially the 40+ age group - who think they have axes to grind so see every author as wielding political statements woven in their writing) who take offense at things they read in novels/fiction, are usually people who were LOOKING for a reason to be offended and chances are high that the thing that offends them is something you never even wrote at all, but something they already had in their heads, before they even picked up you book.

For example, I've been accused of writing "gay romance/erotica" (accused as though it was a bad thing, by a group of radical/fanatic gay haters) even though the books and characters in question were neither gay nor Romance or Erotica - in fact there wasn't even any couples or sex in the story at all, which was just one elderly 90 year old hippy character in the 1970s on a cross country road trip, so who knows where they found gay characters, romance, sex, or erotica - all things they claimed were in the book in question. It was a local minister and his congregation, actively LOOKING for local authors to attack during gay pride month, so they saw gay characters in places where there were none. That was them going out of their way trying to find something to hate on and be offended by, and when they could find the thing they wanted to hate on, they made up the thing they wanted to be offended by, said it was in the book, even though it wasn't in the book at all.

Unfortunately this sort of thing happens all the time. It's called"lack of reading comprehension" otherwise known as "reader imaginations seeing what they WANT to see instead of reading what the author ACTUALLY wrote", and there is nothing we as authors can do about it.

People who read books to enjoy them, enjoy them.

People who read books looking for reasons to be offended, get offended wither they actually found anything offence or not.

But yeah, if it was me, I'd ut the offensive line in dialogue and make sure another character is there to point out "Hey, that's offensive you know" so that it is clear to the reader that the author knows it was offensive and was making a distinction.

At the end of the day, no matter what you write, someone is always going to be offended, and the offence says more about them as a person than it does about you as a writer.

In the end, it's best to just write the story you personally want to read, because in the words of Ricky Nelson: "You can't please everyone, so you might as well please yourself."


FAQ: Isn't The Quaraun series Gay Romance/Gay Erotica?

No, it's not... here is what is actually is, and why I'm pissed at the Town of Old Orchard Beach, Maine, for murdering my family on April 10, 2015

Now, let's look at the multi-termed accusations which refer to the Quaraun series as "gay romance", "gay erotica", "child porn", "lolicon", or saying it promotes incest and/or paedophilia.


I had never heard of lolicon until the term got thrown at me in 2013, saying that's what the Quaraun series was. It took quite a bit of searching to find out what the term meant, but eventually I found out it is a genre of fiction, like how Fantasy or Romance are genres, and the meaning was "sex, romance, or erotica featuring and adult male and a female under the age of 10" and comes from a book named Lolita, about a man in his 40s who stalks a 10 year old girl. I was horrified both by the discovery of the existence of the genre and the book Lolita. And I am left completely clueless as to why the term "lolicon" is used for the Quaraun series, considering there are no children in the series, at all. Not one.

Near as I can tell, the rumour was started on the KBoards writing forum in 2013, while I was in the hospital and during the time period when I was off the internet from 2013 to 2015, due to my being paralyzed from a broken spine and unable to even sit up, let alone type, when Kendra Silvermander, the same person who crippled me, after leaving me for dead and thinking I was dead, hacked several of my online accounts, including KBoards and Twitter, and set about to posting quite a lot of wild, random gibberish bullshit about writing erotica and lolicon. 

Whoever this Kendra Silvermander woman is, she is obsessed with erotica, child porn, and "lolicon" big time, because it makes up the topic of 90% of the tens of thousands of emails she has sent me over the years. 

And some how, she got it into her head that I am an author of erotica, child porn, and "lolicon" and therefore devoted 22 years of her life to obsessively spreading this lie/rumour about me, both online and offline, with me being unaware of her doing it until 2015, when my family was murdered, by an angry mob of 70+ locals, who had been incited into their fury by "wanted posters" Kendra Silvermander had made up and posted around Old Orchard Beach, Saco, Biddeford, Scarborough, Sanford, and Kennebunk Maine, in the tens of thousands, posted on nearly every telephone pole of those towns.

There is no sex, no romance, and no children in the Quaraun series at all, so how does anyone classify the Quaraun series as Romance, Erotica, Porn, or Lolicon in the first place, I don't know.

I asked my followers on FaceBook, ones who had read the series, if they could figure out what these people were talking about, and it was pointed out that they (my readers) felt these haters, must have been referencing 1 or more of 3 volumes of the series:


* The Haunted Lighthouse

* A Baby For The Necromancer

* Zebulon's Captive



These three connecting stories, tell one over arching part of the Quaraun series which is this:


In the Haunted Lighthouse:


In the 1300s Quaraun falls through a portal that lands him in the 1920s, where he is hit by a car, because he's never seen one before, knows nothing about roads, and sees a car at night and runs in front of it thinking it to be some sort of large animal with glowing eyes about to attack people off the side of the road. That the car was a machine and would have stayed on the road not harming the people, were concepts Quaraun did not understand, resulting in him becoming seriously injured when the car hits him.

Quaraun being from the past, and being an Elf, has never heard the English language before and is unable to communicate with the American Humans who find him and take him to the hospital. 

Quaraun's injuries leave him bedridden in the hospital for many, many months, during which time he is taken care of by a young pregnant nurse. Without any dialogue, because Quaraun can not understand English, the entire story unfolds, as this woman takes care of the injured Elf every day and is picked up from the hospital each night, by a drunk, WW1 soldier, who Quaraun sees daily hitting the pregnant woman. This goes on for months with the man's violence growing worse each night, ending in him throwing the woman on the floor one night, kicking the women in the belly, causing her to have a miscarriage. As the weeks follow, she takes to staying at the hospital, not leaving to go home at night anymore, with the reader left to assume the man was arrested and the woman hiding at the hospital, fearing his anger will grow worse when he gets out of jail.

Quaraun is released from the hospital, by this point has realized he is very far into the future and heads back to where he was hit by the car, to try the find the portal back to his own time. In his wandering aimless through the town, he witnesses a series of events that leads him to believe the man is going to kill the woman. And so he goes back to the hospital and kidnaps her, and takes her with him back to the past, in an attempt to save her life, from the man who had already murdered her baby.

The reader is shown the alternative, what would have happened had Quaraun just walked away and not interfered. The man would have killed the woman, and two major events never would have happened The Battle of Ongadada/The building of The Twighlight Manor, and the implosion of the planet Earth, in the year 2525.

The reader also sees, scientists of the future, most notably Gremlin, creating time travel, building time machines, and desperately going back into the past, to do whatever it takes, to make sure that Quaraun does not save this woman's life, or worse: that she not give birth to the baby, that would be seen in the next novel.

Unfortunately, the scientists discover too late, that BECAUSE this event (saving the women) caused them of the future to create portals and time travel, while can now change most anything in the past, they are unable to change any event which would directly cause the invention of time travel, and thus, no matter how many times they try to stop Quaraun from saving this women, this event can not be changed, and you see the end, being men from the future, actively trying to kill Quaraun with the very car that would cause him to meet the girl in the first place. In the end, that the me of the future NOT interfered, Quaraun, never would have been hit by the car and he never would have meet the nurse. In their attempt to stop the event, they inadvertently cause it.


As you can see... no sex, no romance, no erotica, no children, and lolicon.


In Baby For The Necromancer:


We now see Quaraun with 2 spouses: Unicorn and the nurse from The Haunted Lighthouse, and she is once again pregnant. This time with Quaraun's baby, a baby girl Quaraun named Pippiyatta.

Quaraun and Unicorn head out, as they do, travelling. (Quaraun is a merchant, he often travels to sell his cloth). The woman has taken a job at a tavern, where she and the baby live, while Quaraun and Unicorn are away. 

Quaraun and Unicorn are a few hours outside of side, almost home, on their way to the tavern, when they witness a massive portal open up in the sky and huge space ship emerge, and use lasers to set fire to the village they are about to enter. As quickly as it appeared, the ship vanishes back through the portal and is gone. Quaraun and Unicorn run into the village to find it obliterated, burnt to the ground, and nearly every dead. 

At the tavern, they find Quaraun's 2nd wife dead, but under her body, the baby is still alive. After burying the villagers, Quaraun and Unicorn, take the baby and set out to find a new place to live. They eventually end up in a Human village who sees them, 2 non-Human men (an Elf and a Faerie) caring for what is assumed to be a Human baby girl. 

The entire rest of the novel is Quaraun and Unicorn on the run from violent angry Humans, whom have mistakenly come to believe that these 2 men killed the babies family and kidnapped the baby. 

In the end, Quaraun is corned by the angry mob that is set to kill him if he does not hand over the baby, which he refuses to do. And so he is violently attacked, while clutching the baby. Quaraun in nearly killed, and left for dead, as the Humans take the baby. By the time Quaraun wakes up, the mobs gone with his baby and he doesn't know where to look to find them, but he is now also crippled from a sword that was drive through his hip, and another through his knee, both leaving him with a lame leg and difficulty walking.


After Baby For The Necromancer there are nearly 20 more novels, before the story of the baby, picks up once again, this time in the novel Zebulon's Captive:


Once again a portal opens up, once again, while at the same haunted lighthouse, from the novel of the same name. This time Quaraun, Unicorn, and GhoulSpawn are all three together and at the lighthouse, but, as they are walking around it, a portal opens, sucking away only Quaraun, leaving Unicorn and GhoulSpawn behind.

At first the story follows, not Quaraun, but rather Unicorn and GhoulSpawn as they spend 10 days searching for the portal. When they finally activate it, Quaraun returns, with short hair, most of his face burned off, his tongue cut out, one of his eyes boiled white, his hands crippled beyond use, no longer wearing pink dresses instead dresses in a white suit, and cringing to a pregnant female Moon Elf about to go into labour. 

Desperate to uncover what has happened to Quaraun and how to undo it, Unicorn and GhoulSpawn send for the psychic mind reader FarDarrig (the vampire Leprechaun) and The Gremlin (GhoulSpawn from 2525). 

FarDarrig forms a mind link with Quaraun and tells Unicorn and GhoulSpawn that for every day that passed for them, ten years had passed for Quaraun, and so while it appeared Quaraun was only gone 10 days, he was in fact gone for one hundred years. And had been in a future, where scientists armed with time machines, were actively going to the past to kidnap now extinct magical beings, and breed them, for sale to zoos and slavery to Humans. Among them was an Elf breeder named Zebulon who had found several female Moon Elves in the past, but had been unable to find a male. It is now discovered that what they thought was a portal, was actually a star ship's tractor beam, that had teleported Quaraun to Zebulon's Elf breeding farm, where Quaraun had been far from compliant. Zebulon had vast thousands of Elves locked in cages and daily beaten and abused. Every race of Elf was there. All the race that had been extinct for hundreds of years. Quaraun had fought against the Human slavers and had broken out most of the Elves, forming a revolt against the Humans. 

During this time, Quaraun also took the female Moon Elves as his wives, and fathered several dozen children with them, who would go on in later novels to be known as The Golden Eye Ratzins. 

As a result of Zebulon's breeding of the Elves, the Elves banded together to form 3 new tribes:   the white skinned Ecrodons, the black skinned Paratheans, and the red skinned Trailkites, collectively known as The Flamites, as it turned out Zebulon's farm was on the mysterious Planet of Flames, and not Earth. Quaraun became the Emperor of the 3 tribes, landing him the title: The Emperor of the Triple Planets - something he had been calling himself since the START of the series, but had no reason to being doing so, until now... when the disturbing revelation comes, that Quaraun was ALWAYS from the future, and turning everything the reader knew about the time continuum of the series, completely on it's head.

A war defeats Zebulon and frees the Elves, who are now seen as aliens from the Planet of Flames. Quaraun's wives are killed in the war, leaving just one left alive.

The story now returns to the haunted lighthouse, where Quaraun kills FarDarrig, and than than turns on Unicorn, and no one knows why.

The Gremlin, meanwhile, is left alone with the pregnant woman, who has gone into labour and gives birth to two boys: Vielder and Melaca.

The woman is revealed at the end, to be the now adult Pippiyatta, the baby from Baby for the Necromancer, when Quaraun discovers the ruby necklace she has been wearing this whole time, which is made out of the blood star rubies from The Elf Eater's dagger, something we saw Quaraun make earlier, for the nurse in the hospital, and we saw he give to the baby she had with Quaraun.

Quaraun was unaware, prior to this revelation, that his wife, was also his daughter, as he had not seen her since she was a baby, more than 40 years before he'd married her.


My readers on FaceBook pointed out that apparently, this Kendra Silvermander woman, found out that Quaraun was married to his daughter, and without reading the novels to find out how this came to happen, jumped to false conclusions that there was a pedophile/incest story about him falling in love with his child.

My readers of FaceBook also pointed out that Quaraun is said to be married to a sister as well, and without reading the novel BoomFuzzy to know how this happened, the Kendra Silvermander women could have self-imagined some level of erotica involving incest.


In the novel titled BoomFuzzy, we learn that Quaraun's father had dozens of wives, and each gave birth to dozens of daughters. Being a king, he was hell bent of finding a wife to give birth to a son. After fathering 75 daughters over the space of 400 years, one wife finally gives birth to a baby boy: Quaraun. 

Quaraun's mother is murdered by Quaraun's father when Quaraun is 3 years old, an event that Quaraun witnesses and tries to tell other adults about.

Quaraun's father makes up the lie that the child is "insane"/mentally retarded ad takes to horrifying levels of physical and emotional abuse, to try to scare the boy out of talking about how his mother died.

Finally, when Quaraun is 9 years old, his father sends him away to a wizarding school in Persia, where Quaraun spends the next 70 years of his life raised by and living with The Di'Jinn wizards.

At around 90 years old, Quaraun returns home upon the news that his father is ill and dying.

The royal coat tries to teach Quaraun how to be the next king and are mortified to learn that Quaraun has become a travelling wizard for hire and a silk weaver/silk merchant, and is quite content with his life as a merchant and has no interest in becoming king, he just wanted to see his father one last time before his father died.

Meanwhile, candy maker BoomFuzzy moves into the area, meets Quaraun, the two fall in love, and one night after a fight with his father over his refusal to be the next king, Quaraun moves out of the palace to move in with BoomFuzzy.

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy live together for 30 years, and are seen by the gossiping public as a couple and are presumed to be gay lovers, though, it is also revealed that while the two are good friends they are not sex partners. Rumours that Quaraun is gay and has a male lover, reaches the palace, causes Quaraun's father to send for his eldest daughter, a viscous power hungry woman who is 400 years older than Quaraun. She WANTS to be king, but laws prevent women from ruling, so together she and her father plot to kidnap Quaraun, force him to marry her, she will than rape Quaraun to get pregnant, and than kill him and become regent mother.

Meanwhile the gay rumours have driven the villagers into a gay hating mob that attacks Quaraun and BoomFuzzy nearly killing the both of them. Quaraun recovers from his injuries, badly scarred, but BoomFuzzy does not recover his injuries, and a wound to his belly becomes septic infected, and he commits suicide rather than spend weeks suffering to an inevitable death from septic shock.

Quaraun's father and eldest sister carry out their plans, Quaraun is tricked into an arranged marriage, raped by a sister he has never seen before and did not know existed, than locked in the dungeon and tortured. After 100 years of torture in a medieval dungeon, Quaraun escapes, full of rage and vengeance, kills his father and his sister/wife, than kills everyone in the village, and uses their souls to resurrect BoomFuzzy as a lich.


Again... no sex, no romance, no erotica, no children, no incest lovers, nothing, that the series was accused of at all.


So you can see why I am baffled, by the events of April 10, 2015 when a real world mob of 70+ gay haters arrived at my home in Old Orchard Beach to kill my family, while burning a pile of my paperback Quaraun novels on my lawn, and chanting "too gay for the family friendly town of Old Orchard Beach" while saying they were doing this because my books were gay romance, gay erotica, incest, child porn, paedophilia, and lolicon.

People who never even read the Quaraun series, branded it romance, erotica, porn, incest, lolicon, and gay, when none of those things even exist in it. And they use THAT as the reason why on April 10, 2015, they formed a mob, arrived at my house, murdered my children, cut their heads off, and nailed their heads to the door of my motorhome!


And than when you realize WHY it is that I have such and extreme hatred for sex in general and incest in particular and learn WHY it is both sex and incest are show in such a bad light in the Quaraun series, than you also start to realize WHY I am so utterly horrified by the accusations of the Quaraun series being Romance, Erotica, Porn, or Lolicon.

In 2017 Biddeford, Maine, USA, a town with 27,000 residents at the time, was given the Guinness World Record for being the town/city in the world with the most amount of "familiar incest" meaning mothers married to sons, fathers married to daughters, and sisters married to brothers... of the 27k people living in Biddeford, Maine, USA in 2017 a whopping 19,710 of those people are married to a parent or sibling. If you go to the town hall on Main Street, the Guiness World Record Plaque for the award is on public display on the ground floor, just to the right of the front entry stairs. After I found out about it, I went to the town to see the plaque at the town hall and talk to some of the residents. They are increadibly proud of their icest relationships and having won the award for it. I was alarmingly surprised by this rather disturbing event/place.

Also, look up albinism. Albinism CAN ONLY HAPPEN IN INCEST RELATIONSHIPS that are AT LEAST THREE GENERATIONS DEEP. In other words: a brother and sister has a son and daughter who marry each other and have a son and daughter, who marry each other, and 1 in every 4 of their children will be born with albinism. In the real world, Albinism can medically occur NO OTHER WAY. And yet, 1 in every 18,000 people in America suffer from albinism, meaning 1 in every 54,000 Americans is married to a sibling/brother/sister or parent/mother/father.

There are 331million people in America, this means around 61million people in America are married to a sibling or parent, JUST in order for 1 in every 18k people to be born with albinism. That's A LOT of incest accounted for by the 2020 census count.

This also means, every time you see a albino character in fiction, that albino person's parents are siblings, as are their grandparents, and great-grandparents as well.

In the FLDS Church, which has around 2 million members in America, the fathers are REQUIRED to marry their own daughters, all of them. This results in men with 5+ wives who each give birth to 5+ daughters, so he marries 25+ daughters. Girls are also REQUIRED to be married BEFORE their 14th birthday, otherwise on their 15th birthday they must marry the Prophet who runs the church. FLDS men in 2021 America, have on average 45+ wives and ALL 45+ of the women are his own daughters. The FLDS church remains one of Americans most radical religions. (I was born into it and forced to marry at the age of 12, to a man 37 years older than me).

Also, the age of consent in America was 10 years old UNTIL September 27, 1997, when it was changed to 15 on a federal level, but 18 on a statewide level in 24 states, 21 in 2 states, and 12 in Utah, and yes, the age of sexual and marriage consent in America was 10 years old, less than 30 years ago.  

Incest and child marriage is a lot more wide spread and a lot more mainstream then most Americans are willing to publicly admit. We've a LONG way to go before we are anyway near close to a society that 100% against incest... I seriously doubt we are even close to a society that is even close to 50% against it.

I think with that info in mind, a lot of people in America are NOT going to be squicked by incest in fiction, especially not incest in Medieval times when incest was widely accepted.

And I hate that.

I hate that incest is so widely mainstream accepted in American society that we can't even get enough signatures on a petition to get laws banning incest on the ballot!

And you know what else I hate?

I hate how people make light of what happened to my family.

People make sex jokes and memes about my children's heads being cut off.

That's the type of scumbags Americans are.

They think making online jokes and sex emes about a family being murdered is funny.

Same was some writers make jokes about war.

It's disgusting both ways.

Have you ever noticed that in books and movies, when a war/battle/fight scene happens, there is always one character who has to start joking around?

When I get to a scene like this, I stop reading the book, and make note of who the author is, so I can be certain to never buy another one of their books again.

I HATE this sort of crap with a vehement vengeance. It's one of my biggest pet peeves that triggers me to assume the writer knows nothing about fighting in real life.

I come from a culture that carries swords and knives - even us women - and we are all trained how to fight with them. Most of us know how to fight with blades at 8 years old better than the average adult Marine, and often it was Marines who are teaching our children how to fight.  My culture is VERY anti-female, and most men walk around carrying gun, ready to shoot any female who dares make eye contact with the. We NEED to know how to fight, if we women want to stay alive and keep our children alive.

And THIS, is why when I see a fight scene in a book or movie, when the fight is tense, than suddenly joke-ass bumbling buffoon character comes in joking around, I roll my eyes and toss the book or leave the theater. I KNOW from real world fights, with real world knives, daggers, and swords, against real world evil men, that no one in a real battle is going to be rolling around making jokes and acting like a clown. I've seen people who were incompetent in battle, standing 3 feet away from me, get their head blown off. It's not pretty. It's not fun. And it's deplorably unrealistic, to see a fictional battle make a mockery of how truly dangerous fighting with weapons really is.

It comes off to me as incompetent teenage American writers who've lived in pampered laps of luxury, have never been in a war, never seen a battlefront, don't know how truly awful real fights/battles/wrs are, and only know fighting from watching anime. And it makes me not trust them as a writer, to get anything else right/accurate/correct, if they can't even get something as simple as a matter of life and death fight to stay alive done accurately.

To me, it just feels like they are making fun of war, and making fun of the real world soldiers who fight to protect women and children in cultures like mine, so I find scenes like this EXTREMELY OFFENSIVE for how much they are making fun of the bloodshed that comes with fights/battles/wars. It is EXTREMELY INSENSITIVE to make light of something as serious as fights/weapons/battles/wars.

So for me as a reader, this is one of the top biggest things that'll make me stop reading and then tell all my friends and neighbours and family to not read that author either.

Perhaps in other genres it would not be so bad, but me, I read mostly Historical Fiction War novels (especially World war 2 settings) and I see a lot of today's writers doing this in that setting and, my father in law was a WW2 colonel in The Battle of Guadalcanal. He was one of more than 500 men to go into that battle and one of only 12 to walk out alive. Those men survived shit hell, most of them tortured to death as prisoners of war. This is NOT something to laugh at or make fun of, and believe me, none of those men were joking around during the battle... and yet, 9 times out of 10, when I read a novel set in that exact same battle, it'll have a scene of men joking around while fighting the enemy. Well, you know what, I know for a fact those men were not joking around in that battle my husband's father WAS one of those men! It's just so disgusting, to see horrific real world wars, being made a mockery of, in novels where the author thinks they have to relieve tension by making one of the solders into an incompetent jokester who feels the steady need to lighten the mood.

I don't. Like I said, maybe it's okay in other genres, like maybe in Romance if a couple is heavy duty arguing and a best friend starts making jokes to get them laughing and not fighting? Okay, yeah, I could see it working in that sort of a situation.

So, I suppose it depends on the genre and the type of scene.

But, I  personally read mostly Fantasy novels (Sword & Sorcery, Dungeons and Dragons, Conan the Barbarian types) and War Story/Historical Fiction (mostly WW1, WW2, and Revolutionary war eras) and, I fid it so damned annoying when the characters are professionally trained soldiers/warriors/etc and they are in the middle of a serious life or death battle, and suddenly one of them starts joking around. If a REAL solders did that in a REAL battle, he'd cost his fellow troops their lives and his government the battle. Real solders know the importance of self restraint and discipline, they are NOT bumbling buffoons - they wouldn't have made it out of boot camp acting like that.

You can always tell writers/authors who were solders, did their research, or were civilians who lived in an actual war zone - they write the battle scene DRAMATICLY differently from how the average American teen/young adult writes battle scenes. Real soldiers, real war zone civilians, and historians, write gripping fight scenes with gritty realism, and not a joke in sight.

Americans who never saw a real war front, feel the need to laugh and giggle and make fun of people dying in battle, because it makes them uncomfortable to write the harrowing nature of real fights with real weapons. It makes the writer look childish, amature, and too squeamish about war topics to be writing them.

My thought is this: if you as a writer are so uncomfortable with the grizzly nature of real battles, that you feel the need to settle your own stomach by tossing in a jokester character, than you probably should be writing a different genre - one you are comfortable writing, and one you don't feel the need to make a mockery of in order to get through the stress of writing it.

And THAT's what I think of whenever I see the endless onslaught of sex jokes and sex memes that get tossed around about me, my family, my books, my characters, and worse, the murder of my family and the bombing of my house.

You people who make those jokes an memes about what happened to my family, you are disgusting and I hate you and I hope you all die horrible deaths.

Take your horny little giggle parties elsewhere, because I'm sick of all of you. May you all burn in Hell where trash like you belongs.

Speaking of that... as of September 7, 2021, of the 74 people involved in the April 10, 2015 mob attack/murder of my family, 53 of them are now dead. Karma's a bitch ain't it? They didn't even make it to the 7th anniversary of the murder they committed.

You jackasses murdered my family because your own reading comprehension is so bad you thought I wrote things that I never even wrote!

And even if I had written the things you brain dead idiots thought I wrote, that STILL isn't an excuse for you to murder my family!

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU RETARDED GAY-HATING JACKASSES!

YOU and YOU OWN "PC stupidity" saw PC written where no PC writing existed.

You WANTED it to be gay erotica so you convinced yourselves that's what it was, even though it wasn't.

You were so desperate to find gay people to hate on, that you let your imaginations run away with you and put gay people in places where there were no gay people at all.

FBI Agent Andy Drewer out of the Portland, Maine FBI office is in charge of the case. If you have information about the April 10, 2015 murder of my family or any of the attacks on our home and relatives, give it to him not me. He can be reached @ +1-(207)-774-9322 


>>>So I want to write a lesbian villain. Being gay has nothing to do with the plot, but I'm afraid of bad portrayal. In the book, LGBT+ is normalized and treated casually. I don't know how to write this properly without it giving a bad rep. What do I do?


First step to not offended LGBTQAI+ readers is to know the meanings of the words. Let me point out that what you said is generally deemed as the single, most highly offensive of LGBTQAI+ people thing you could possibly have said. I'm going to point out that you have a glaring red flag in your question which says you are straight. I'll highlight the sentence so you can look and see what is wrong with what you said:

>>>I want to write a lesbian villain. Being gay has nothing to do with the plot,

Believe me, THIS is the type of error LGBTQAI+ readers are going to notice and take the most offence over.

Not sure what you said that is generally deemed as the single, most highly offensive of LGBTQAI+ people thing you could possibly have said? Let me point it out:

  • * lesbian is 2 females in love with each other; a lesbian person is ALWAYS female
  • * gay is 2 males in love with each other; a gay person is ALWAYS male
  • * gay DOES NOT mean "same sex couple"
  • * gay is the NOT the lump umbrella word that can be used to describe everyone who is not straight

It is highly offensive to call a lesbian, bisexual, transgender, intersex, nonbinary, polyamorous, etc person gay, because none of those things have the same meaning as the word gay. 

Readers will not take offense at making a villian a lesbian. But readers WILL take offense at you having a female character and calling her gay. Lesbian =/= gay.

I am LGBTQAI+ myself, but I am NOT gay. 

I am an asexual, polyamorous cis female. On November 14, 2013, when I was8 months pregnant 3 gay-haters (a man and 2 women, all in their 60s) armed with metal golf clubs, attacked me from behind while I was at WalMart leaned over the back seat of my car putting bags of groceries in my car. I am legally blind and almost deaf so I neither saw or heard them coming. They murdered my baby, broke my spine, broke my hips, broke my knees, and left me for dead. They were chanting "stop the gaypocalypse, kill or be killed, kill all the gays before they killus all". I was paralyzed for 5 months, in a wheelchair after that, 18 months relearning to walk... it is now 8 years later and I still have severe limited mobility, walk with a cane, and... on April 10, 2015, they showed up at my house with 70+ others, a very large church group, armed with "god hates fags" signs. 14 men armed with guns, took cinderblock bricks, and beat me and my children, killing 10 of my 12 foster, the youngest was age4 the oldest age 16, they cut their heads off and nailed them to my door, again, chanting "stop the gaypocalypse, kill or be killed, kill all the gays before they killus all".

Let me repeat: I am LGBTQAI+ myself, but I am NOT gay. I am an asexual, polyamorous cis female. But because I was deemed "gay", I am crippled for the rest of my life and 1 of my children, aged 4 to 16, were brutally murdered, in my driveway, while neighbour watched and did nothing.

You see, I live in Maine, a state in the United States of america, where it is STILL LEGAL to bet and kill gay people. Yes, even right now in 2021. It is an old law that has not been done away with, and is the REASON why the 14 men who murdered my children, to this day walk free, giving full immunity by Maine courts for their actions.

Remember, just because YOU live in a place where it's okay to say "that car is sooooo gay" and not suffer from it, does not mean everyone does. The world is a big place and as of 2021, 73% of the world's population STILL LIVE in places where it is LEGAL and often ENCOURAGED to beat, and/or kill gay men. And I live in one of those places.

I am the SJW who took the state of Maine to court and got laws passed to make it legal for same sex couples to marry, own property, and start businesses in Maine, something that I did in October 21, 2016 when I found out those things were illegal. We here in Maine still have a long way to go before same sex couples have full rights of straight citizens.

Do not assume that EVERYONE you talk to online lives in a place where it is safe to be openly gay, lesbian, or trans, because the bulk of the world does NOT have same sex or transgender freedom rights. Please keep that in mind when posting on the internet.

Because how you use the word gay, could very well be the thing that csts someone their life.

My children are DEAD, because my family was falsely accused of being gay. Gay haters DO kill people they suspect of being gay WITHOUT stopping to find out if they are gay or not.

How would you feel if YOUR children, had their heads cut off and nailed to YOUR front door, because YOU were falsely accused of being gay?

That is what happened to my family.

My 10 children are dead. The youngest aged 4 the oldest aged 16, their heads cut off by gay haters and nailed to my door by gay haters. That is the reality of the extreme gay hatred that exists in Old Orchard Beach, Maine, United states of America.

REMEMBEr my children, their heads nailed to my front door, the next time YOU feel the need to say "that's so gay", the next time you call a pink car "gay", the next time you say someone "acts gay", because YES, those phrases ARE hate speech and they WILL cost lives.

THIS is WHY, calling an asexual "gay" is so offensive. Because there are a lot of people who don't know what the word gay means, and use it as gay = evil, not knowing gay = 2 males in love with each other;  also not knowing a gay person is ALWAYS male.

When you use the word "gay" incorrectly, even if it is just to call 2 women in love "gay" instead of lesbian, you help spread confusion as to what the word gay means, even though you were not intending to be offensive. And while I understand no offensive was meant on your part, it is errors like this which ultimately result in hate crimes against non-gays, alongside gays. Had the gay-haters of Maine known what the word gay ACTUALLY meant, I, a non-gay an asexual, polyamorous cis female would not be crippled right now and my 10 non-gay foster children would not have been murdered. The attackers accused us of being gay because I am an asexual, polygamist cis female and have 2 partners.

This is also why calling lesbian "gay" is so offensive.

That said I never use labels in my stories unless it is a character in dialogue saying said labels and than I only put lables in the mouths of bullies.

In my own series, the story is told from the perspective of an elderly supervillain looking back on his life as a villain. No where does the series ever use the words "gay", "homosexual", "LGBTQ", "bi-sexual", etc. However, he is a transvestite, a polygamist, has 5 wives, and has 2 male partners. He is SHOWN living with and interacting with his 7 spouses and 37 children. You see him as a kind, loving, doting, caring, affectionate person when interacting with his family. This is shown in stark contrast to his supervillain mega-end-boss lifestyle of being an evil Necromancer. BUT, the story being told from his point of view, he is also NOT shown as the villain, but rather, the "good guys" and "DnD style advenering groups" are shown as being the villains, because THEY are the ones invading his home, stealing his gold, attacking his people, and his "acts of villainy" are shown as him protecting the family he loves from the so-called "heroes" and "adventure parties" who a seen by him as nothing more than thieves and harassers and trespassers. Him being a mega-powered "end boss type" wizard, he's virtually undefeatable, causing endless knights, heroes, warriors, etc, to be constantly showing up to try to defeat him. The man the world sees as the ultimate supervillain, is in fact, just an old wizard, minding his own business and protecting his family from trespassers and thieves.

His being bisexual or polyamorous, is not a plot point, though, there have been stories where adventures attacked his family because they saw his bisexual or polyamorous habits as evil/immoral.

But, consider now this: I started the series in 1978, when the first volume was published. In nearly 50 years since, the series has since been expanded to include 138 novels and 2,000+ short stories published. (Even more were written that never got published). Each novel averages 115k words while each short story average 25k words. In total that is around 65,870,000 words published (yes around 65MILLION words published about this one character), and NEVER ONCE in those 65million words does the words gay, bisexual, trans, queer, homosexual, etc appear. 

Not once.

Why?

Because they don't NEED to appear.

We SEE his hugging and kissing his 2 male lovers, his 5 female lovers, we see the 8 of them in good times and bad times, arguing, getting along, disagreements, celebrations of holidays together, the ups and downs of family life, we see the family unit devastated when one of the wives is murdered and he and his remaining partners go on a mass murdering rampages killing the entire village that sent the "hero" to kill his wife and 2 of his sons. He's seen by the villagers as a horrible evil when he does this, and yet the reader sides with him, because the reader sees the raw emotional anguish him and his family go through when one of their family unit is murdered by "heroic good guys" who broke in and killed her for no reason at all other than to prove they could.

There is no NEED to TELL the reader what his sexual orientation is, because they SEE the family interacting and can SEE that 2 of his spouses are male and 5 of his spouses are female.

If you want your female villain to be lesbian, go for it. But don't TELL your readers she is lesbian. Don't draw unnecessary attention to her sexuality. Instead SHOW her with her partner(s), girlfriend(s), wife(s), spouse(s), lover(s), haram - whatever you choose. Show them getting along, having fun,arguing, not getting along, making up, living together, dating, whatever fits for them and their personality and living situation. SHOW the readers that your female villain has female relationships. It's actually something we need more of.

I LOVE LGBTQAI+ villains. I love all villains in general. Disney villains. Supervillains. Big boss villains. Give me every and all villains. I love them. Sadly there are precious few LGBTQAI+ villains, who are ACTUALLY LGBTQAI+ and not just the author slapping the LGBTQA+ label on a villain who is never shown to be LGBTQA+.

In fact, MOST LGBTQAI+ villains are seen ONLY in "Christian" genres, where the author is writing the "gay = bad" message and uses the "gay villain" to preach to their reader "look all gayz is evil - REPENT!". A good 80%+ all LGBTQAI+ villains are written this way and it's sad, because I would love to see more LGBTQAI+ villains where their being LGBTQA+ WAS NOT the only thing that made them evil.

WHY do you want to make her a lesbian?

Are you trying to be inclusive? If so, this is the wrong way to be inclusive and is going to result in cookie cutter steretyoes getting put in even if you didn't mean to add them.

Do you identify with lesbian characters and want to write her as a lesbian because it's what you are comfortable with?

In the case of my character, I grew up in a polygamist culture. My grandfather had 2 wives, my mother had 2 husbands, my mom was child number 8 of 12 children by their mother. My uncle with the most wives has 5 wives he's married to and 10 more who live with him but he's not married to, my aunt with the most husbands has 9 husbands, there are same sex and bi spouses as well; the wife with the most children gave birth to 23 childre 15 of which made it to adulthood. I am number 64 of 400+ 1st cousins. I'm a 5th generation Fundamentalist LDS/Mormon. This is the lifestyle that is NORMAL to me. I wouldn't know how to identify with "mainstream/"normal" straight American culture" because I've never been a part of it. And THAT is why I wrote a character/villain who has 5 wives, 2 male spouses, and 37 children. Because this is what I identify with as normal.

I would feel highly uncomfortable trying to write a "normal straight" character because I have no clue what their lifestyle would be like. Just like how I never write a white character because I'm not white and couldn't even begin to understand white lifestyle or white culture. (I am Persian Gypsy/Kickapoo Native American/Haitian Black multi-race mix).

So for me, when I write a non-straight character it is because I am writing what I know, what I identify with, what I grew up with in my own culture and family.

Ask yourself WHY you want your character to be lesbian and see if it really matters that she is or not, or are you just making her lesbian to be all PC and diverse and inclusive.

I think figuring out WHY you want her to be lesbian should be your first step, than after that write her how you best identify with her.


I have read so many of your posts. Your questions. I am very familiar, with your plight. Your desire to write and your having been attacked viscously on social media. I've been following your posts with great interest, and I find your most recent ones, growing more and more disturbing. I've read all of your Reddit posts, you post 3 to 5 a day, the majority of them get deleted by mods, but I have read all of them, before they got deleted. So, I am familiar with the context, from which you now ask this question, the "back story" of how you came to ask it.

I am so sorry, social media, especially Twitter has treated you so badly, that you live in fear to write what you most want to write.

This shouldn't happen. They are terrorizing you. Don't let them.

Write what you want to write.

I come from a culture that does not send children to school, punishes females learning to read and write by cutting off their hands, believes education is evil, takes part in regular book burning events - burning books in massive bonfires - because books are all "of Satan" and "evil. Books, music, dancing, drawing, painting, pretty much ever form of art and creative expression is strictly forbidden.

Do you know what that means?

That means if I sat around waiting for someone from my own culture to write books about my own culture, there would never be any books about Gypsies.

And yet, there are quite a few books about Gypsies out there, and while some get Gypsy life VERY wrong, relying on violin playing, belly-dancing-bimbo stereotypes (music and dancing and dressing like a slut have been shunned by my people for more than 5,000 years), on the other hand MANY take the time to do enough research to get it right. Stephen King for example, he took the time to visit our clan, tour our farms, talk to our families, back in the 1980s, before he wrote either Thinner or Christine, both of the movies he later returned to my farm and filmed in our yard, my family is both of those movies. He got our culture right, because he took the time to get out there and research the real people, rather than just rely on what others had done. Stephen King is not a Gypsy. He's a white American. Yes, some people take the lazy road and do no research, but, most do their research.

Twitter does NOT represent the entire world. 

REMEMBER: fewer than 10% of the world TOTAL population even has internet access at all. And only 3% of those with internet, use American social media like Twitter or FaceBook.

While the social justice warriors and the cancel culture of Twitter and the like may seem like a large group, they actually are an extreme minority that represents fewer than .00000033% of the world's total population.

He who screams the loudest, isn't always right, and chances are, they are screaming so loud, because they know how wrong they are. That's what Twitter is. An incredibly minuscule group of people, most of them under 14 years old, who think if they scream loud enough they can control the world. Don't let them or people like them control you. They DO NOT represent the world as a whole.

I highly recommend you read Lord of the Flies. Than look at Twitter with new eyes, because Lord of the Flies, that really is all Twitter is: a toxic, loud, group of children who seek to kill the adults and take over society. Read Lord of the Flies, than consider the children on Twitter are the same age as the children in that novel and you'll bend, bow, and scare before the brats of Twitter again.

Write what YOU want to write. Don't let the Lord of the Flies bratsof Twitter drag you around by a ring through the nose.

Far too may people flock to this sub and other writing subs, and also game dev subs, and art subs, terrified that they can not write, draw, create anything that is not their culture and it's always because of Twitter's psycho babble.

But Twitter's psycho babble is nothing more than bored children, with incompetent parents, they can't get their parents' attention, so they run to Twitter to use terror and fear and scare tactics to get other adults to grovel at their pre-teen feet.

Why? Why do adults grovel in fear at the will of children, when what those snot nose brats really need is damned good spanking and time out in the corner.

The people who say THIS to you:

>>>I'm told it's only a Giallo if it's Italian, it's only a Fantastique story/Noir mystery if I'm French or French-speaking (which is confusing but alright), it's only Magical realism story if I'm Hispanic or Spanish-speaking, etc. Is it cultural appropriation to use these and should I stick to more American writing or throw in this stuff from other cultures to experiment?

They are NOT people, they are children, not even old enough to know the meaning of half the words they say.

Children, who don't have a clue, that the bulk of the world has cultures that would cut out the tongues of people their age treating adults like they do. MOST of the world's population, comes from cultures that wouldn't put up with a child speaking out of turn, they'd get a brick to the face, a broken jaw, that's the reality that Twitter children know nothing of, they don't know how good they have life, they couldn't even begin to imagine the world of child slavery, human trafficking, and child sex prostitution, which are things 67% of the world's children live with, and yet the children of America, are allowed to be foul muth brats on Twitter, telling you NOT to write other cultures? Why? Because they don't KNOW what other cultures are like. They don't know that by silencing white Americans from writing other cultures, they also condemning millions of children around the world to die horrible death before they even become teenagers. 

I am not an American, I've seen the side of cultures that most Americans want to turn a blind eye too and sweep under a rug.

There are a lot of people, a lot of women and children, in my culture, whose lives were saved, by white American men, who dared to write our culture the way it really is, and that caused the FBI to investigate, annd arrest a lot of really bad men, allowing a lot of women, myself included, to have freedom, for the first time in our lives.

Had the white American men NOT written about our non-white, non-American culture, me and 140 other women and children, would still be living in hell right now.

And THAT is why I don't like it when social justice warriors run around saying whites can't write none whites, Americans can't write non Americans. Those so called PC SJWs haven't got a clue what social justice is. And while it may be seen as a bad stereotype for white American men to be seen as the saviours of minorities, the fact remains, we still live in a society where the white American me, often ARE the only ones with the ability to save minority women and children. Like it or not, a lot of the world's non-white, non-American people ARE dependant on white American men to step up and save them.

Writers, SHOULD, write other cultures.

White people SHOULD write black people, Asian people, Middle Eastern people, Native American people, and all the rest.

Black people SHOULD write white people, Asian people, Middle Eastern people, Native American people, and all the rest.

Asian people SHOULD write black people, black people, Middle Eastern people, Native American people, and all the rest.

Middle Eastern people SHOULD write white people, Asian people, black people, Native American people, and all the rest.

Native American people SHOULD write white people, Asian people, black people, Middle Eastern people, and all the rest.

We are all people, and we should all write about people.

This segregation of only blacks write blacks, only whites write whites, etc... it's promoted by people who are not old enough to remember segregated schools, segregated bathrooms, segregated seats at the back of the bus. I am a PoC who is old enough to remember those things, and I am horrified that today's society WANTS to go back to them.

When people say THIS to you:

>>>I'm told it's only a Giallo if it's Italian, it's only a Fantastique story/Noir mystery if I'm French or French-speaking (which is confusing but alright), it's only Magical realism story if I'm Hispanic or Spanish-speaking, etc. Is it cultural appropriation to use these and should I stick to more American writing or throw in this stuff from other cultures to experiment?

...tell them to take their racist asses and burn in hell, because THAT IS RACISM. It is racism at it's worst: it's segregation. 

You start segregating, you'll end up with lords and masters, slaves and victims, all over again. Segregation is where it starts. We need UNITY of cultures, NOT segregation of cultures.

It IS racist to say every person can only write their own race/culture. It IS racist to promote segregation. And telling someone that they can not write something because it comes from another race or culture, that's segregation, seperation, dividing off into groups. 

When you separate one group, single them out, you cause fear in society, people start to wonder why is that group so different that they are not allowed to be part of normal society? They start rumors, spread more fear, fear leads to bullying, bullying leads to hate and violence.

We need unity, not segregation. We should embrace and celebrate each others cultures, learn from each other, not seperate off into corners and shut each other out.

You write what you want to write, don't let others rob you of your freedom to write.

Very few people in this world have freedom to speak, freedom to write, freedom to create... you as an American, you have that freedom. Embrace it, Use it. Don't let people take it away from you.

You want to write another culture, then write another culture.

You want to write something another culture created, then do so.

If you live in fear, you'll let that fear take over you, control you, and when you are older, you'll look back and regret it.

Write what YOU want to write, how YOU want to write it. Don't be a slave to social justice warriors who really don't have the ACTUAL interests of minorities in mind.


But seeing how my family was murdered by people saying they had to kill my family because I write what they termed "gay erotica", let's take a deeper look into the so called gayness of Quaraun...

>>>Quaraun is gay. 

This is incorrect. Quaraun is NOT gay.

Quaraun has 5 wives and 37 LEGITIMATE children who he acknowledges are his. He has more children by prostitutes that he does not acknowledge. 

Quaraun murdered his first wife, after she hired 4 of her male lovers to rape Quaraun. He killed the 4 men as well. The same day, he also murdered the 4 children (2 sets of twins, two 12 year old girls and two 10 year old boys) the same day he murdered their mother. While he does not regret murdering his wife and her 4 lovers, and remains his whole life unregretful of it, he deeply regrets murdering his 4 children, whom he loved very much.

Coming to terms with the murder of his 4 children IS THE PRIMARY PLOT of the entire series.

Before murdering his children, Quaraun was what most people would consider "a very moral decent person". Fornication, adultery, visiting prostitutes, keeping male lovers, drinking, drugs, stealing, and smoking were all grave sins in Quaraun's mind and he never did any of those things.

After murdering his family, Quaraun is hunted by a group of "Justice Wizards" (whom Quaraun refers to as "The Guild") whom make the laws and rule most of the country.  Quaraun is seen as a renegade wizard, because he not only used magic for evil, he used magic to murder his wife, children, and several villagers. Quaraun is driven from his home and travels the planet, never staying anywhere long because wanted posters of him are plastered in every town/city/settlement, and the world is in the state of "apocalyptic poverty" due to a war that is raging on behind the scenes, which causes desperate citizens to be more than willing to turn him in hoping to get the huge reward of gold. 

Because Quaraun can not be seen in any good, moral, decent, upstanding part of any town without people turning in over to the law, he takes to living in seedy, crime filled, gag infested slum districts and sea ports along the East coast, and from here takes to drinking in taverns with gangsters, drug dealers, thieves, prostitutes, hoodlums, and miscreants.

Along the way he is joined by 2 other mages whom are also both criminals wanted by The Guild.

One, BoomFuzzy, is a master chef, cannibal Faerie King who no longer has a kingdom because he ate most of his subjects. BoomFuzzy is a Phooka a type of Faerie horse that looks like a Unicorn and has most of the traits of a Kelpie. He is wanted by the Guild, not for killing his people, but rather, because he is a serial rapist.

According to BoomFuzzy, the Human myth that Unicorns protect virgins is a hoax, made up by Unicorns, to lure virgins to them, so they can rape them. BoomFuzzy keeps a chart of how many virgins he has raped and the number is well over 15,000.

BoomFuzzy is a chef, who makes drugged Faerie food which he gives to young virgins (both female and male) to lure them into his gingerbread house and rape them. 

BoomFuzzy makes Green Fairy Wine aka Absinthe and NotNog (opium tea with hashish) and Quaraun becomes addicted to both.

BoomFuzzy becomes Quaraun's best friend and they live together for 30 years before BoomFuzzy commits suicide, after Quaraun's father spreads the false rumor that Quaraun and BoomFuzzy are gay lovers.

Devastated by the death of his best friend, Quaraun turns to necromancy to resurrect BoomFuzzy as a Lichicorn (A Lich Unicorn).

The 2 of them travel together for several years before, meeting the 3 traveller. Quaraun, and elderly mage over 1,000 years old, underestimates the damage power of the recent invention: guns. Having never seen a gun before, he mistakes a group of armed highway men, for mages carrying strange looking wands, and ends up shot. This event is witness by a kleptomaniac, who followed the bandits around, looting the leftovers off their victims.

Seeing that Quaraun and BoomFuzzy are like him, both none-human and mages, the sorcerer-thief takes them in and nurses Quaraun back to health. 

This 3rd mage, reveals himself to be, GhoulSpawn, a 15 year old Dungeons and Dragon's Dungeon Master from the 1970s, who somehow ended up in the past after buying his first car, a 1974 AMC Gremlin, that turns out to somehow be a time machine. GhoulSpawn was apparently a Human back on Earth in the 1970s, but in Quaraun's world he had turned into the half-Elf/half-Demon Sorcerer-Thief he had played in his Dungeons and Dragons game group.

GhoulSpawn has a green velvet coat that is lined with dozens of pockets, each pocket being a bag of holding, which allows him to literally steal EVERYTHING, he walks past. He has an entire sheep farm with a few hundred head of sheep in one pocket and his 1974 AMC Gremlin is only one of the several hundred cars that is parked in yet another pocket.

GhoulSpawn's car is loaded with LSD sugar cubes, which he continually goes back to the 1970s to restock his supply of and than return back to Quaraun's world. It turns out later, that he actually stole the car from drug dealers and can't go back to his world to live there because he has stolen millions of dollars in drugs from them, and the drug dealers would kill him his he ever got caught.

GhoulSpawn introduced Quaraun to LSD, and BoomFuzzy introduces GhoulSpawn to the art of drugging prostitutes.

Seeing how each has a price on his head and has bounty hunters after him, the 3 renegade wizards band together and flees the law together.

They DO become lovers and there are sex scenes between them, but, none of them is gay, as there are just as many scenes of each of them with women, often prostitutes.

The relationship Quaraun has with BoomFuzzy, is the primary relationship seen early in the series, while Quaraun's relationship with his wife Pippiatta is the primary relationship in the mid section of the series and Quaraun's relationship with GhoulSpawn is the primary relationship in the end segment of the series. But you see his relationship with all 5 of his wives, both his male lovers, and well over a dozen random women throughout the entire series.

And while people who talk about the series focus on the relationships/romance, the fact remains that IF YOU ACTUALLY READ the series, you will learn quite quickly that the romance/relationships are VERY MINOR background plots that only rarely take centre stage, don't even appear in every novel, and often are only mentioned on 10 or fewer pages of EACH of the 400 to 500 page novels.

The PRIMARY PLOT that takes up 90%+ of the page/story time, is Quaraun's mental breakdown over having murdered his 4 children. The #1 most common thing you see in the series is Quaraun waking up from nightmares, PTSD flashbacks, and drug induced hallucinations about the day he murdered his children.

The ENTIRE STORY is about his life slowly falling apart, as the guilt of having murdered his family tears his mind apart.

Here, have a sample of what I mean by this:

~o0o~


There was blackness all around. He could smell fog. Thick, dense vapour. Musty. Mouldy. Damp. The air smelled moist and melancholy. Like he was outside, in a morose, boggy, quagmire, after a heavy rain. But he was laying down on something warm and soft. A bed? He was uncertain. He tried to recall where he had been, but his mind was blank, dark, and dreary. Empty. There was nothing but blackness. He opened his eyes, but immediately shut them once again. The bright, brilliant, blinding light contrasted starkly with the bleak blackness of quiescent sleep.

Well, how you availing there, Sugar?”

The Elf heard a young woman’s voice speaking to him as he opened his eyes. An intensely bright light made him squeeze them shut again. He hoped closing his eyes tightly would make white starbursts of light flashing behind his eyelids go away. Perhaps making it less painful to open them to the light of the world.

Been wondering when you’d ever gonna wake you.” The young woman placed her hand on his pale forehead. “Are you okay?”

No.” He covered his face with his hands, still holding his eyes shut and not looking at her or the room he was in.

You took a wicked spell there. How you feeling?”

Terrible. Where am I?”

You’re at the Mournful Lamb Inn.”

The what?”

The Mournful Lamb Inn.”

What’s that?”

The Mournful Lamb Inn is a good quality, clean, medium-sized tavern. Prices are fair, food qualities is excellent. Sweet and savoury both. Drinks is surprisingly satisfactory. Delicious. Room sizes are medium, the quality of liquors is far above average, cuisine is variety is above average, the rooms are 24 occupied and...”

You sound like an advertisement,” the Elf said as he sat up.

Thank you, sir. I try my finest.”

That’s not what I... How did I get here?”

Don’t know. Just knows you were here when I got in for work today and I was instructed to look in on you.”

Instructed by who?”

They said you walked in here all covered in blood and passed out.”

Blood?”

You’all don’t seem to be hurt none. Musta been someone else’s blood on ya, they said.”

You’re a Human?”

Aye. And you’re an Elf?”

Am I?”

Yes, sir. You are.”

I can’t recall.”

You must be in shock. Was a right bunch of blood on you, it was.”

Where am I again?”

The Mournful Lamb Inn.”

The Mournful Lamb Inn.”

Yes, sir.”

And where is that, exactly?”

In The Swamp of Death.”

Swamp of...” He detested the notion of death, to the extent of not being capable of saying the word. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Few have. It’s an out of the way place. Hard to get to. You kind of have to be dead to land here.”

Dead?”

That’s why they call it the Swamp of Death.”

Are you suggesting I am dead?”

Must be. No other path to get here.”

No other...”

Don’t trouble yourself, none. Besides, everyone’s dead around here. This is where people travel to when they die a powerfully violent death and can’t move forward.”

A violent death?”

Ah-uh. Murder. Suicide. Anything what would turn one into a wraith.”

Are you dead?”

Oh my goodness me, yes. My husband murdered me four hundred years ago. I haven’t come to terms with it yet.“

You haven’t... uhm... You sure you aren’t just insane?”

Nope. I was strangled.”

You’re... not alive?”

Nope.”

I see.”

Do you?”

Not really.”

How’d’you die?”

I ... uhm... am... confused.” He wasn’t certain how to answer. But he decided it best to go along with what she maintained until he found out more about her identity and this inn. “Are you sure I’m dead?”

You are in the Swamp of Death. What else could you be if not dead?”

I don’t remember dying.”

A lot don’t at first.”

Indeed?”

Yeah. Don’t worry. It’ll come to you in time.”

I suppose.”

So what should I call you, sir?”

Call me?”

Your name.”

Name?”

Well, you do have a name, don’t you?”

I... I must have a name...”

You don’t remember your name, sir?”

I can’t recall that either.”

You really musta hit you head hard, huh?”

I guess.”

Why, don’t you come down stairs, get you something to eat. You’ll feel better with a full stomach.”

The Elf stood up and immediately passed out once again.



~o0o~

"The penalty for failing to uphold a contract in this town is the loss of a limb,” the unknown man declared.

What?” Quaraun turned to discover who had spoken, but the man had already fled. Or perhaps he was never there?

Was he hearing voices now?

Quaraun wandered aimlessly through the town.

Searching.

For something.

But he couldn’t remember what.

Everything was a haze.

A heavy mist blotted away the sunlight.

Thick clouds hovered low, clinging to the pavement.

Where was he?

How did he get here?

He didn’t know.

He couldn’t recall.

Why was he here?

What was he searching for?

He’d misplaced something.

Or was it someone?

I’m looking for something,” he whispered to himself.

He tried looking into the faces of the crowds around him. But no details could be seen. Like faces lost within a dream.

As he wandered slowly along, squeezing through the swarm of faceless no ones walking against him, his mind drifted.

Everyone was travelling the same direction.

The same momentum.

Crowed close together.

Too close.

Shoulder to shoulder.

No room between them.

Quaraun forced his way through them, shoving them aside. As he did, they tumbled off the sidewalk, plunging into the nothing. There were no streets beneath the fog. Just empty blackness. They fell endlessly forever, screaming silent shrieks of anguish.

Quaraun ignored the wailing as they fell. He continued pushing onward through the throng of faceless, black clad, hooded masses.

Walking against the flow. Like a salmon swimming upstream.

Quaraun could not help but acknowledge the individuals of this town suffered from a singular deformity. Many of them were missing a limb.

An arm.

A leg.

A hand.

A foot.

A head.

A head?

He paused and stared at the headless carcass, lumbering towards him.

It was grotesque enough for him to assume the leader of this place was a bloodthirsty bastard with a sadistic streak.

As Quaraun pondered this aberration, a voice whispered in his long, thin, pointed ear: “Communicate to no one on the highways. All is not as it seems. Make your approach to the Mourning Lamb Inn, check in for the night and request a chamber on the third floor.”

Quaraun turned to address the speaker, but he was already sprinting across the roadway and into a dark ally. The man had been shrouded in black, shielding his features under a voluminous hood.

The avenues were too busy and cramped for Quaraun to continue after him.

Crowed with bodies.

Dead bodies.

Living.

Breathing.

Stumbling.

Walking.

Dead bodies.

The living dead.

So many dead people.

Dead people, their bodies rotted and decaying.

Shambling dead, their flesh falling from the bone as they lumbered mindlessly through the thoroughfares.

The shambling dead.

Rising up out of the swamp.

Their faces looked familiar.

Cloudy.

Blurry.

He could not make out who they were.

Run back to The Mournful Lamb Inn.” He heard a voice command. “It’s the only safe place around here. The dead have arisen and seek to devour.”

The Mourning Lamb Inn?” Quaraun repeated the words.

Just then, someone bumped him. He stumbled from the sidewalk to the cobblestone lane. But the road vanished from beneath him as he went down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Into the darkness.

Into the mud.

Ever down.

Finally landing with a splash in the oozy, viscous muck of an immense bog.

A great stench filled swamp.

Thick, chocking stench of rotting peat and washed up mouldering seaweed, mixed with the earthy fragrance of a decaying deadwood forest, crumbling into the ever expanding black, brackish water.

As he peered through the twilight, struggling to locate solid ground, he spied them.

A woman.

And four small children.

Drenched in blood.

Their throats slit.

Their chests split open.

Their hearts ripped out.

Screaming.

Wailing.

Crying.

Walking towards him.

With outstretched hands.

Reaching for him.

Quaraun stumbled backwards.

Fear filled his soul.

He knew them.

Terror seized him.

They were coming for him.

Run back to The Mournful Lamb Inn.” He heard a voice command. The same voice as before, but the voice was strange now. Echoing. Drifting across the swamp, floating on the wind. “Run. Quickly. Run. Run to the Inn. It’s the only safe place around here. The dead rise and walk and they seek to devour your soul.”

The Mourning Lamb Inn?” Quaraun repeated the words.



~o0o~



Yes, dear, that’s where you are,” answered a woman’s voice.

Where?”

The Mournful Lamb Inn.”

Quaraun looked around. He woke up in the bed chamber once again. He smelt food cooking downstairs. He heard the crowd of people talking in the tavern below the upstairs apartments.

The swamp was gone.

The woman.

Gone.

The children.

Gone.

The crowds.

Gone.

Had it been a dream?

No.

It couldn’t have been a dream.

It was too real.

He had been there. To the bog. But when? Was it a memory?

The Mourning Lamb Inn.”

Yes, sir.”

Is that where we are?”

Yes.”

Someone suggested I come here.”

Who would do that?”

A man.”

A friend?”

No. A stranger.”

A stranger?”

Dressed in black.”

Why would you listen to a stranger dressed in black? I’d be scared witless if a stranger clad in black told me to go to an inn in the middle of a swamp miles from nowhere.”

A black hood. I couldn’t see his face.”

So you obeyed to a stranger, attired in black, wearing a hood, so’s as you couldn’t see his face? Why?”

I can’t remember. He instructed me to show up here, and I did, but I can’t remember why.”

I don’t think so, sir. Only the dead can enter here.”

But I’m not dead.”

Are you positive?”

How did I get here?” Quaraun ignored what the young woman had suggested. He refused to accept he had died. No. This was something else. Powerful hallucination magic. Had to be.

I don’t know. I wasn’t here when you showed up.”

What transpired?” The Elf asked.

When?”

Just now. I was outside, in the bog.”

Swamp.”

Swamp?”

Yes, sir.”

It looked like a peat bog. Sepia brown. Brackish. Briny. Black, goopy quicksand.”

It is The Swamp of Death, sir.”

Are you certain?”

Yes, sir.”

How can you tell?”

It’s all around us, sir. Everywhere you look. It reaches for miles.”

Miles?”

Miles. As far as the eye can see. It rolls on forever and ever. Tumbling into endless mists. There’s no escaping from it.”

No?”

No. Never. Not ever. Once you enter, you can never leave it.”

Like the Forest of No Return?”

What’s that?”

A Faerie forest that keeps popping up in my life. Massive illusion built by Faeries to trap travellers.”

No. This is the Swamp of Death. It’s where dead spirits wander until their soul can rest in peace.”

Alright. The Swamp of Death then. But, just now. I was out in The Swamp of Death and there were...”

No.”

No?”

No. You were right here. You tried to stand up. But you keeled over. I put you back in bed. And now you are awake again.”

Oh.”

You passed out, again.”

Again?”

That’s the second time you fainted, now.”

Yes. I do that often.”

Often? That is not normal.”

No. I’ve grown used to it.”

That’s not the sort of thing you should get used to.”

No. Neither are all these cuts, but I got used to them too.”

What cuts?”

These...” Quaraun pointed to his wrists. “They’re gone. Where did they go?”

Where did what go?”

I cut myself.”

How did you do that?”

With my dagger.”

On purpose?”

Yes.”

Are you ill?”

Yes. I’ve always had frail health. Light head. Weak stomach. JellyFish and Squid.”

JellyFish and Squid?”

Thullids.”

The Squid Men from Neptune’s moon?”

Yes.”

Why do you talk of them?”

The Thullid inside me is taking over. I’m losing my memories.”

You were injured. I think you hit your head. One often loses memories that way. They’ll come back in a few days.”

No. You don’t understand. I am a Thullid...”

You are not a Thullid sir.”

No?”

No.”

What am I then?”

You are an Elf.”

Am I?”

Yes, sir. A High Elf from the North by the look of ya.”

The Elf in me struggles to stay alive against the Thullid in me that yearns to kill it and everything else.”

You crave to kill people, sir?”

I murdered my children.”

Why?”

I can’t recall.”

It is not healthy to murder one’s own offspring.”

I murdered my children. And my wife.”

Why did you do that?”

I slit their throats and cut out their hearts. I strangled my wife. I poisoned my children.”

Why did you do that?”

I don’t know. I can’t remember. But I remember doing it. I strangled you.”

Me?”

Yes.”

Are you sure?”

I recognize you.”

Do you?”

Yes.”

Who am I?”

I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember?”

"You didn't kill me."

"I didn't?"

"No."

"Who did?"

I told you already."

"Did you?"

"Yes. My husband killed me. He strangled me.”

They slaughtered my mother.”

Your children?”

No. The JellyFish.”

The Thullids?”

No. The Moon Elves. They smashed her skull open. My mother was the JellyFish. They killed her.”

How ghastly. Why did they do that?”

She took up residence in the head of an Elf. Devoured its brain and replaced it with her own and they killed her for it.”

Was your mother the Elf or the Thullid?”

Both. She was the Elf who gave birth to this Elf’s body. The Thullid inside was my mother.”

Are you a Spawnling?”

No. I am a Thullid.”

You don’t look like a Thullid.”

No. And I never well. I am a new type of Thullid. But this body is weak, small, fragile. It is dying and I will die with it.”

Spawnlings can change bodies, can’t they?”

I don’t want to trade hosts.”

Why not?”

I like this body. It is exceedingly beautiful.”

It is that.”

I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

But there is no blood here, sir.”

The nursery was covered with blood.”

What nursery?”

The walls. The floor. Strange symbols written in blood. Blood magic. Magic sigils written in blood. Blood. So much blood. Blood everywhere. The blood of my children.”

Your children died a brutal death?”

They did.”

Then they are probably here somewhere. You should look for them.”

"I loved my children."

"Than why'd you kill them?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"Parents should never hurt their children."

"No. They shouldn't. My father hated me. Abused me something fierce. I didn't want to be like him."

"But you did."

"No. I never hurt my children."

"You killed your children."

"I killed my children."

"Why did you kill your children?"

I loved my children,” Quaraun whispered. “Why did I slay them?”

The Elf stared at his hands. Quaraun turned his head away. He wedged his eyes shut as if momentarily escaping some horrible scene. He opened his eyes again.

My hands were covered with blood. I was covered with blood. Every inch of me. I was soaked in it. I remember that. When I entered into the Inn, I was covered in blood.”

There’s no blood now.”

I can taste it. Copper. Iron. Death. It tastes of death. I ate...” Horror seized Quaraun’s soul. “I... I... I ate them.”

Do you remember who you are, then?”

What?”

A moment ago, I asked you your name and you couldn’t remember.”

There was so much blood.”

Do you know whose it was?”

It was just everywhere. The entire room. Painted on the walls. A magic spell written in blood. Everything was covered in blood. There was so much blood. I can’t stand the sight of blood. They raised me as an Elf. They didn’t know what I was. They raised me as a peace-loving Elf. A hybrid Elder Brain. The Sacred Pink JellyFish. She wasn’t born like other Thullid. They created her in a lab. Created by scientists. I was designed to kill. And rule all the known worlds. Lead the Thullids to victory, but like an Elf, I hate violence. I killed my own people to stop them from killing the world.”

The Moon Elves?”

The Thullids.”

Hmmmm. I ain’t seen a Thullid in years. Of course, I am dead. And they’re chaotic evil on a stick, so they probably go straight to Hell and never come here at all.”

I hate blood.”

You said that.”

Blood was everywhere.”

You poor dear.”

So much blood.” He held his hands out in front of him, staring at them in horror as though blood still dripped from them.

There’s no blood here now. Cleaned you up, we did. It’s all washed off. You’re alright now. The blood’s gone.”

Someone else died.”

Who?”

I don’t know. I killed someone.”

Your children, you said.”

No. That was hundreds of years ago. I’ve killed someone else. Recent. Just before I came here. But I can’t remember who. Or why?”

What happened to them?”

I can’t remember. There was just so much blood.”

What happened? Where were you?”

I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Well, let’s try getting you downstairs, get you something to eat. Here, let me help you.” The woman put her arm around the Elf. “Stand up slow this time. Don’t want you to faint again. You just went right out like a light last time.”

I’m so dizzy.”

Yes. I can see that. Don’t think you’ve eaten in a while. We need to get something in you, so’s you aren’t so light-headed.”



~o0o~



Quaraun felt no recollection of going downstairs. The old Elf just abruptly, suddenly, found himself seated at a table. The Mourning Lamb appeared to be nothing more than a secluded country inn. At first, the patrons seemed normal. But only because Quaraun paid no regard to the surrounding environment, as usual. He never paid sufficient awareness to anything.

The elderly Elven wizard stared at his hands. In his mind, they still dripped blood.

Quaraun sat and sputtered and muttered to himself about blood. Blood only he could see. Blood, which no one else saw.

Bleeding,” he whispered. “I’m bleeding. Am I bleeding?”

He checked himself for wounds. Nothing. Nowhere.

No. I’m not. Who’s bleeding?”

Slowly, he looked around the room for the source of the blood. He saw two women talking. Their conversation seemed odd for the setting.

I will not be attending the dance, for I have no one to go with,” said one woman to the other.

Nor, I,” answered the second woman. “For I’ve been there before. Because of that, I’d rather go elsewhere.”

Buying a new dress is expensive,” the first added. “So by staying home I will save money.”

The two women continued to talk about dances and dresses. Dresses and dances. Dances they would not be attending. Dresses they would never wear. These women appeared out of place here. Dancing, parties, and dresses were not matching the inn. These ladies belonged in high society. Nobles. Aristocrats. People like them would never dream of setting foot in an inn like this. Why were they here? So out of place. Very out of place. Suddenly, they both ceased talking and turned to stare angrily at Quaraun. Horror seized Quaraun’s soul.

No. It was not their conversation that was odd. Quaraun could see it now. Both of the women had no eyes. Just gaping black holes where their eyes should have been. Blood streamed down their cheeks. Quaraun tore his eyes away from the women and searched the room for blood elsewhere.

Don’t take a chance on an unknown contender; vote for the proven success!” boasted a man on the other side of the room. No one was talking to him. No one was listening. Rattling and prattling on. Alone. Unloved. Unwanted. But he saw a crowd before him. Gesturing, he waved to the crowd that wasn’t there.

Politics.

Government.

Quaraun hated both. Control freaks. That’s all politicians are. Trying to control the masses. Despicable. But this was not Quaraun’s major concern with the man. The man was holding in his hand, his own head. Quaraun cringed and looked elsewhere.

Do you think he will come?” Said the young woman by the door, to another young woman. “I like coffee, but I don’t like tea.”

What’s that got to do with it?” asked the second woman.

She invited me for tea. But I don’t like tea. Drinking tea is something the old biddies do. Do I resemble an old biddy to you?”

You look like you died.”

Yeah, I know. Sucks to be dead, don’t it?”

The guests started eating, before the wedding couple arrived,” said the first, while gesturing to a nearby empty table. “So rude.”

Yes. Very rude.”

Quaraun looked at the table in question. No one sat at it.

Both women were rotting. Rotting?

Yes.

Rotting.

Corpses.

Their flesh crumbling from their faces.

Quaraun cringed. He hated death. Avoided it. A Necromancer who avoids death. But every conversation going on around him connected, somehow to death. Everyone was dead.

Have I been to the city of Fuckingham?” asked a corpse sitting near the front door.

Yes. Before you went to The Godforsaken City, you had already been to the city of Fuckingham,” confirmed the corpse sitting across from him.

I will visit Florida by the time I’m 50.”

You can’t.”

Why not?”

You’ll never be 50 years old.”

Why not?”

Because you’re already dead. Remember?”

Oh yeah. I forgot.”

Quaraun continued to glance around the room. Continued to watch people. Continued to listen to conversations. Continued to see dead people. Not living people. So many dead people.

Swollen eyes, from years of tears.

A sign hung on the wall. It read:

To move forward is the one rule a successful person follows. Remember, if you are here, you are not in Heaven. But, you are also not in Hell.”

Under the sign, two men argued.

Hadn’t he recited from the Holy Book?”

Recited the Holy Book? What Holy Book?”

What do you mean, what Holy Book? What Holy Book do you think, I’m talking about?”

If I knew, I wouldn’t ask. Would I?”

The one I gave you.”

Gave me? When did you give me a Holy Book?”

I gave it to you as a birthday present last year,” said one.

Last year. You are supposed to give one every year.”

I have already given you a gift.”

Before them sat a box. Blood oozed out of the bottom of the box.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Quaraun closed his eyes again.

He didn’t want to see blood. Didn’t want to look at death. Didn’t want to see dead people.

The old Necromancer opened his eyes again. Holding his hands over the candle on the table, Quaraun turned back once again to staring at them.

Drunk. That’s it. I must be drunk. None of this is real.”

Quaraun tried to remember when he last had a drink.

I killed someone,” the Thullid infested Elf declared to himself as he stared at his blood-soaked hands.

Of course ya did. It be why yis here,” a thickly accented voice whispered through the fog. The same voice which sent him to this inn.

Quickly, Quaraun looked up.

No one was there.

He scanned the room.

None of the patrons noticed the voice.

Nor did they see the fog now thickly rolling into the open front door.

Quaraun stood and fled the inn.

Outside, there was nothing but confusion and fog. Only fog. Just fog, as far as the eye could see. Thick, gloomy, wet, depressing, heavy, vaporous mists.

The encroaching swamp was everywhere. There were no roads to the inn. No fields. No grass. No meadow. As if the entire planet had evaporated and left nothing behind, save this plateau of muck, mud, slime, sludge, and fog.

A sinking sensation brought Quaraun out of his trance. He was sinking. Quicksand. Black, oozing, peat bog, tar pit, gurgling and slurping as it sucked his feet down into its deep, damp, dark, dank, murky depths. Black specks of debris, dead rotten moss, silt, and soil stuck to his soiled pink brocade slippers. Slippery, slimy mud oozed between his toes. Felt the muck splatter on his moist, wet skin.

Annoyed?” The same icy voice he’d heard before drifted across the moors.

Who are you?”

Go back to the Mournful Lamb Inn.”

No!”

Ya’ll be safe there.”

The inn is full of dead people.”

Peaceful dead people. Not angry deceased women. Not departed individuals who seek revenge.”

Seeking revenge?”

Vengeance. Retribution.”

Why?”

You murdered them.”

Did I?”

All of them.”

Everyone?”

Everybody in the swamp. Everyone in the inn. The entities in the inn have forgiven you. The groups outside roaming the morass, seek to drag you into its depths and drown you.”

What about the ones in the town? On the streets?”

They were murdered by others.”

Is that why I couldn’t see their faces?”

Yes. It is.”

Why are the people I killed here instead?”

Because The Swamp of Death is their Purgatory, but your Hell. They are here to haunt you. Remind you what you have done."

Am I dead?”

You are wandering the brink of death.”

Why? How? I don’t remember dying.”

You slit your wrists. You decided to kill yourself. You’re not yet dead. You linger, clinging to life still. But close enough to death, that you have arrived here.”

Why am I here?”

To learn.”

Learn what?”

Things you can not understand otherwise. Things you encounter daily and choose to ignore.”

Who are you?”

A friend.”

If you are a friend, then show yourself. Why are you hiding?

You will see me in time.”

When?”

When you are ready to.”

If you won’t reveal yourself, then I’ve no reason to stay and take notice to you any further.”

With that, Quaraun turned and strode into the bog, stepping carefully on the grass clumps, avoiding the sludge.

To walk in the middle of the swamp is not safe at all,” the disembodied voice called after him.

Why should I listen to you?” Quaraun shouted angrily.

To obey me is wiser than to stand sinking in the Swamp of Death.”

He could feel his feet slowly descending into the slick clay. But he could not see his feet.

The vapour was too heavy.

Thick heavy fog.

Nothing could be seen through it. The coast was nearby, for he could smell sea salt in the air. The sent of rotten crabs and mouldering kelp. Mixed with the acidic scent of waterlogged decayed tree stumps.

Blindly, the Elf ignored the voice and stepped forward into the dense, rolling, grey mist. Struggling to pull his feet from the viscous brown muck with every step, Quaraun had enormous difficulty gaining his footing. But he had scarcely started walking when, instantly, he found himself back at the bar as though he’d never left it.

I didn’t come back inside? How did I get back inside? Magic. Someone is trying to trick me. I don’t appreciate it.”

Quaraun got up and wandered back out of the lodge and into the marshland.

Again, he was suddenly back at the dinner table.

This can’t be happening.”

Quaraun tried a third time to leave the inn, but had hardly set foot outside before he was mysteriously back at the table, yet again.

Excellent, great, abso-fuckin-lutely, fucking fantastic. I really am going insane,” he said as looked down at his hands again. “And I’m still covered in blood. There’s so much blood.”

Thick red juice. Frozen red crystals.

Frozen?

Thin silver and white veins spidered across the blood, freezing it solid. The blood on his hands crystallized.

Sparkling.

Shimmering.

Glistering.

Cold.

So cold.

So unusually cold.

There was a sudden change in temperature as the area grew exceedingly cold. The fog froze and fell in blue ice crystals to the ground, shattering into snow and glazing the floor with glass-like sheets of ice. Ice crystals formed on the wall as frost crackled across the windows. A deathly chill filled the room.

Lich, Quaraun thought immediately.

Quaraun searched around. A new patron entered the Mournful Lamb Inn. The Elf recognized the newcomer. The same man he’d encountered on the street. The one who directed him to this inn. Or rather, he identified the hooded cape. The cynical Moon Elf couldn’t see the guy beneath the black velvet hood.

Images of blood flashed across Quaraun’s mind. The inconsolably depressed Elf tore his eyes from the icy stranger back to his hands. The faint-hearted Elf stared down at his hands. H saw them dripping with gallons of blood.

Quaraun was still staring blindly at his hands when the waitress brought a plate of braised hare. Beside it, she arranged a side dish of diced red cabbage and blood-red rhubarb. Both served with white potato bread, spread with soft, gooey Brie. Also on the table was a frog-leg pie, a tureen of asparagus soup, and platter of scrambled eggs. Steamed small flat acorn noodles with leopard. Star anise and mango-nut-spice bread with a side of diced potato and avocados. Owl with acorns, cumin and cherries on a bed of steamed tundra turnip, cooked shallot and pears. Served with peach cider, gingerbread with apricot jam. Collard green pie and pine nut soup.

It was way more food that Quaraun could have eaten in a week. But it smelled delicious. And brought back memories of something. He couldn’t remember what.

No. Not what. Who. It reminded him of someone. Someone he had known years ago. Decades ago. But who? He wasn’t sure. A chef. He was certain it had been a chef. He could remember living with a chef. Maybe.

His thoughts were interrupted by the waitress continuing to pile plates of food on his table.

I did not ask for any of this.” The absent minded little Moon Elf muttered disapprovingly.

The young woman continued to place items on the dinner table. In minutes, she piled the table in front of the ancient wizard with plates of cuisine. Most of it, food no Elf would ingest. Elves were vegan. They did not eat meat. There was quite a collection of meat here before him.

Nor did I call for the House Special Angelic Ecstasy Mystery Brew,” the dismayed Elf said.

She placed a carafe of said drink in front of him. Quaraun noticed nobody ordered this drink, yet everybody in the building received it. This raised the paranoid old Elf’s suspicions. The thick draught was ruby coloured with ochre specks.

House Special Angelic Ecstasy Mystery Brew.

Quaraun had never tasted it before, but he recognized it from the menu.

House Special Angelic Ecstasy Mystery Brew. It smells of walnuts and honey, but tastes like peaches and raspberries. The thick draught is ruby coloured with ochre specks,” Quaraun recited what he had seen on the menu.

He stared at the glass on his table.

Its crimson colour reminded him of blood. He pushed it aside.

Madame, I ordered nothing.”

No sir,” the waitress agreed. “You didn’t order anything.”

Then why did you bring it?”

The man at the other table, Sir.” The girl pointed to a monstrous, gargoyle-like beast across the lodge.

That’s a man?”

The azure eyed Elf wizard stared at the grey-skinned creature across the room. It resembled a granite statue come to life.

He requested it for you. He has ordered drinks for everyone, sir. You have received this at no charge. I can bring you the alternative liquor as well if you’d like.”

No, this is fine. Wait... What other liquor?”

But she was already gone.

Quaraun looked down at his drink and gasped. Blood boiled over the rim of the glass. Boiled and bubbled and pooled endlessly to the floor, burying everything. Every mug in the room did the same. Blood ran freely, rushing down the tables. More blood dripped from the windows. Blood streamed down the walls of the inn.

Quaraun closed his eyes. Silence drummed in his head, like a pounding headache trying to escape his brain.

Don’t faint,” he told himself.

He felt as though he was passing out. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and waited for the blinding white flashes inside his head to go away. When he opened his eyes again, the blood was gone, so too was the blood on his hands. He stared at the gargoyle. He felt the creature had produced the illusion.

The stone man-beast nodded to Quaraun. A curious character indeed. He seemed a cheerful fellow with slitted grey eyes that glowed blue and Lich-like. This was the man who had just entered the Inn. Beneath the black cloak, he was absolutely naked and every inch of him devoid of hair. He looked to be carved out of stone. He had a grey granite colour to his skin and the grotesque gargoyle features of his face and pointed ears. His hands ended in claws instead of fingers. Long, sharp fangs prevented his mouth from closing entirely. From his back grew a pair of enormous, grey, leathery, bat-like wings. He got up from his own table and joined Quaraun at his. Up close, Quaraun could observe that his stony granite grey skin was translucent. The blood circulating beneath his skin glowed in a luminous pale blue.

Normally, watching blood coursing through veins would have bothered Quaraun. But right now, the absence of hair bothered Quaraun more. Quaraun liked hair. He loved long hair. Quaraun liked men with long hair.

Another memory. This was good, right? Remembering more things, he would better understand the situation he found himself in. Wouldn’t he? He tried to remember why he liked long-haired men. Or rather, why that was the first thing he thought of when looking at a bald man.

But that was beside the point. This wasn’t a man.

Lich,” Quaraun said out loud.

Yis one who likes Liches.”

You’re one of the Lich Lords.”

Does ya see Lich?”

You have the frigid breath of a Lich,” Quaraun said to the stone coloured, winged visitor. “You froze the room when you arrived.”

Un yis Lich hunter.”

Am I?”

Aye.”

I don’t recall.”

We remembers.”

We?”

We also remembers yis scared of blood.”

The Lich touched the brim of Quaraun’s cup.

Quaraun looked down at his cup. The bubbling red liquid was now the same shade of glowing blue as the newcomer’s blood.

Quaraun held up the glass. “What is this?”

"Angelic Ecstasy Mystery Brew as she calls it, eh?" The grey skinned beast-man with large leathery demon wings said to the pale Elf. "It smells like rose perfume un tastes metallic, but leaves delicious eftah taste of bananas un pine on yar tongue. Patrons here seems to become fucking addicted to drinking de fucking stuff, un de more they drinks of it de more they wants it. It is rumoured to be made by local wizard, wid apricots as key ingredient.”

Apricots?”

Aye.”

I remember apricots.”

Aye. Apricots grow on demon trees.”

I like apricots.”

Ya likes de apricots, yes?"

The drink was still changing colour and form as he held the glass and watched it. It was sapphire in colour with bubbles and smoke coming from it and now it smelling like chocolate covered apricots.

BoomFuzzy.”

Always back to BoomFuzzy, isn't it?”

He's dead.”

We knows it, eh?”

He killed himself.”

We knows him did.”

It was my fault.”

Aye, it twere.”

I killed my father.”

Ya ate him.”

Elves don't eat Elves.”

"Is ye un Elf?"

"I used to be."

"Used to be?"

"I changed. I think."

Aye. Ya dids. Ya be Thullid now. De Elf in ya died long, long time gone by ago.”

I've killed everyone.”

Ya most certainly has.”

I'm not an Elf any more.”

Ya has’na been Elf in damned, wicked long time.”

I'm a monster.”

Yis turning into Thullid.”

I don't want to be a Thullid.”

Ya can'na help that.”

I like being an Elf.”

We knows it.”

Who are you?”

A friend. Probably only one ya has left.”

Why do you say that?”

Ya'll remember in time.”

"You are very cold."

"Am I?"

"You feel like a Lich to me, but you look like a gargoyle. What are you?"

"We is Vampire. We tinks.”

You think?”

Not sure.”

How can you not know?”

We twere dead.”

I think everyone here is dead.”

Quaraun looked at the lifeless people moving slowly around the room, some with no limbs, their bodies rotting and decaying as they circled slowly around the room. The room seemed to be fading into the fog, the walls becoming alive with the dead. Quaraun cringed and looked back down at his drink. It was purple now and smelt like grapes, but tasted like plums.

Everyone here is dead.”

Are ya dead?”

I don't feel dead.”

Does ya recognize any of them, eh?”

No. Should I?”

Ya killed them all.”

Did I?”

Aye.”

Quaraun looked around the room. There were seemingly endless hundreds crowded into it, the walls stretching onward forever.

All of them?”

Aye.”

It couldn't have been so many.”

More. The Katopas did’na come here. They were innocent, they went on straight to Heaven, dey did.”

Katopas?”

T'ey is extinct now.”

Did I do that?”

Ya did.”

I’m sorry.”

Do no tell me. Tell them."

I couldn't have killed everyone here.”

No?”

The woman I meet before, she said her husband killed her.”

Ya used to have wife.”

Did I?”

Un four children.”

I remember the children. I killed them too didn't I?”

Ya did.”

I loved my children.”

Ya loved BoomFuzzy more.”

I did.”

Ya killed them four hundred years ago. Un then ya killed yar wife.”

Why did I do that?”

Yis Thullid.”

I'm an Elf.”

Elf body. Aye. With psychotic JellyFish living in yar head, telling ya what to do.”

Everyone here is dead?”

Everyone.”

Am I dead?”

Are ya?”

Are you a Vampire?”

We does'na know.”

How can you not know?”

We twere’na Vampire yesterday.”

You wasn't...” Quaraun stared at the creature, blinking and trying to process the information he'd been given. “Did I kill you?”

Ya did.”

Who are you?”

A Vampire who plans to haunt ya for rest of yar life.”

"Haunt me?"

"Aye."

"Why?"

"Ya killed me."

"Why did I do that?"

"Ya had reasons."

If everyone here is dead and I am here, then am I not dead?”

That does seem logical.”

Then you can't haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Then We will haunt ya for rest of yar death.”

That makes no sense.”

It yar nightmare."

Am I asleep?”

No.”

This feels like a nightmare.”

Ya are damned fucking hell very much awake un dis is no dream.”

How can I be awake if I'm dead?”

Yar nightmare, not mine. We just here to torment ya for all eternity.”

You don't look like a Vampire.”

No?”

You look like a Gargoyle.”

Perhaps We should go perch meself on French cathedral.”

You feel like a Lich. You suck the warmth out of the room.”

We suck warmth out of room almost as fast as Lich does."

The Vampire wasn't drinking the blue House Special Angelic Ecstasy Mystery Brew every one else was. His drink was brown and he drank it through his straw-like tongue.

"Why did you order a meal for me?" Quaraun asked the Vampire.

"To see hows much of yar memory, ya has really lost."

"I'm sorry?"

"Not everything on that plate, ya'd normally eat. In fact some of it'd send ya in out right hysterics."

"The rabbit? And the frogs? I don't eat meat. I'm an Elf."

"Ah. So ya has retained some things. Selective memory loss. Fascinating."

"Do I know you?"

"Ya tell me."

"I don't recall knowing a Vampire, especially not one that looked like stone statue from a cemetery. I think I'd remember knowing someone who looked like you."

"Hmmm."

"When did we meet?"

"Some time ago."

"Did we come here together?"

"Sort of. Ya were in bad state. Like man who lost his best friend. Well. Ya are a man who lost his best friend. Eh? Yis man who gone done killed his best friend. All of them. Ya ain't got no one left un shock has done something to ya head. We brought ya here to rest."

"Are you dead?"

"We Vampire."

"Yes. Vampires are...undead? You have no reflection in the mirror."

The beast turned and looked at the mirror. He flapped his big bat wings and laughed.

"Hoho! No, We does not do We?" He burst out laughing again. "Oh me, look at that lack of reflection! Look at me, not seeing me at all. Well that does be new, eh? We can'na see meself at'all. Ah well, joys of being Vampire, We suppose, not like We ever saw meself damned often before, eh? Oh me dear dying Moses, We can sees de mirror. It clear way across room."

He held out his hand and looked at it.

We can sees me hand! Stony ain’t it, eh? We can sees. We has no seen not’ing in years.”

"So you are a Vampire?"

"So it would seem. Oh dear. That'll take some getting used to. We wonder if We is supposed to bite someone? Do'na suppose We could bite ya un see what happens, eh?"

"You say that like you don't know if you are or are not a Vampire."

The beast shrugged his shoulders and went back to his drink.

"How do you not know if you are a Vampire or not?"

"How do ya not knows yar own name?"

The creature motioned to the barmaid to refill his glass, and then pointed to the Elf. The barmaid brought an identical glass to the Elf.

"Are you dead?" The Elf asked.

"Eh?" The statue-like Vampire laughed. "What fuckingly strange question. Ya keep asking it. Do We look dead?"

"You look like a statue come to life. Aren't Vampires always dead?"

"Oh, We does not be knowing, is they? We has never really known Vampire before ya know, eh? Ya know We does remember dying. Ugh. Horribly. We twere killit by an Orc. Ran great big fucking old battle axe through me centre. Oh. Terrible. Never saw him coming. Of course We used to be blind, so We never no did saw blooming thingamabop anyways. No surprise We did'na see Orc wid hims axe. He damn near cut me in half. No... That no be right... No. We tinks he did cut me in half. Aye! That it! That hows We died. Aye, We remember now. That IS hows We died. We twere cut in half by an Orc. There twere blood everywhere. They gutted me like dead deer."

"That's awful. I'm sorry."

"Then he pulled out all me entrails. Threw them around room. Orcs are like that ya know. We does not like Orcs. They taste worse then Dwarves. Have ya ever tried to eat an Orc?"

"No. I'm an Elf. We don't..."

"Ya does not eat things that used to be alive, because ya does not believe in taking lives. We knows it. But that why yis here. Ya did take life. Elves so rarely kill anyone. Un you? Ya fucking can'na stop killing everyone."

"Did I kill someone?"

"Ya killed shit load ton of someones. Ya got problem, ya know. Yis an Elf who wants to be Lich. Ya lover became Lich un did’na want to get left behind."

"You're a strange Vampire."

"Yis strange Elf. We has only been Vampire for 6 days now. We died 6 days ago. We twere cut in half by an Orc 6 days ago."

"That's awful..."

"Ya look like like yis gonna faint."

"I might. I often do."

"Are ya dead?"

"What? Why would you ask that?"

"Well ya asked it to me first un this is Swamp of Death."

"Meaning?"

"This is where people come when they does not want to die. When they can’na face dair own death. They can'na move on in undeath un can'na move forward in death either. So they come here, to rest, come to terms wid dair death, before moving on. I sort of decided to just stay here un not move on. Oh dear. They have good food here. Good drinks. Good wenches. Ya does not look half bad yarself, well, for an Elf who looks like he just seen ghost. Yis pretty one. We could fuck ya all day. Haha!!"

"Are there ghosts here too?" Quaraun tried to ignore the Vampire's flirting with him.

"Oh, aye. Aye." The Vampire turned around, leaning back on the bar and staring out into the crowd. "We does not suppose ya noticed, when ya were noticing that We did'na have reflection, that in fact, only person in this room WITH reflection, is ya."

The Elf turned back to the mirror. The Vampire was right. No one was reflecting in the mirror. Then turned back to the Vampire. "You're all dead?"

The Vampire nodded. "But yis not. So, hows ya get here?"

"I don't know."

"Ya is by no chance Necromancer is ya?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"We knew Necromancer once. He had love affair wid Death. Used to slightly, almost kill himself over un over agains, just so he could walk in valley between life un death. He used to come back un talk aboot all dead people he had meet over here, in wayside between. He twere me father, ya know. One day, he murdered me mum. He built statue of her out of volcanic glass. Tied her to an altar in front of statue, un then cut out her heart un ate it. We can still remember her fearfully terrified screams, begging, pleading, crying. Over un over agains.

'Please do'na kill me. Please, We loves ya. Do'na kill me.'

He did'na listen. He twere possessed by his new found love of death. He wanted me mum to join him in world between life un death, so he killed her completely then almost, not quite killed himself so he could see her on other side. Only thing twere, he forgot that death twere complete un final, once he had eaten her heart. He twere Necromancer, he could raise dead, build armies of dead minions, but he could'na bring back life to dead, who'd been killed truly un completely, as he had done wid her. He forgot that until he tried raise her from grave un then remembered he'd eaten her heart. He tied me up un made me watch, while he cut her up piece by piece, drank her blood. There twere so much blood. Sawed off her head. Her arms. Her legs..."

"I'm sorry...could you...not...talk about ...uhm...that?"

"Oh me, ya look positively ill. Stuff like that really does bother ya do it not?"

"Yes."

"And ya is Necromancer."

"Am I?"

"Aye."

"What a bad career for someone who faints as often as I do."

"Ya does not even need to see blood to faint, do ya, eh? Just tinksing aboot it is enough."

"Yes."

"Ya needs anoth‘er drink."

The Vampire called the barmaid over to refill the Elf's glass, and then continued his story. "He twere going to kill me next. Me father. But We escaped un We ran away. We hid in forest un he could'na find me. He searched for years. He twere going to cut me heart out, mix it wid her bloody remains un raise her up as Lich. They were going to live happily ever eftah of eternity as Lich King un Queen. Me father twere insane ya know. The spell he twere doing, twere incomplete. It would never be finished, unless he could get me up on that altar, un do to me, same thing he did to me mum."

"Your father was horrible."

"Oh, aye, him twere horrible. He twere terrible. Ya see, he wanted to become Lich. It twere his goal to become most powerful Lich world had ever known."

"Like the Lich Lords?"

"Aye. Exactly like Lich Lords. Completely like Lich Lords. In fact, me father, invented idea of Lich Lords. He twere going to be fucking first of Lich Lords un be dair leader. The whole Lich Lord thingamabop twere his idea. If it twere'na for me father dair would be no Lich Lords today. He created spell. That great big, super powered, Lich ritual, unlike any other Lich making ritual ever created. They never would have gotten as far as they had without him. But it did'na go as he planned it. See he twere going to crown himself king over all undead creature of night, un me mum twere going to rule as his undead queen, but We escaped un fled un hid in forest un he desperately need me blood un he could'na find me un he can'na finish what he started without me."

"I don't understand."

"The altar. He made it, un he polished it wid our blood, me un me mum. He created spell, so that when he killed me mum dead un took her to other side, this realm here where we are right now, he twere going to convince her that she could live forever un walk in both worlds. He twere going to kill her, un than raise her from dead, as Lady Lich, using me blood as sacrificial exchange. One can'na become Lich unless one murders thing one loves most. Me mum loved me most of all, un to make her Lich, We had to die in her place to make her immortal. But We escaped un fled to forest un hid for hundreds of years un he never found me."

The Vampire ordered more drinks, then continued talking.

"We got better of him though? We killed them all. We took his altars, his daggers, his spell books, his potions...We took his super powered Lich making ritual, un We poisoned him wid his own spell. He died as sacrificial offering to fucking Lich spell he created. He never got to become Lich, because We became Lich instead. Un then We go un get killed by an Orc."

"But Liches can't die. That is the nature of being a Lich. They are immortal. You kill one they come back."

"Exactly. Here We is. Back agains. Did ya know, We has died five times now. We just keep coming back. Un We never know what it is, We go to be when We comes back. Look at me now. Well, suck a cock dick damn it twinkies, ya look at me. We can'na looks at meself. No reflection. No clue what We look like,"

"You look like a Gargoyle."

"Aye, We can sees me stony hands un me stony feet, un We got these great big wings on me back now. We tinks that means We can fly. We has no tried. Do'na know. Do ya suppose We can fly? We is na yet used to it, eh? It is all still new to me. That why We is here, in Swamp of Death. Once We come to terms wid me new capability, We'll's move on un return as dead thing that walks among living."

"And the other people here,,,"

"Ya see that barmaid over dair? Her husband killed her. Strangled her in her sleep. She ghost now. She does'na know she dead. And see that one over dair, pretty one wid wet hair. She drowned. Fell in river. Poor thing. she Keeps running out into swamps hoping she'll get to other side, but no matter which way she runs, she always end up back in here. We all do. We are stuck here in Mournful Lamb Inn, until such time as we come to terms wid our death."

"So everyone here, in this tavern... is dead?"

"Ahyah."

"Except for me?"

"Exactly."

"And I am somehow caught in between."

"So it would seem. "

"Then why am I here? If I'm not dead."

"Me guess? Ya probably tried to kill yarself un did not succeed, however yar soul is so distraught that ya are refusing to return to yar body. That'd be me guess. Unless of course ya were Necromancer preparing to become Lich."

"Why would I do that?"

"Which one?"

"Either."

"Well, Tits! people who are happy wid dair life, do not try 'to kill themselves. If an attempt at self-murder is reason ya are here, then We would say ya were fucking unhappy person, living sad un lonely life. Ya felt no one loved ya un that ya'd hurt people around ya so much, that ya felt they could not forgive ya, for whatever wrong ya did."

The Vampire reached out and took hold of Quaraun's hands, forcing him to stretch his arms across the table.

"Un by cuts on yar arms, We'd've say ya nearly succeeded."

"There are no cuts on my arms."

"Ya does no sees them, eh?"

"No."

"We does. They is be so deep. Yis right handed. De cut on yar right hand is not deep, but one on yar left wrist, goes clean to bone. It took lot of force to go that deep wid single swipe, to yar own arm. Ya were really upset. Ya really felt that ya deserved to die. Ya tried to execute yarself. Ya poor Elf. There be lot of guilt un shame in cut that deep."

"There are no cuts."

"They are dair. Yis ignoring them. Ignoring things ya does not want to see is thingamabop yis good at. Ya been doing it for while now. Ya'll see them in time. When yis ready to come to terms wid what ya have done."

"And the other option? Becoming a Lich?"

"Pretty much same answer. People who are happy wid dair life does not try to become Lich. We tinks person who tried to become Lich is even more sad un more lonely then one who tried to take his own life."

"Why?"

"Because suicide is to escape this life un hope dair is better life beyond. Ya has not completely given up all hope. But to become Lich, ya have to believe dair is no life beyond this one, so ya try to hold on un stay here, by killing yarself. A Lich has given up all hope. Either way it self-murder un it sad when anyone tries to take dair own life. People ought to be loved. Everyone should have someone to love them. There is no greater happiness in life, then to love un to be loved in return. Someone who feels they are loved, does'na try to kill themselves. As long as ya feel hope that someone loves ya, ya feel hope that dair is reason to live. But when everyone who loved yis dead, un ya realize that ya are left alone in this great big world, ya open yar heart to deepest, darkest, depths of despair. Waves of sadness wash over yar life un fill ya wid such sorrow as ya can'na bear. Ya are very sad Elf. Ya tried to kill yarself. A happy Elf does'na do that."

"Everyone I loved is dead. I remember that."

"We knows it. We remember it too. Ya lost yar family, yar lover, yar people. Ya had only three friends left in world un ya lost them too. Ya could'na bear to wander world alone. Ya tried to kill yarself un ya considered becoming Lich. We twere dair. We saw ya run that sharp glass Lich making dagger through yar wrist. Ya can'na face what ya did to yar friends. Un ya can'na face what ya did to yarself. Ya are not yet dead, but ya does not want to live any more un ya are here to come to terms wid yar actions."

"If you know all this, why are you still here. Wouldn't someone with knowledge of these thing have already come to terms with his death and moved on?"

"Oh well, We has come to terms wid me death, but not well. Ya see, We did'na stay dead. We is Vampire ya know. Un not by choice, or even by attack. A Necromancer made me Vampire. Which svá means We be bound to him as his undead minion. We is his thrall, We does not like that. We does not like being slave or prisoner or thrall to anyone. We likes me freedom. We want me freedom."

"I'm sorry."

TWO MONTHS EARLIER: THE BEGINNING OF THE END


"Wood sorrel un...what?"

"Bee Balm."

"Bee Bums."

Unicorn watched Quaraun gather the plants.

"Balm," Quaraun corrected, the Phooka's mispronounced wod.

"Aye, bee bums."

"No balm."

"Tis what We said."

Quaraun sighed and shook his head. He suspected Unicorn was saying words incorrectly on purpose, giving which words it was that he was selectively saying wrong.

"Un what is ya going to do wid them?"

"Make you a drink which will ease your pain. It'll help you to walk without your bones hurting."

"Magic? We does no trust yar magic."

"It's not magic, Unicorn. It's food. You like food. You're BoomFuzzy. You're a chef. Your whole life revolves around food. You make enough of it. I don't know who you expect to eat half the food you make. I'm only one person. This is not magic, it is food. It's a drink. I started out as a rootworker. I know which plants help with pain. I... I used to help people. I was good at...I was sick my whole life. I had to become efficient at taking care of myself. Healers got expensive after a while, when you go to enough of them, often enough. And sometimes you can heal yourself if you know the right plants to eat."

"Is ya often in pain?"

"I used to be. My father used to beat me. You know that. There were so many nights, I couldn't sleep, because I couldn’t lay down, because of the cuts and bruises. He beat me with a cane most days, other days with a whip."

"That be why yar back is scarred, eh?"

"Yes. I had to learn to make things that eased the pain. I hate pain and suffering."

"Ya do likes pain un suffering in bed."

"That's different. And it's YOU who likes pain and suffering in bed, not me. I'm perfectly fine without it. You're a sadistic freak."

Quaraun sat on his knees and gazed sadly at the clump of green clover-like plants in his hand.

"I liked helping people."

"Un now ya hurts them."

"What's happened to me, Unicorn? I didn't used to be like this. I couldn't hurt any body. I couldn't even imagine hurting any body. It horrified me, the very thought of hurting any body. I couldn't hurt a plant. Picked the leaves carefully to not hurt the plant. I didn't have it in me to fight. I couldn't even stand up to my father. I couldn't think bad thoughts about anyone. Now I hurt people all the time. I hurt you and now you're scared of me. No one was ever scared of me before. There was no reason for anyone to be scared of me. The whole fucking world is scared shitless of me now."

"Well, ya did try to kill me."

"I'm so sorry I hurt you. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"People change. Me father did. He killed me mum dead un tried to kill me dead too. Dabbling in Dark Magic does that to ya."

"I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anybody."

"Ya can turn back. Ya does not have to keep going on wid this quest. Just stop. Find place to live un settle down. Go back to way ya were. Put dark arts behind ya. It do be not too late."

"You don't know the things I've done."

"We knows yis not done enough to lose yar soul. We can sees that in yar eyes. We has seen men lose themselves. Corrupt dair soul so far that they can'na turn back. Ya has not reached that point Quaraun. Whatever ya has done, yar soul is still yars. Ya twere soul bound to BoomFuzzy. He feels ya soul. He knows yis not evil. Ya has not turned evil. Ya heart has not turned cold. Ya can be wid BoomFuzzy agains. We can do that for ya, ya knows that. It is what ya heart wants. Ya can stop this. Go back to being man ya twere before."

"I can't go back to being who I was. My family is dead. My people are dead. I murdered my children. BoomFuzzy is dead. You're dead. I am alone."

"Yis not alone. Ya have us. Even eftah what ya did in Pepper Valley, we is still wid ya."

"You left. I drove you away."

"We came back. We here, right now. Talking wid ya."

"You came back, because you were too scared of me not too."

"We is scared of ya. Yar right, but We is wid ya ain't We? Yis fucking powerful wizard, Quaraun. We all saw that. Ya can do things wid ya mind un ya has temper. Ya has a bad temper. Ya lose control. It makes ya dangerous. Ya can kill people just by wanting them dead. Everyone should be fearfully terrified of ya. Ya has power of god un ya twere born wid it an ya do'na know hows to use it. It makes ya dangerous. We tinks ya faddah knew what ya were. He knew power ya had. That be why he beat ya, tried to make ya scared. Wanted ya to be afraid to hurt anyone, so ya would never use ya powers for evil. We does no tinks he hated ya, Quaraun. We tinks he twere scared of ya un knew he had to get an upper hand why ya twere young, before ya discovered hows powerful ya twere.”

I killed him.”

We knows.”

I killed all of them.”

Un then ya blamed it on me. We knows.”

I told people the Lich Lords killed my people.”

We knows ya did.”

I killed everyone in my village.”

It strange power ya possess. We ai'na never seen any one who could do it before.”

I'm soul bound to a Lich.”

Aye. We knows it. I is dat Lich, remember? I is as bound to ya as ye are to me.”

I killed everyone on Kelim's village. Except for Kelim. I made him watch. I made him watch the ones he loved die, the same way my people made me watch BoomFuzzy die. Why did I do that? What happened to me? I am a monster.”

Yis not monster.”

What have I done?”

Ya went insane because they pushed ya too far. They drove ya lover to suicide un made ya watch him die. Ya retaliated by doing unto them as they did unto ya.”

He suffered for three days in agony. A slow poison, with no cure. It liquefied his insides. He lay there suffering for three days before he died, drowning in his own blood.”

Twas horrible way for him to die. I should know, seeing how it was me. I is well aware I suffered for t'ree days before I died.”

I loved him and I couldn't save him.”

So yis gonna try to save me, eh?”

I don't want you to die.”

We is old. Old things die.”

You weren't this sick before Fire Mountain. I shouldn't have taken you there.”

Ya tried to kill me. Ya tied me to a fucking altar, un slit me chest, slit me t'roat. It good t'ing I already dead."

"I'm trying to undeadify you."

"Yis was going eat me heart."

"I'm sorry."

"Quaraun. Yis insane."

"I'm not insane."

"Oh no! Of course not! Eating ya best friend's heart is perfectly normal t'ing every sane person does."

"What is wrong with me?"

"Dair be parasitic alien jellyfish eating ya brain, it making ya act crazy."

"I tied you to the Obsidian Altar and drained your blood. I've lost my mind."

"Aye. Ya has. Un it has taken toll on me health.”

I'm sorry. I hurt you and chased you away. I've made you scared of me.”

We ai'na so scared that We did no come back. We still loves ya, Quaraun. We just need time to fully trust ya agains. We does not trust easily. Will take time. But We trust ya enough to be travelling wid ya agains. Ya really are sorry ya went crazy cannibal Elf on me un tried to eat me. We can sees that."

"Maybe you cook too much food."

"Oh yes, of course. Blame yar cannibalistic meltdowns on de chef, who most certainly is no starving ya to death. Who ya t'ink gonna feed ya after eats ya chef? Un Elf trying to eat de Elf Eater. What de fuck?"

"I suppose there would be some irony in it if The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley got eaten by an Elf, wouldn't it?"

"Aye."

"Bullgaar is only with me because of some blind sense of adventure. Some strange need to travel for no real reason."

"Bullgaar do be Dwarf, Dwarves is daft, ya know that."

BeaLuna made some sort of promise to my mother, to look after keep me out of trouble."

"Eh."

"Something wrong?"

"Dair more to it than dat. I nno sure why ya can'na see it."

"What am I not seeing?"

"Ghosts? Zombies? Vampires? And other assorted dead t'ings."

"Why would I want to see things like that?"

"I t'ink dat be de problem. Ya does nay want to sees dem, so ya chooses not to."

"Suggesting they are around?"

"Aye. When was de last time ya talked to BeaLuna?"

"What do you mean? I talk to her every day."

"I know. Dat is what worries me."

"Why does that worry you?"

"I can'na trust ya, Quaraun, until ya open ya eyes un see de truth."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"I know. I can sees dat."

"You are being mysterious like a Faerie again."

"Because I is a Faerie. It what we do. When was last time ya had conversation wid someone who was no dead?"

"I don't like being reminded that you are dead."

"I not de only dead person, ya talk to, Quaraun."

Unicorn sat down on the wet, mossy ground beside Quaraun. The Elf was still staring glumly at the tiny plants in his hand. Unicorn slid his hands under Quaraun's arms and hugged his chest, resting his chin on the Elf's shoulder.

"Ya went on dis quest to help people. Have ya forgotten dat?"

"No."

"Does ya even remember where we was going?"

"No. I can't even remember who we were helping."

"Ha! Some wizard for hire ya turned out to be."

"I'm not a wizard for hire. I'm a tailor. I weave silk. I embroider silk. I sew silk dresses."

"Un ya wears dem."

"I like wearing dresses."

"I know. I not complaining. I never gonna complain near yas again. I learn dat lesson."

"I'm sorry, I tried to eat you."

"I know."

"How does ya expect to fight evil if ye are evil?"

"Fighting fire with fire?"

"Ya fight fire wid water."

"I have a phobia of water."

"Is dair nothing ya do'na has phobia of?"

"I'm not scared of everything."

"Ya has a phobia of milk. Un snakes. Un pumpkins."

"Pumpkins chase me everywhere I go."

"Quaraun, ya completely bonkers."

"Bonkers. That's what BeaLuna said."

"When?"

"The day she introduced me to BoomFuzzy. She said he was stark bonking bonkers out of his mind, and that I would love him because he was crazier than me."

"Aye. Un now ya crazier than I is."

"Are you BoomFuzzy?"

"Aye, Quaraun, I is BoomFuzzy. We soul bound. Why can ya not feels it no more?"

"I don't know."

"Is we going to finish ya quest or no?"

"What were we doing? I can't remember."

"Yar goal twere to stop evil un keep more people from being hurt. Yis trying to do great good here. But yis only one person. Entire armies have attempted to battle Lich Lords, Un Lich Lords have killed them all. Entire cities have risen up un done battle against Lich Lords un others is all dead now. Hundreds. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands."

"All dead. Dead. All battling Lich Lords. It's all my fault. I built the Lich Lords."

"Aye. Un here yis, one wee wee lil Elf, wid no army, no weapons, just a blind Phooka, drunk Dwarf, stubborn Gnome, not one of them wid any skill in fighting, un yis nervous wreck faint at sight of... well anything. Ya has no got chance this side this side of Hell to fight even one Lich Lord un here yis all ready to fight all thirteen of them at once, fully expecting to win, kill them all, save world, all so people can live without fear, pain, death, un suffering."

"I caused all their fear and pain and death and suffering. Everything is my fault."

"Big bad evil ass Necromancer. What'd ya expect. Pooping rainbows un eating gumdrops? Did ya really t'ink ya could resurrect de dead un no have consequences?"

"Yeah. I kind of did."

"Yis stupid, Quaraun."

"I know. I thought doing bad things with good intentions would make it... different."

"Ya fucking guilt be dair problem."

"Why?"

"Ot'er Necromancers kill on a whim. I did. Gibedon did. Do no bat eye. Feel no guilt. Feel no remorse."

"I'm not other Necromancers. I'm me."

"Aye. Un now ya feel need to fix all damage ya caused."

"I don't think I can. I caused too much."

"Un ya does not even expect anything in return for all yar trouble un that is why we is wid ya Quaraun. Because yis not evil, not for all yar horribly failed attempts at Necromancy."

"My attempts didn't fail. That's the problem. I'm better at Necromancy than any one else. I can do things no Necromancer could ever dream of doing."

"Ya tried to use Dark Magic to help people. Yis trying to do good un we know that. Quaraun, Bullgaar un BeaLuna, they both like ya un they would not stay wid ya if they thought ya were evil. Un ya should know by now that We does not believe yis evil. Yar heart is in right place. We tinks ya has made bad choices, because ya has reached point of frustration un ya does not really know what to do. Some times good people, do bad things. Yis good person Quaraun."

Quaraun closed his eyes to fight back the tears.

"Unicorn, I slaughtered an entire village. Just like the Lich lords. I only left two people alive and I made them watch while their families died. I didn't have to kill them. I didn't even want to. I killed them out of spite. The one I left alive. Kelim, the pixie. The same Pixie that led me to ZooLock, and the map that led me to you. I never told you, why he took the vial or what it even was. You asked."

"We did. We remember. Ya were quite upset when ya were talking aboot it. "

"I never answered you, "

"Ya avoided answering me. As We recall, ya changed subject. "

Quaraun reached into the beaded heart shaped bag and pulled out the tiny glass vial, also shaped like a heart, and filled with glowing green goo.

"This is it..."

"De vial from ZooLock? It look like alchemy potion."

"It's not what it looks like it is."

"No?"

"No. Not even close."

"What is it?"

"It's a weapon."

"Ya has weapon?"

"A horrible weapon. And I made it."

"What is it?"

"It's a monster. A terrible beast. If I open the bottle, she will come pouring out, like a Genie and kill, on command, any thing I tell her to kill. She kills for me."

"She?"

"I have never directly killed anyone with my own two hands, but I unleashed this on the Pixie's village and it killed every last man, woman, and child among them, even... They were gathered together in their leader's palace to celebrate the birth of his daughter's first child. Kelim... Kelim was married to Finderu's daughter Ofeliah. Finderu. Leader of the Guild himself. I wanted to kill them all."

"But ya did not?"

"No."

"Why?"

"The baby. I couldn't kill the baby. Plus she was pregnant. One baby in her arms. Another in her belly. I couldn't go through with killing his family, like I had planned to do."

"Why not?"

"It reminded me of my own children. I love them so much. I didn't want to hurt them. I didn't want them to see what I was going to do to their mother. That's why I killed them before I killed her. I hunted Finderu for so many years. Decades. Planning to kill his family. And when I got there. I couldn't do it. I was going to let them go. I was about to walk away. I started to walk away. I was leaving. I was going to let them live."

"What happened?"

"The baby. Kelim, handed me the baby."

"His baby?"

"It was her baby. Finderu's daughter, she was the baby's mother. She cried and pleaded and begged me to spare her child's life and I killed it anyways for no real reason other then the fact that I had had once a disagreement with her husband. He hired me and I did the job I was hired to do, and once it was done he felt no obligation to pay me. I didn't need the money. I didn't even care about the money. He cheated me. It was principle of the thing. But than I found out he was married to Finderu's daughter. I would have gladly made on exchange, other arrangements, even ripped up the contract and accepted nothing, had it not been for what he did."

Quaraun stopped talking and stared down at the tiny glass bottle in his trembling hand.

"I asked, if he had something else to pay me with and he said 'take the baby.' His poor wife, went hysterical. They started arguing and he just kept telling me to take the baby. He said it was unimportant, and told his wife that because I was a Necromancer I wouldn't stop bothering them for payment of my services, until I had killed one of them, because in Kelim's mind I was evil and only wanted a soul. His theory was that the baby was insignificant and unimportant, it's soul easily sold, exchanged, given away. It made me angry that he put so little value on life. For a mother to lose her child, there is no greater pain... I know. It's why... it's why I killed my children, before I killed my wife. I tell myself it was because I did not want them to see her die. That is not true. It was the other way around. I wanted her to watch them die. I hated her. I wanted to make her suffer. That's why I killed the children first, before I killed my wife. I loved my children so much, but I hated her so much more."

Quaraun fell silent again. BoomFuzzy said nothing. He didn't know what to say. Quaraun had never talked about the day he'd murdered his family before. He'd tried before, but it upset him too much.

"I saw myself in Kelim. He was like me. Selfish. But worse. My resolve to leave and let them live, melted away. I saw how little he cared about life. And I wanted him to feel the same guilt I felt."

"Perhaps ya is evil af'er all."

"Kelim didn't care about the suffering he would cause for his wife, and that's when I realized, Kelim was every bit as evil, as he believed I was. And in a split second I decided to teach him a lesson, by unleashing a DracoLich on their village and force Kelim and Ofeliah to watch, helplessly while the DracoLich devoured everyone, leaving nothing behind.

"I left Kelim alive, that he might learn that he had no idea what he had until I took it away. I left his wife alive, that she might learn to hate him, now that she knew he had bought her love and I could hypnotize her into loving him, just as easily as I could snap my fingers and take the spell away. Once she woke up out from my spell and realized she never really loved him... and he caused her baby to die. I am not a good person, Unicorn. A good person doesn't kill an innocent baby, to spite its father, much less kill an entire village for the same reason."

"An evil man, would'na feel guilt. An evil man would'na be sitting here, crushed by regrets. Yis good man who has done bad things. Ya can stop doing bad things, before ya do become evil: A evil man, is one who does bad things un no longer feels guilt, remorse, or regret. Do'na keep doing bad things. It do be as simple as that."

"It is not simple. I have done so many bad things now, that I destroyed Kelim's village without even thinking about. It has become second nature for me to react by hurting people. I tried to kill you. I love you and I tried to kill you anyways, and that wasn't in the heat of passion like it was with Kelim. I planned and plotted your death for weeks: cold and calculating. That wasn't killing someone in the heat of the moment. That was murder. I tried to murder you."

"But ya did'na, Quaraun. Ya did'na kill me because yis not evil un ya could'na do something like that."

BoomFuzzy is gay. 


No. See above.


GhoulSpawn is gay.


Again, no, and again, see above.



In fact, the ONLY people who see Quaraun as gay, are members of 3 local churches:

Curtis Lake in Sanford, Maine

That Church in Biddeford, Maine a division of Curtis Lake

The Saco Ward of the Augusta Stake of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Saco, Maine

...a total of around 4,000 Mainers, of whom more than 2,000 are members of the Neo-Nazi Organization, The Ku Klux Klan, and/or The Sovereign Citizens.

All 3 of those churches are led by minsters who are also town counselors of The Old Orchard Beach Town Hall.

The rumor that Quaraun was gay was started by Bishop Dan Keening, and his 2st and 2nd counsellors Joel Bailey (Old Orchard Beach Town Hall's accountant who went to prison for embezzling $30million in tax money from the town hall bank account) and Jim Thomas (Old Orchard Beach Town Manager who went to prison for a lot of criminal activities including extortion, racketeering and stealing $30million in town taxes, causing more than a 1,000 residents to have their houses foreclosed on illegally even though they had paid their taxes.)

In 2007 an FBI investigation was started into these 3 men, the Old Orchard Beach Town Hall, the Old Orchard Beach Police Department, and the 3 above mentioned churches run by those men, and all the members of those 3 congregations. In total more than 50 people went to prison, and more than 200 people did jail time, all for the embezalling of $30million in Old Orchard Beach tax money stolen from the town hall bank account. (DO KNOW that if you bought a house in Old Orchard Beach, especially a condo built after 2001, that there is a 90% chance you bought stolen property and could find yourself faced with a lawsuit when the original owners try to get their land back from you, demolish your brand new condo and rebuild their house - something that more than 200 victims have done all ready, since 2016.)

While SOME of the 1,000+ residents who were illegally foreclosed on even though they had paid their taxes on time, were able to get their land back, MOST, are now homeless while the very same backhoe that drove over my house in 2013, builds condominiums on their land, because yes, the town sold almost all the land to one man, the developer who owns said backhoe.

Case in point the house that is currently being built at 144 Portaland ave... the location of my house blown up by a bomb in 2006.

NO, that is NOT me rebuilding yet another house... that is someone else who bought my land ILLEGALLY from the Old Orchard Beach Town Hall (unaware they bought it illegally - unaware that the land was stolen, by these men who pocketed my tax money and never marked my tax bill as paid... something they did for over a decade to me and over 1,000 residents, stealing in total $30million in tax money from residents, who THOUGHT they had paid their tax bills but were unaware  that the man sitting in the town tax office was putting the money in his own bank account.)

The first time anyone accused Quaraun of being gay was September 12, 2015, when the very same backhoe driver showed up in my yard, with members from all 3 churches, one of homes is owned by his wife's brother, and stood in my driveway chanting "Too gay for the family friendly town of Old Orchard Beach".

Since September 12, 2015, members of these 3 churches took to hanging posters around York County, Maine with pictures of me, my car, and my books on them, warning people that I was "a gay transvestite", accusing me of making the claim of being "an alien abductee", and saying I write "gay Erotica".

I am not gay.

I am not a transvestite.

I've never been abducted by aliens. I don't even believe in aliens or UFOs.

I don't write Gay Erotica.

But, gay hatred and trans phobia and fear of aliens and UFOs is such a wide spread prevalence in Maine, that these 3 churches, their 4,000 members, and their wild rumors about me, resulted in mass hysteria in Old Orchard Beach, Saco, Biddeford, and Sanford, Maine, where residents took to "protecting themselves from the gay-pocalypse" by gathering up assault rifles, machine guns, and shot guns, and attacking my family, riddling their homes with bullets... several houses in several towns... murdering their pets (cats, dogs, chickens, and horses) and chain sawing their cars in half.

Yes... some 30,000 Maine residents took to attacking total strangers simply because they believed they were gay, transgender, or gay sympathizers, with more than 12,000 attacks happening between 2016 and 20119, in York County Maine, all because one man was pissed off that he didn't get to put a condominium on my land, so he incited gay-terror into the gayphobia people of Maine, knowing doing so would incite them to attack my family, my friends, my relatives, and my neighbours in massive transphobic gay hating hysteria.

This in turn resulted in more than 20,000 people who live in Old Orchard Beach, Saco, Biddeford, and Sanford, Maine to go online to FaceBook and Twitter spread the false rumor of my books being gay and spreading the false rumor of my being an alien abductee. All because they were brain-dead idiots too incompetent to research the facts and find out WHO had started the rumors and WHY.

In the end, the residents of Old Orchard Beach, Saco, Biddeford, and Sanford, Maine have all made themselves look like the retarded gay hating idiots they are.

I've said it before and say it again: I don't write Erotica and none of my characters are gay, and anyone who has ever ACTUALLY READ my books, knows that... the ONLY people who accuse me, my books, or my characters of being gay are GAY-HATERS who are trying to stir up on GAY HATERS into armed assaults on my family, friends, and neighbours. NO ONE ELSE has EVER called me, my books, or my characters gay... because everyone else has enough brain to know what gay means (2 men in love or 2 men who have sex) and know that something being pink doesn't make it "gay".

Next time you feel like flapping your lying mouth off about me or anyone else, try doing a little research first to make sure you aren't just spreading malicious rumours started by hateful people.

When you know the SOURCE of the rumors, you start to see the situation in a whole new light.

Readers, seeing Quaraun as 15 Years Old, when he's 750 and described as being compared to a 90 year old Human...

>>>I just realized Quaraun is an older man. I thought he was a kid. The way you write him, he acts like a child. I thought he was 15 at most, but I saw you mention him as elderly on Twitch and going back I reread the book and, now I see he's supposed to be in his 90's. I am having a hard time seeing someone his age siting on the ground screaming and throwing a temper tantrum because he got wet.

>>>I just realized Quaraun is an older man. I thought he was a kid. The way you write him, he acts like a child. I thought he was 15 at most, but I saw you mention him as elderly on Twitch and going back I reread the book and, now I see he's supposed to be in his 90's. I am having a hard time seeing someone his age siting on the ground screaming and throwing a temper tantrum because he got wet.



You should watch a few of my dog walking vlogs. Pay attention to my husband... the 72-year-old man walking with me and my dog, in those vlogs.

I’ll wait for you to go watch them.

Doesn’t matter which one.

There are more than 2,000 of them, which feature him, 

>>>siting on the ground screaming and throwing a temper tantrum because he got wet.

...because it rained on him, because he almost but not quite stepped in a puddle and didn’t get wet but could have, because he saw dog poop, because he thought it might rain, because there was a rock across the street that he could trip over had he been over there even though he wasn’t, or...

... because someone might spill milk on him from an upstairs window... WHY is someone going to throw milk out the window I ask... he has a million and one reasons how and why, milk could, might, possibly, maybe fall out the window, hit him on the head, and send him to the hospital in a coma, and the very thought of his is enough to make him self talk himself into a frenzy, resulting in him sitting on the sidewalk, shrieking at the top of his lungs that he’s going to die being killed by a bottle of milk falling out the window and he can’t move, because we are on the sidewalk between two houses that have upstairs balconies over the sidewalk and might, maybe, could be, possibly be someone up there waiting to toss a bowl of milk out into the street, so, he’s going to sit on the side walk, screaming like a fucking 2-year-old, while me and my dog stand there wondering how the hell did he just go from walking the dog like a normal person, to sitting on the sidewalk screaming about death by milk while having a major melt down panic attack.

...meanwhile, on Twitch, because, you know, I livestream dog walking, my chat is going insane bullying him and making fun of him, because, yeah, he’s having a total conniption in the middle of the sidewalk, now he’s laying on his back, just letting out a single long scream that will continue until he passes out...

... did I mention my husband is 72 years old? And in the past 9 years that he’s decided to join me in walking my dog, he’s done this in more than 2,000 livestreams?

Have I also mentioned that Quaraun’s panic attacks and paranoias, irrational fears, and childlike temper tantrums are all straight up me going back to watch the VODs and writing down verbatim word-for-word everything Ben says and does when he has these meltdowns?

A lot of Quaraun’s actions and dialogue (a good 90%) is straight up me just writing down the things Ben does and says every day.

Ben has always acted like this. We’ve been together since he was 37, and he’s a challenge to live with because he DOES act like a very young toddler.

As a child, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. Most of his life the general public has pointed and laughed and called him either retarded or insane, in his 50’s he was re-diagnosed as “severely Autistic”.

Quaraun has Autism. ACTUAL Autism. Not Asperger’s. 

Autism is thought of as a childhood illness... but it doesn’t go away just because the person turns 18. It stays with them their whole life.

In novels, you ALWAYS see Autistic characters as ONLY children. you never see them as adults.

You see the tantrums in child characters, but these writers, don’t understand Autism because they don’t have it and they know anyone who has it, so they think it’s just a child having a temper tantrum and assume at around 8 years old, it’ll go away. It doesn’t.

Now that that person, make them 70 years old and add on top of Autism, Alzheimer’s. 

I’ve lived with Ben’s irrational paranoias and public temper tantrums for 40+ years, so I’m used to it, but now he also has Alzheimer’s and child like nature is worse than ever before, as not one but now 2 mentally debilitating brain disorders cause him to be very child like and act like a 2-year-old more than ever.

Quaraun has Autism. ACTUAL Autism. Not Asperger’s. He also has Alzheimer’s.

And everything you see Quaraun do, if you watch my dog walking videos, you’ll see Ben doing them too.

I DO leave much of Quaraun's physical appearance up to the reader. The only features ever described are these:


  • * floor-sweeping, mega-long silvery white hair that drags on the ground behind him

  • * icy almost white, pale blue eyes with pink pupils

  • * pointed nose

  • * long thin fingers

  • * long thin rabbit-like pointed ears that stand a foot tall over his head

Everything else is left up to reader imagination.

The way I do it it this: my Quaraun self describes himself as "the most beautiful being ever to exist", he wanted for several crimes, including murder, so there are wanted posters everywhere of him. In one scene it says this:

“Told you I had papers. Ugh. Look at that picture.” Quaraun held the wanted poster up beside his face. “I am the most beautiful Elf the world has ever seen. Look at me! And now look at this.. this... THIS!" He pointed to the drawing on the wanted poster. "This picture doesn’t do me justice. That artist, clearly never saw me. How does Finferu ever expect to capture me if he can’t even find an artist that can capture my glorious beauty?”

“You’re very vain, aren’t you?”

“Why, of course I am. You would be too, if you were as beautiful as me. You know, I should do a sit down with their artist. Pose for my wanted poster. It would at least give them a fighting chance of trying to catch me. Not that they could. I am the most powerful wizard the world has ever known, after all. Now I ask you, does this even look anything like me?”

“You look a lot older than I thought you would be.”

“Excuse me?” Quaraun tossed the wanted poster aside, and now pulled out a silver hand mirror. “Am I starting to look old?”

“You ARE old, aren’t you?”

“I am an Elf. Pure-blooded Moon Elf.”

“Aren’t you the LAST Moon Elf, because you ate the other Moon Elves?”

“Yes. The things one must do to preserve one’s beauty for immortality.”

“I thought Quaraun was young. But you’re an old man.”

“Old? Do I look old?”

“Well, yes. When I hear people telling stories about you, I didn’t realize you were an ancient old Wizard. I thought you were some young mage. People describe you being all lovesick over The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley and, well, the way people talk about you, I thought you’d be a teenage girl or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting The Pink Necromancer to be an ancient old man, that’s all.”

“Ancient? What do you consider ancient? I’m barely four hundred years old!”

“Do Elves live that long?”

“I am immortal. And beautiful. Forever beautiful.”

“Immortal? How so?”

“Souls. I’m a soul eater. That sword of yours might come in handy. I am a Necromancer who was soul bound to a Lich. Beyond that, there is a JellyFish living in my brain. So technically, I think I’m already dead. Elves only live 400 years, yes, that is true, but I’m a Thullid living in an Elf’s body. A most beautiful Elf's body. ZooLock did pick a lovely body to implant me in. I’ll live for many thousands of years. I already have. I just never lived in a host before coming to this planet. Never needed to before. And this host is dreadfully beautiful. He has such a lovely body.”

"So, you are an ancient Thullid living in the body of an old, elderly Elf?”

“Elderly? Ancient and old? Old and ancient? You think I’m old?”

“Well, aren’t you?”

The Necromancer stopped what he was doing, stepped back, and stared dumbfounded at the woman. 

“Old and ancient. Ancient and old.”

The thought that he might be seen by anyone as anything other than young and beautiful horrified him. The very thought that anyone could exist without agreeing that his perfectly beautiful body was neither perfect nor beautiful had never crossed his self absorbed mind. His voice sounded wounded, and she instantly regretted her boldness in speaking her mind without thinking first. She didn’t know the habits of either Elves or Thullid, or Elves who were demon possessed by Thullid, so caution would have been a better move on her part.

Thullid were generally seen as inherently ugly. Hideous creatures. And yet this Thullid was completely oblivious to the idea that he could be anything other than beautiful. He pulled a second mirror out of his pocket and stared at himself for several long minutes. He was most definitely the most beautiful thing to ever exist. He was sure of it. So sure of it that he began to contemplate killing this woman for suggesting otherwise. If she did not see him as being as beautiful as he saw himself, well then, she certainly didn't deserve to live. He stared at the swamp hag. She certainly wasn't beautiful. Nor was she young. A shriveled up old hag. And a Human no less. He right than and there decided, that he wanted her head added to his head collection. She certainly didn't need her head, if her brain did not have enough intelligence to see how beautiful he was. She did not see that he was infinity beautiful and therefore she must die. That's all there was to it.

Quaraun silently mouthed the words ancient and old several more times. That he was immortal and would retain his beauty for many centuries was vitally important to him. Possibly more important to him than anything else. Even the slightest hint of a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth or a crow’s foot beside his eye was enough to send Quaraun into a panic of looking for herbs and oils and creams and lotions and potions to dab it away. 

Quaraun strode across the tent to look the woman straight in the eye, standing so close that his thin, perfectly pointed nose nearly touched hers. He stared deep into her eyes, search for a hint of honesty.

“Do I look old to you?” Quaraun asked the woman, but he did not wait for an answer. He spun away from her, kicked his bedroll aside, and nervously paced around his tent. 

“How could I possibly look old?” The ancient Elven wizard muttered to himself as he racked his brain trying to determine when it was that age had started to catch up with him.

Quaraun’s voice had changed. Calm and composed before, he could not mask the nervous, worried, panicked anxiety that shivered through him, causing his body to tremble.

Much to the woman’s surprise, Quaraun pulled a full-length mirror out of his impossibly tiny pink beaded heart shaped hip bag. The old wizard then stood in front of the mirror muttering to himself about being old, while he stared, horrified, stressed, and confused, at his own reflection. The Elf had now taken to searching for wrinkles on his face. 

“I didn’t mean...” the woman tried to explain she had not meant to upset him, but Quaraun wasn’t listening to her. The abnormally vain Moon Elf had pulled a silver brush from the bag of holding and was now nervously brushing his luxuriant white Rapunzel hair. 

No. 

Brushing his hair was not quite an accurate statement. Quaraun was ripping the bristles through his locks with a frantic abandon. The thought that he might have started to age had triggered the Elf into a self-absorbed frenzy of fussing over what he looked like, while frantically brushing his hair. 

The elderly wizard continued to mutter about being old and trailed off into speaking a squishy, slithering, jellyfish language the woman did not understand. She tried to get Quaraun’s attention. But it was a fruitless endeavour. She couldn’t tell what the Elf was saying, but whatever it was, Quaraun sounded terrified. Terrified that he might, in his old age, no longer be beautiful.

Do you see what I did?

It never says what he ACTUALLY LOOKS LIKE. His features are NOT DESCRIBED. I even went out of my way to include the infamous "mirror trope" but than not describe the character, again, leaving the reader to imagine him looking like whatever it is the reader thinks attractiveness is.

What is described is the fact that HE believes himself to be beautiful. And in most other scenes, other characters who meet him, are quick to say things like: "You're the most gorgeous man I've ever seen." But again, what exactly he looks like is left simply to the reader's imagination.

Why?

Because every reader is going to see "beauty" differently, and so I leave it to the reader to imagine what THEY think the most beautiful man in the world looks like, so that THEY see what THEY think is the most beautiful man.

The reader sees that HE thinks of himself as beautiful, his beauty being a major plot point, because he's a serial killer who is quick to kill anyone who does NOT think he is beautiful. Meaning the reader also sees that while he and the majority of other characters SAY he is beautiful, the reader also sees characters who question his beauty, and as in the case of this scene, the reader also sees that his own self worth hinges greatly on how beautiful he thinks he is.

The thing is, whether or not he ACTUALLY is beautiful is not a plot point, so confirming his beauty to the reader is not important. What is important is that HE THINKS he is the most beautiful man alive, and feels deeply threatened whenever anyone challenges his assertion that he is beautiful. He has a very low self esteem otherwise, feels like a useless failure, but overplays his beauty to overcompensate for it. But in the timeline of the story he is elderly, so his obsession with beauty drives him to necromancy and murder in order to maintain the beauty he had in youth. 

In the end, writing him this way the reader is left to decide for themself if he is ACTUALLY beautiful or not. Meaning the reader can imagine him as whatever they think is most beautiful OR they could imagine him as NOT being as beautiful as he thinks he is. Is he beautiful or not? Thats left for the reader to decide.  It's left open ended so that the reader is allowed to see him either way they want to. He believes himself to be attractive, but not every character agrees and the reader is left to decide for themselves if he is or not. 

I don't know. I'm just amazed that people can read scenes like these and NOT KNOW that Quaraun is an elderly man.

Readers seeing the world as Medieval Europe, when it's actual 800 A.D. Maritime Region, specifically: Ivujivik, Quebec & Old Orchard Beach, Maine

>>>Setting. I'm writing a fantasy story that I know I don't want to base on medieval times (knights, tourneys) but I don't know whether to base it off early AD and late BCE, where it would be more Roman, or based off the revolutionary era with new art, science, gunpowder, cannons are recently made, and inventions that I make up myself

If it was me, I'd definitely go the Revolutionary War era, just because, I'd want to write my character getting to meet Benjamin Franklin. Weird reasoning, perhaps, but, that's what I'd do. He's just a person I'd want to meet if I had a time machine and could go meet someone. So, my mind would go: "I must write the Revolution era, and make my MC bump into Ben Franklin in town somewhere."

When it came to studying history, I got bored with Rome. I think because of the textbook I was reading was focused more of politics than on culture. If it had focused on Roman culture, I'd probably gotten heavily interested in Rome. 

But either way, sounds good. I'd read Fantasy novels set in either era. I love Fantasy that steps away from Medieval Europe. 

I would say write it whatever way speaks to you the most, but than, I would also add that in the end, readers will not see the setting as anything other than Medieval no matter what you write.

The series I write is set 800AD in Ivujivik (pre-Canada). Elf wizards in a "Native American/Inuit" setting. Oddly, most readers, tell me they read several volumes into the series before it occurs to them to think that the series is NOT 1400s Europe. 

Well, when I was first hearing them saying this, I thought maybe I wrote something wrong? Was I too vague with the setting? Did I mention things that implied medieval without realizing I had mentioned them?

No. Turns out, readers came right out and said they were aware the setting, but they just choose to ignore it and think of the story taking place in a Tolkien like setting instead.

I've talked about this with them on the FB group I have for the series, and it was discovered, that even though the setting is described: the meters deep of snow the huge pine forests, the extreme lack of anything even remotely "modern/medieval", the use of actual Inuit/Native American location names (most of the story takes place in real world Ivujivik, for example), the use of real world Inuit/Native American folklore and mythical creatures from the Quebec/Labrador region... with all of that, the readers STILL imagine the series set in 1400s Europe, and when the FB group got together to discuses this topic, most all of them agreed, that BECAUSE the series is sold as "Fantasy" they just assumed "Tolkien world" BEFORE they even bought the books let alone before they started reading them, and so even when they saw the descriptions in the novels they just shrugged it off and went "Eh, I saw 1400's Europe in my brain before I started reading, I'm sticking with it."

It's weird, because they acknowledge that they recognized this as 800AD pre-Canada and heavily Inuit/Native American Elf mages, but they said, they just couldn't imagine Elves as anything other than Tolkien era, so even though they knew it was not Medieval nd not Europe, they went ahead and imagined it as Medieval Europe anyways, just because their mind defaulted Elf Wizards to automatically = 1400s Europe.

This lead to them asking the question: "Wait, are there any white people in your novels?"... uhm..no... It's set in a time and place that would not be discovered by white people for another 700 years. There are only brown, darker brown, and even more dark brown people in it. Readers on the FB group than started pointing out that they even noticed the characters were described as tan or dark or brown skinned, but also chose to ignore that ad think of the characters as white... in the 800AD Inuit village of Ivujivik.

Further discussion on the FB group, led to other things being brought up... like the main character being described as dressing in fur pelts of bear and moose skins, while the readers admitted to imagining him wearing "French fashions, hose and codpiece and houplandree" - all items not mentioned in the novels nor invented yet in 800AD, let alone in Native American/Inuit tribes of Canada's arctic tundra.

And then came the comment when someone said: "Wait arctic tundra... does that mean the story is set like near the North Pole."... uhm... duh! Did you not look were Ivujivik is on the map? Google the town of Ivujivik, Quebec. Yes. It IS up near the North Pole. It's the most northernmost town in Canada! The readers in the discussion, suddenly started asking stuff like: "Wait you did mention them living in a tent made of skins and using ice blocks to keep out the snow... Are they living in igloos? Do they even have houses? I was imagining this big hamlet full of thatched roof stucco and timber houses, like in Austria and Switzerland in medieval times. Wait, they don't have houses at all do they? How did I miss that?"

This is why I say, just write it whatever way you want it to be, and don't worry about what readers will think, because readers won't acknowledge anything you write anyways.

Readers are going to imagine your story in the setting THEY want it to be in, in the time period THEY want it to be in, with the race/skin THEY want the characters to look like, no matter what you write, so you might as well, just write what YOU want it to be and, forget about worrying what readers want. Readers don't care what you write. They never will. Readers just want a good story that they can drop into their mind-world with their mind-characters.

It was after that AMA with the FB group, that's why I stopped worrying about what readers want. I write the story the way I want it and what readers do with the changes to setting and characters is on them.

So, if you like Rome era best, write it in Rome. If you like Revolution era best, write that. Or, write 2 stories, one in each.

Write the setting you will most enjoy, because when all is said and done, you can't please everyone, so you might as well please yourself and just write the book you want to read.


Readers seeing sex where there is none, calling non-erotic books Erotica, and murdering my family on the false accusations of claiming that I the author am transgender because my main character is a transvestite and I CosPlay him at book signings.

...


A look at Maine's Transgender Murders and how my none-trans family came to be among the more than 30 people murdered by Maine's transphobic gay haters in 2015

Remember folks: 


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!



The Quaraun CosPlay

The BoomFuzzy CosPlay

The Avallac'h CosPlay:

The arm bracers are not accurate to what is seen in the game, instead are accurate to what was described in the novels, leather archer bands, one that double as a holder for potion bottles, the other ink, paper, and quill (Avallac'h is a poet & archer in the novels).
Close-up on the pendent for the Avallac'h CosPlay
The yellow Avallac'h concept art CosPlay
Avallac'h as he appeared in the load screen art
The load-screen Avallac'h CosPlay
close up on belts, seen here on the black concept art version (I have made all 8 concept art versions of the cosplay)





Let's put this front and center, because we seem to need to...

I'm sick and tired of people calling me an Erotica author when I'm not and calling the Quaraun series Erotica, when it's not.

Do you remember the bomb that blew up First Care Health Clinic on Saco Ave, in Old Orchard Beach, Maine in 2003, killing my doctor, 3 nurses, and 21 patients, next door to the Jameson Kindergarten School almost killing 750 children, every 4 to 8 year old child in Old Orchard Beach at the same time?

Let's talk about that bomb. And the one in 2006 that blew up my house 144 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, and the bomb in 2013 under my desk at Southern Maine Community College and the bomb in my department at Scarborough WalMart in 2015 and 2016, and the murder of my children April 10, 2015, 10 of whom their heads were cut off and nailed to my door.

Let's look at how those murders and bombs of Old Orchard Beach, Maine, came to happen, because one psychotic gay-hater got into her head that I wrote Erotica and she had to kill me and my family and every I knew because of it.



People say this is an issue of politics.

No. It isn't. It's an issue of evil people being evil. Nothing more and nothing less.

I think it doesn't matter if the author adds politics or not, because, readers are going to see what they want to see. 

I mean, here's some examples:

I have a main character who appears in a series, and, when readers get to volume 22 - twenty-two volumes into the series - is when they notice for the first time that he is black, even though there are 5,678 instances of him being outright CALLED "black" in volumes 1 to 21 (I checked) because a racist beats him up while calling him the N-word in a scene in that novel. I have received more than 2,000 hate emails for that scene, and at first, you might think the hate was because the book uses the N-word. No. Every one of those 2,000+ hate emails, tell me that I ought to be ashamed of myself for stooping so low as to put a black character in my novels, because no sane white person would write a black character, according to the emails, which went on to call me such things as "a N-lover" and they said I was a disgrace to my race, that I ought to be ashamed to be white  ... but, here's the thing: I'm not white and that character in question, is the exact same mix of 4 races as me: Middle-Eastern/Persian Mountain Jew/Gypsy + Kickapoo/Native American + Haitian/Black + Asian/Mongolian. 

Since the Black Lives Matters movement of 2020, I get emails from people saying I only put a black character in my novels, because of George Floyd, who apparently was a black man and was murdered? I don't know, I haven't had a TV since 1987 so I don't have access to watching the news. Judging from the info in the hate emails, he died rather recently, less than a year ago. ... and yet, I've not published a new novel since 2014. My family was murdered shortly after the release of BoomFuzzy and I've written anything since. I was in the middle of writing Summoner or Darkness when my family was murdered. I didn't finish because of the murders and I've not worked on anything new since. But, these hate emails, are making the claim, that the 138 novels I wrote between 1978 and 2014, I wrote them BECAUSE of a black man who was murdered in 2020, 6 years after my last novel was published?

Yeah. Do you see anything a little bit odd? Like the fact the creation of this fictional black character is nearing a 50th anniversary and the guy they are say I created him for, died less than a year ago?

It's called readers are stupid, can't be bothered to look at publication dates, see whatever the hell they WANT to see, no matter what we write. Those people, those recent emails, they had the Black Lives Matter movement so in their heads, that they couldn't even see that the publication date was 40 years ago and the Black Lives Matter organization didn't exist at the time the book was published. 

They were just white power fanatics who just ran around looking for any novels that had black main characters, so they could have an excuse to write outrage in emails, to authors, they thought were white, to tell those supposedly white authors to stop writing black characters just because of the BLM Riots. But... in their gung-ho to do so, they forgot to look at the publication dates, or find out what race the author was.

So you have people who went looking for white authors who wrote black characters since the BLM movement started, but they didn't look at the publication dates or find out what color the author was.

And than you have people who read the series for a long time before realizing the character was black, and telling me I should be ashamed of myself for being white and writing back people, because black people shouldn't be in novels and we whites have to look out for each other... but... I'm nt white. They forgot to find out what colour the author was.

Somehow not only did they get it into their heads that the character was white, but they also convinced themselves that I the author was white. There was nothing political about that character or the story or why I made him the race I did. I just wrote him the same race as me.  There was no political theme or motive behind it at all, but readers MADE it political in their own minds. They got offended and triggered, and had political ravings and rantings over it, because they couldn't fathom the fact that a non-white character could possibly exist in a novel any more that they could fathom that a non-white person could read or write.

That book with the N-word was published in 2014, and I started getting those hate emails in 2016 and still get them.

But here's the thing... those readers, THEY had an anti-black political agenda,  so they SAW a pro-black political agenda, where there was no agenda at all. 

I'm not white, I wouldn't know the first thing about writing white culture or white lifestyle, so why would I write white characters? I write what I know. I know what it is to be mixed blood and have a multi-culture family, so that's what I wrote. There's no pro-color agenda, I just wrote a character the same race as myself, because I know what it like to be that race.

Readers with race agendas and race politics saw race agendas and race politics in my books because that is what they WANTED to see.

Now let's look at something else... the bigger issue, also not political, but watch what readers did...

When I was a small child, my grandmother was friends with a young couple. She took me to visit them weekly. They owned a tiny little "mom&pop shop", sort of like a convenience store, but it didn't have food. It had odds and ends, tools, cards, trinkets, basically a little junk store for tourists (we live on a beach in a tourist resort town) and we shopped there. We shopped there a few times a week. My parents. They were so in love, the couple who owned this store. You could see that. Always smiling and laughing, hugging, kissing. I can't remember ever seeing one without the other. Than one day, one of them was murdered, and the one left behind was devastated. After that just sat at the back of the store despondent. Commit suicide in the store, a year later on the anniversary of the murder, I was there, saw it happen. 

I was 12 years old. 

It was the 1970s. 

What happened to them, stuck in my head, I still have nightmare about it to this day 50 years later. It's why I started writing. I published my first novel while I was still just 12 years old, just a few weeks later, and it was inspired by them. 

Today, 50 years, 138 novels, and 2,000 short stories later, I still write same series about that same couple. I was 14 years old when I started receiving death threats. I didn't know why. Hate mail, started pouring in. I was just a child, I couldn't understand half the words the letters were saying. Words I'd never heard before: fag, sodomy, gay. It was years, before I realized what those words meant. 

Angry adults were sending death threats to a child (me) over a political issue, that I'd never even heard of, over books I wrote about a happy couple very much in love, based off a very real couple, I knew in real life. 

It wasn't until the 1990s, nearly 20 years later, that found out what gay meant. 

I had no clue that the couple I was writing was gay. I had no concept of what gay meant at all.

I found out later what happened: They'd been being harassed quite a lot, their store, their house, their car vandalized, they'd both been beaten up several times. The one who was murdered, he'd been beaten to death, head bashed in with a baseball bat because he was gay. No other reason. He was man in love with a man.

I never noticed that. As a child, they were just another couple who lived near-by. I never noticed they were both men and that, there were no other couples in our town that were both men. Even after writing dozens of novels featuring a couple that was both men, it never occurred to me that that was odd or different or unusual. They were just 2 people in love. I did not see them as being different from any other couple in our town.

And to this day, I still get on average 700 death threats DAILY, from people outraged, that the main character of my novels are a gay couple.

I get on average 2,000 to 5,000 hate emails EACH WEEK from outraged self proclaimed "right-wingers" who call me things like "Woke" and "fag lover" and "one of those jackass gay rights activists" and make the claim that I only write a gay couple because being gay is the trendy fad of the past few years. Funny thing, if they took the time to look at the publication date of a lot of those novels and crossed referenced it with my age, they'd see most of them were published in the 1970s before I was even 14 years old. And had they actually read the novels, they'd also see that the word "gay" never appears, because I'd never even heard of it before the hate letters from readers arrived.

There is nothing political about what I write. It's 2 Elf wizards, traveling, having adventures, and living together. They are male. There are scenes of them hugging and kissing.  And readers make of that what they want too. The stories don't focus on the fact that they are a gay couple, in fact you could easily read it as them, just being 2 friends. The story never calls them gay. 

I've had readers ASK me if they were a gay couple or if they were just 2 good friends, because they weren't sure, because it never says. And yet at the same time, I get tens of thousands of anti-gay hate letters and hate emails and death threats every year, from people who just outright hate gay people and automatically see the 2 main characters as gay, even though, the series never says they are and other readers have not been sure.

Haters CLAIM my books are nothing but gay right politics, promoting gay agendas, and pushing gay culture onto innocent young minds. And yet, there are no gay rights politics in my novels, I'm not promoting gay agendas, and I'm not trying to push anything on anyone.

The fact of the matter is, THOSE READERS THEMSELVES, have an anti-gay agenda, so they SEE gay right politics, where there are none. 

THOSE READERS THEMSELVES, have an anti-gay agenda, so they SEE books as promoting gay agendas, when they are not.

THOSE READERS THEMSELVES, have an anti-gay agenda, so they SEE authors as pushing gay culture on others, even when that author is a 12 year old child who never heard the word gay before and didn't know what it meant.

The fact is, readers are going to see what they WANT to see, wither the author put it there or not.

Readers will MAKE things political, even when the author didn't.

Readers will look for themes and hidden messages, even when the author was a 12 year old child who just wrote for the fun of telling a fun adventure story of 2 Elf wizards battling dragons, and had no clue it was even possible to put messages in a novel.

It doesn't matter what an author writes, if the reader has an agenda, they will FORCE THEIR agenda into our books, no matter what your book is, because they, THEY are looking for pick a fight with anyone and everyone.

We authors have no need to put politics in our novels. Readers will find a myriad of politics hidden in our novels, on issues that we authors didn't even know were issues.

It's what readers do.

No one reads a book for fun or entertainment anymore. Every one just reads books with fine tooth combs looking for reasons to get upset.

Readers are going to see whatever it is they WANT to see, no matter what we write.

I don't write politics. I don't write themes. I don't write hidden messages. I have no agenda. But there are plenty of people who will tell you I do. I write 2 Elf wizards who are very much in love and travel together having adventures, that's it, that really is all it is, and everything else, all the politics and agendas - those aren't mine, those are the politics and agendas of readers who are trying to make my books fit issues THEY are fussing over, so they THINK they see things in my writing, that I never put there at all.

And the fact remains, that outraged gay haters, went to extremes, and on April 10, 2015, murdered my family, over something they THOUGHT I wrote in my books... and I have 728 pages of their witness testimony in court where they say exactly that... they murdered my 10 (ten) children, cut their heads off and nailed their heads to my door (the youngest was 4 and the oldest was 16), over something they THOUGHT I wrote, but that I never wrote at all.

There's the reality of politics for you. Readers think it's okay to murder an author's family, over political issues the author wasn't even writing about.

This isn't a political problem. It's problem of people being too damned stupid to understand what they read, and inserting their own agendas in to works of fiction.

I once had a reader who emailed me to say/ask:

"So, I'm reading Vampire Leprechaun of Fire Mountain. I'm about 100 pages into the book and nothing has happened yet. When does something happen?"

Uhm... it's a Quaraun novel. They are reading volume 5, they are 100 pages in and nothing has happened yet... gee... sooo... did you notice anything happening in volumes 1 through 4?

Let me repeat... they are waiting for something to happen: IN A QUARAUN NOVEL.

They explained that the characters were just walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles...

Can I repeat, that were reading a Quaraun novel, volume 5 of the series, and they waiting for something to happen.

uhm...yeah....that's what the story is about - them lost in a Fairy Forest, wandering aimlessly for miles.

That IS the story.

Quaraun and crew lost in a forest and walking in circles.

Oh wait, what were they reading again?

The Quaraun series.

And what is the Quaraun series about?

A homeless, elderly, suicidal Elf hiking across the planet, trying to find a reason to live, writing in the style of a travel blog.

The Quaraun series is 138 novels, about an old man, doing a bucket list hike around the world before he dies.

The title of their email was:

"So, I'm reading Vampire Leprechaun of Fire Mountain. I'm about 100 pages into the book and nothing has happened yet. When does something happen?"

Inside was a very long email.

This was one of the rare few emails I have ever received, that was not full of hate and raving and ranting.

This one was full of confusion and was an actual, genuine question, as opposed to a self righteous offended snowflake, which is what most emails I receive are.

This email, went on to explain, that the novel had been recommended to them as Erotica, and in fact, had been bought from the Erotica section of Amazon.

Uhm... what?

I went to Amazon and checked, and yep, sure enough it was in the Erotica department. I contacted Amazon, got the usual run around and finally reached and actual person. I explained that I had uploaded the novel into Fantasy and Literary Slice of Life categories, not Erotica, why was it in Erotica?

She checked the records and said that Amazon had moved it to Erotica after it had received several hundred reports of being in the wrong category, with reporters stating that it was Erotica. I explained that the book not only contained no sex or nudity, it also, was about an elderly Elf who was lost alone in the forest, and spent the week sitting by a campfire talking to the ghosts of 5 people whom he had murdered decades earlier. He gets up in the morning and walks the entire day, and that night arrives back at the same campsite where the 5 ghosts are waiting to talk to him again.

This happens 7 times. Each time it happens it takes 2 chapters to tell it. It is literally 14 chapters of him wandering around lost in the forest and always ending up back in the same spot that night, no matter which direction he traveled that day. I asked her, could you get someone to actually READ my novel, to see that it is not Erotica, because it right now has 120 negative 1 star reviews complaining that they bought it thinking it was Erotica, and are angry that it's not. And I didn't put it in Erotica to begin with.

Two weeks later I get an email from Amazon, stating that they had sent copies of my book to their review department and yes ideas, this  most certainly NOT Erotica, not even close. The explained that they have an automated "wrong category" reporting system (this was in 2015, btw, I don't know if they still have that system today in 2021) and if enough users report it and suggest the same category to move it to, the system just automatically changed the category to where users had suggested, and no human checks to see if it should have been moved or not.

They further explained that in the case of this book, it turns out that one single, solitary person, had created 52 separate accounts, specifically to report this book as Erotica, and trigger the system to move it into the Erotica department. They stated that the troll and all of their accounts had been banned as well as banned their ISPN so they couldn't create more accounts.

They then explained that as the 120+ one star reviews had been a result of Amazon's negligence in moving the book to Erotica without having a human read the book first, they also removed all of those particular 1 star reviews from the book. It also turned out that all 52 of those accounts that had made the false claim of my book being Erotica belonged to Kendra Silvermander, yet again. This was not the first time this vicious, vindictive, mystery woman had created lots of fake accounts to attack, nor was it the last.

But, back to the reader whom had alerted me to this situation.

They explained that they had bought the book, thinking it was Erotica, and were puzzled as to why, at 100 pages into the story, there had been no indication of any sort of couple or relationship or sex or sensuality or anything even remotely close to anything one would expect to see in Erotica. The story was literally an old man wandering around lost in the forest, talking to ghosts that were haunting him. Where was the sex? At 100 pages in, there should have been at least 10 sex scenes by now, as standard formula for Erotica is no fewer than 3 sex scenes per chapter. 

Like nearly EVERY VOLUME of all 138 novels in the Quaraun series, The Vampire Leprechaun of Fire Mountain  contained no sex or nudity, and is about an elderly man searching for a reason to not commit suicide while hiking through the forest and talking to the ghosts of people he had murdered in his youth.

The Vampire Leprechaun of Fire Mountain is also one of the more extreme novels, in that it moves in a loop... it literally takes one scenes that is 3,000 words long, and repeats it over and over and over and over and over. It is an elderly Elf who was lost alone in the forest, and spent the week sitting by a campfire talking to the ghosts of 5 people whom he had murdered decades earlier. He gets up in the morning and walks the entire day, and that night arrives back at the same campsite where the 5 ghosts are waiting to talk to him again. This happens 7 times.

Each time it happens it takes 2 chapters to tell it. It is literally 14 chapters of him wandering around lost in the forest and always ending up back in the same spot that night, no matter which direction he traveled that day.

At the start, Quaraun meets a tiny old man, who gives Quaraun food. Each night Quaraun arrives at that same campsite and eats the man's food again. Each chapter is a copy paste of the previous chapter, with only a few sentences changed here and there. On the final day, Quaraun realizes the old man is a Leprechaun and refuses to eat his food. The next morning Quaraun wakes up and the old man and his campsite are gone, and Quaraun is finally able to walk out of the forest without returning back to the same campsite again, finally free of the Leprechauns spell. The End.


That's the entire story.

No sex.

No Erotica. 

But that book got moved to the Erotica department, because for reason this Kendra woman got it stuck in her head that my books were Erotica and she devoted close to 20 years of her life to trying to convince everyone online and offline that my books were Erotica, and to this day, I still don't know why she did it. All I know is, she wet extreme, she's the one who put a bomb in my house in 2006, under my desk at college in 2013, in my department at work in 2015 and again in 2016, and in the waiting room of my doctor's office in 2003 killing my doctor, 3 of his nurses, and 21 patients - if your local - you remember the bomb that killed my doctor at First Care Health Clinic on Saco Ave in Old Orchard Beach, Maine, a few feet from the Jameson Kindergarten School - she almost killed every child between the ages of 4 and 8 in Old Orchard Beach as well that day.

So when I say she went to major extremes trying to convince everyone my books were Erotica and that me, my family, and any one I had contact with needed to die because I wrote Erotica, I do mean went to extremes - she almost killed 750+ children, the day she bombed  my doctor's office in 2003 killing my doctor, 3 of his nurses, and 21 patients at First Care Health Clinic on Saco Ave in Old Orchard Beach, Maine, a few feet from the Jameson Kindergarten School, and she would go on to kill my children, cut their heads off and nail their heads to my door in 2015.

And I don't even know who this woman is. I just know the 21,000 emails she has sent me over the years, since 2004, are all signed with the line: "I'm Kendra SilverMander it's my time to shine!" 

Notes left at crime scenes are signed:  "I'm Kendra SilverMander it's my time to shine!" 

Ans when she arrived in person to attack me while I was eating as Panera in 2009, with golf clubs crippling me on November 14, 2013 at Southern Maine Community College, and in 2016 at Scarborough WalMart that time breaking my spine with a shopping cart, she was screaming in asing-song chant at the top of her lungs while she attacked:  "I'm Kendra SilverMander it's my time to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! I'm Kendra SilverMander it's my time to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! I'm Kendra SilverMander it's my time to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! I'm Kendra SilverMander it's my time to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine! My turn to shine!"

FBI Agent Andy Drewer out of the Portland, Maine FBI office is in charge of the case. If you have information about the case, know who this woman is, give it to him not me. He can be reached @ +1-(207)-774-9322 

So you can start to see, why I get a little bit triggered when someone refers to me as an Erotica author or says my books are Erotica. Because my first instinct is to assume you are someone who is friends with this Kendra woman, otherwise, WHY else would you think my books were Erotica?

"So, I'm reading Vampire Leprechaun of Fire Mountain. I'm about 100 pages into the book and nothing has happened yet. When does something happen?"

Uhm... it's a Quaraun. They are reading volume 5, they are 100 pages in and nothing has happened yet... gee... sooo... did you notice anything happening in volumes 1 through 4?

Let me repeat... they are waiting for something to happen: IN A QUARAUN NOVEL.

They explained that the characters were just walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles...


Walking for miles and talking about what he sees, while he walks, is the ONY THING there is in ALL of the Quaraun novels.

That's what the series is about.

It's an elderly man whom has lost EVERYTHING and EVERY ONE.

His family is dead.

His lover is dead.

His people are dead.

He's the last of his kind.

He's old.

He's sick.

He's homeless.

He's alone.

He has no one.

No friends.

No family.

Everything he owns, he's carrying with him in one bag.

He's depressed.

He's suicidal.

He wants to find a reason to live.

So he is wandering aimlessly on the open road, looking to find something, anything to inspire him to not kill himself.

He walks and he walks and he walks.

It's an old man walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking  for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles...

That IS what the Quaraun series is about.

It's an old man walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking  for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles...

That IS the plot.

It's an old man walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking  for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles...

That IS the story.

It's an old man walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking and walking  for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles...

What else exactly were you expecting to see happen?

The Quaraun series is about a traveler, trekking the open road, and the encounters he meets along the way.

So we (me and this reader) are messaging back and forth about the issue, me wondering what they were expecting to have happen, them confused about what the book was. Pointing out that this volume is #5 of the series, and supposedly they had read the 4 previous volumes ... though I really don't think they did based on their "When does something happen?" question.

:P

LOL!

When does something happen!

ROTFLMAO! LOLOLOLOL!

What was the problem?


It turns out, in addition to having been told the series was Erotica, they THOUGHT the series was going to be an action packed adventure of D&D questing type monster battling, monarchy conquering, wizard dueling, swords clashing, dragon slaying, princess rescuing, gold hoarding type stuff.

They thought this because they had read an article stating that the main character (Quaraun) was one I had played in my local game group for years and the novels were based off the actual game sessions which I had kept notes of for a few decades.

They also mentioned that they had played DnD with a group that had gone on highly sexualized adventures, and that in their gameplay, downtime between adventures at taverns, meant lots of sex and prostitutes.

So, they expected the Quaraun series to be no-stop fighting, between non-stop sex, because when they though DnD, that's what they had done in their game group.

The problem?

They neglected to read the part of the article which stated the series was "slice of life literary fantasy" and told the story of what happened OUTSIDE OF THE GAME... the stuff NOT battles, and monsters and questing, but rather the journey, the traveling, the random stops at taverns and campsites.

They also neglected to pay attention to the fact that, the series is about a super villain, after he is too old to be a super villain any more.

Yes.

Quaraun is evil.

Quaraun is a big, bad, final boss Necromancer, whom was NEVER defeated by any adventuring party that crossed his path.

Quaraun, is the world's most powerful, and only undefeated evil wizard.

Quaraun is invincible, undefeatable, all powerful, and has killed millions.


But now he's old, nearing the end of his life, and looking back on what he's done with regret.

Because he is such and extremely over powered Necromancer, dead things come to life around him, without him even needing to cast and spells. It just happens.

And as he rewalks roads he had walked on in his youth, he's passing the places where he killed people, and when he does, their ghost rises up and starts following him.

He's haunted by the ghosts of people he's killed. But no one else can see them. He's the only one who can see the ghosts, so wen people see him arguing with the ghosts, they only see him and think he's insane and talking to himself.

The whole series, all 130+ volumes of it, every single novel, is the every day life of an elderly wandering vagabond wizard as he just travels the open road.

There are no sword fights, no monster battles, no wizard duels, or anything else remotely action packed in any novel of the series.

There is however, LOTS of traveling and sightseeing, to the point that it reads more like travel fiction.

And I'm constantly saying this. It's not like it's ever hidden or should be a surprise that nothing happens other than a tourist Elf is sightseeing while he hikes.

Quaraun is the main character, a wandering "wizard for hire" so, he's in every story.

In a few stories he's travelling alone.

In many stories he's travelling with 1 or the other or both, of 2 fellow travelling wizards. Usually BoomFuzzy and/or GhoulSpawn.

Some times they meet up with an "adventuring group", a band of hippies, another group of travellers, a migrating family, and will then have 4 or 5 or more characters traveling with him.

Sometimes he'll meet up with a merchant or a caravan or a wagon train or a family just off to visit relatives, and will have a large group of a dozen or more people travelling with him.

So you never know from one novel to the next who he's going to have as traveling companions... it's just whoever he meets on the road who is going the same direction as him.

It's a lot of dialogue. A LOT. Conversations between him and the strangers he meets as they talk about life, the universe, and everything, while they walk along.

That anyone could call the series Erotica is mind boggling on the extreme.

Let's talk of another thing that SHOULD tip you off that these books are NOT Erotica.

The Swamp of Death:

The Swamp of Death appears in many novels. It is a reoccurring "magic location" that can appear at will in any region of the world.

The Swamp of Death exists everywhere and no where at the same time.

It is the place where "lost souls" go after death.

Though some characters describe it as being "Hell" and a place to punish the evil after they die, good people can go there just as equally as bad people.

It is the temporary resting place of people who died violent deaths: murder victims, suicide victims, soldiers who died at war, homeless who starved to death alone and forgotten.

Unlike Heaven and Hell which are places to reward good and punish evil, The Swamp of Death is a place where lost souls go to reflect on their life.

Souls in Heaven live with Angels who serve them, while souls in Hell live with Demons who torture them.

But Souls who go to The Swamp of Death become Ghosts and have the ability to haunt the living, mentally tormenting people who hurt them in life, or emotionally comforting loved ones whom are grieving.

Souls in The Swamp of Death are dead people who can not move forward to either Heaven or Hell, because they have some sort of "unfinished business" that needs resolving before they can move on.

In the novel Quaraun and The Vampire Into The Swamp of Death, the entire novel takes place in The Swamp of Death. In that story, Quaraun has taken several poisons and slit his wrists and dies briefly, before his friends revive him. The entire novel is a "near death experience" where Quaraun finally realizes that the people he's traveling with are all ghosts of people he's murdered in his life. It the story where he finally realizes that he murdered his best friend, which he realizes when he sees her in The Swamp of Death taking care of the 4 children he had murdered years before.


The Swamp of Death is a terrifying place. A vast peat bog, surrounded by acres of quicksand. It is always midnight and always shrouded in thick fog.

Thousand of tombs and grave stones stick up out of the mud. Many of the Lost Souls try to escape the Swamp, only to be sucked down into the quicksand, and wake up the next day, back in the Mournful Lamb Inn, a tavern that sits in the center of the Swamp serving drinks to the dead.

And while this may sound like a place to visit, it is in fact a thing that travelers can encounter on any road, should they become near death.

The Swamp is guarded by sentient pumpkins, who act as "an army of Grim Rippers" gathering dead souls and taking them to the Swamp.

If it is your time to die, the pumpkins will start showing up along road sides, watching you, waiting for your death to happen.

The Swamp and it's Pumpkin Guards appear in almost every Quaraun novel, though sometimes only very briefly, just seen out of the corner of the eye in a quick sentence or two.

While the Swamp is supposed to only take the souls of murder victims, suicide victims, and people who died traumatic deaths, The Swamp is known to stalk lonely travelers, appearing suddenly along side the road. When the traveller moves to get a closer look at the mysterious Swamp, dozens of ghostly hands grab the travelers legs and pull them into the Swamp, drowning them in the quicksand, thus causing the unsuspecting traveller to befall a traumatic death and become yet another soul trapped in the Swamp.

No one knows exactly what The Swamp of Death is, but, some suspect it to actually be a massively huge Mimic or possibly a gigantic Jelly capable of tricking people into thinking it is a swamp, when in fact it is a monster.

In any case The Swamp of Death is many thousands of years old and no one can remember a time when it did not exist and roam the Earth feeding on lost souls.

The Pissed Off Pumpkin Patch:

Common but rarely seen. Grinning, glowing Jack-o-Lantern pumpkins that tumble and roll across the ground, sometimes sprouting bodies and limbs made of vines and leaves, sometimes seen in the form of "living scarecrows", and other times robed in black.

People often describe them as being The Grim Reaper, but no one knows for certain what exactly they are. Sometimes they appear as a long pumpkin sitting on a porch, other times they gather in huge hordes and sit in a field covering massive acres pretending to be a pumpkin patch. Where they are, The Swamp of Death follows, and presumably, they are part of the Swamp's body and not separate limbs. 


The Pissed Off Pumpkin Patch is known to stalk lone travellers, terrorizing them, and chasing them off cliffs or into quicksand.  

The pumpkins are rarely seen by their victims, for the moment you turn to look at them, they instant freeze, and look like ordinary jack-o-lanterns, scarecrows, or pumpkin patches.

The pumpkins appear in almost every Quaraun story, as they follow Quaraun wherever he goes and he is constantly telling people there are pumpkins chasing him, but almost no one believes him and thinks his tales of being chased into swamps by pumpkins are the raving delusions of a madman.

Because Quaraun is a murderer. the ghosts of his murder victims are trapped him the Swamp of Death, and scream for vengeance, thus causing the pumpkins who guard the swamp to constantly chase Quaraun, trying to force him into the Swamp of Death and drown him.

There are frequent scenes of pumpkin vines grabbing Quaraun's arms and legs and dragging him through the forest into the Swamp of Death.

Quaraun, however is a Necromancer with power over the dead and continually escapes the attacks buy the pumpkins and the lost souls of his murder victims.

Now I ask you, does any of this even remotely sound like Erotica to YOU?

How do people call this series Erotica?

How did so many people become so convinced that this series was Erotica, that a mob of over 70 people arrived in my driveway on April 10, 2015, to violently, brutally murder my family, because they were outraged over my books being Erotica?

How?

How does something like this happen?



Remember folks: 


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!


I've ignored the sex crazed trolls calling my books Erotica for years...


...but now my family is dead. Murdered by one of those very trolls.


One of those trolls put a bomb in my house.


One of those trolls cut my children's heads off and nailed them to my door.


While other trolls now take those real world events and sex memes about them.


So let's talk about this.


Let's talk about how slanderous jackasses calling my books Erotica, when they were not Erotica, resulted in my entire family being murdered April 10, 2015.

People see what they WANT to see.

And apparently, people can make ANYTHING become Erotica in THEIR minds.

It reminds me of a question I got once from a newbie writer, writing their first novel, and they got hung up on an issue. 

Cross reference with a scene in the Quaraun series, that reoccurs in many forms.

In the Quaraun series is what readers refer to as a "squik horror" scene, that shows up again and again. A bowl of rice, full of maggots. A jar of wriggling worms. Slimy. Slithering. squishy. And often stepped on with bare feet: maggots and earthworms and grubs make regular appearances, and while MOST readers find these scenes just as disturbing as I do, a few readers have said these scenes were Erotica, especially when Quaraun steps bare foot into these disgusting wormy, maggoty messes.

The reason these scene reappear is because it's a thing that happened to me in real life, in 1991, days before Hurricane Bob hit Old Orchard Beach, Maine. A massive heatwave that broke Maine's heat records and is still unbroken today, hit Maine days before the hurricane arrived and...

Well... let's skip that for a minute and talk about the guy trying to write a bare foot girl. We'll swing back around to Hurricane Bob, Maine heat waves, and how Quaraun came to step in piles of maggots as a reoccurring scene in many Quaraun novels, after we talk about the guy looking to write a bare foot girl in his novel:

Their main character was bare foot, an indigenous, native girl, in an Amazon Rainforest tribe. They were writing a Tarzan Meets Jane, story in reverse, where it was modern man meets jungle girl. They wanted to write the story as an adventure story, not as a Romance story, complaining that Tarzan stories were always focused on sex and romance and relationships and never on the adventures in the jungle (clearly they had never read the ACTUAL Tarzan novels from the 1920s)

Well, they ran into a problem, when they reached finishing chapter 1, and realized they had no ability to write the girl's bare feet without sexualizing her bare feet.

I found this confusing, because, well, WHY would he sexualize someone's feet?

I've heard people mention foot fetish before and I had asked the same question then: Why would you sexualize someone's feet?

The concept of sexualizing something that is never involved in the act of sex, makes no sense to me at all. I simply can not understand it. 

But apparently there are people who sexualize things that not related to sex. And I don't understand why someone would do that. It just seems so bizarre.

In any case, this person was very upset. Deeply upset, because according to them, no matter what they wrote about her feet, it always was sexual. It bothered him a lot and he talked about it for days in our writing group. Every day adding more info about how he wanted to write this character as a carefree, barefoot, native, and all he could do was write page after page after page about her enjoying the feel of sand between her toes. He was so tripped up by being unable to stop writing endless sexualizations about her feet that he couldn't even finish the very first chapter of his novel and move on to the story.

So, the 48 members of the writing group (myself included) gathered around to brainstorm the situation and try to figure out how to write bare feet without sexualization. We all found it rather easy. In fact none of us saw what the issue was. None of us had reason to focus on our characters' feet. Each of use had few to no scenes mentioning feet in our novels. We were all actually quite shocked to realize how very rarely any of us mentioned feet at all in our novels. And none of us were able to think of a single instance of having written feet as sexy or connected to sex in any way.

Do you know what we found out? After 2 straight days of steady, none stop brain storming, we realized, this guy had a problem. He was obsessed with feet. Big time. 

Every single person in the writing group, had a solution. 48 different solutions were presented. All of them very good and any one of them would have worked. 

Answers included one person whom had lived in Samoa for a few years and told about how entire cultures there did not wear shoes. Another was part of a hiking group and detailed what it was like to hike through forests without shoes on, because they had done it and had gotten hurt doing it. Many compared the dangers of being bare foot out doors. 

Every one in the group agreed there was nothing sexy or romantic about bare feet.

Not one of them could understand why this guy was so upset, so paranoid that readers were going to sexualize her feet.

And he wouldn't listen to anything any one said. He couldn't stop saying over and over and over that he wanted to avoid fan service and author appeal and he couldn't stop bringing up rule 34, even though, NO ONE had implied writing bare feet is a sex thing.

The initial question had not mentioned sex or fetishes, but by the second day he was blubbering none stop about sex, even though no one had mentioned sex. He's the one who brought up sex in response to anything and everything every one said.

The original question said this:

>>>Does it make sense for a fictional character to go barefoot. I’m thinking of writing a tropical novel, but I’m not sure if the protagonist should be barefoot or not. Is it okay to write a character without footwear? Is there a way to make it interesting or cool?

>>>The personality is young, energetic, perky, close to nature and tactile. The character was raised in a lower tech tropical society and has to survive off raw resources most of the time. I was thinking of giving it a feel like McGuivor or the primitive tech videos on YouTube. The character also has an excellent sense of touch, which comes from the characters secret heritage. I was thinking of using it as a tool to make the story more inversive, but I don’t want it to be weird.

>>>But if I make the character barefoot, how do I make the character cool interesting and likable instead of weird?


Sounded innocent enough.

But than one of the other writers in our group replied with this:


>>>Yeah if they have a reason. I mean, their reason could literally be "shoes are uncomfortable" to "my magic requires me to be in contact with the earth."

>>>Or they're just really poor.

>>>Many indigenous people in tropical environments don't wear footwear. Someone will correct me if I'm wrong.

>>>You can make your character whatever you want. It's totally up to you. There is no problem with making a main character barefoot. As far as making it interesting or cool it really depends on a bunch of factors. Are they barefoot because of societal reasons? Religious reason? Enjoys the feel? Shoes are only available to certain people. Maybe the protagonist lost their favorite pair of shoes that had some sentimental factor and that's why they are barefoot.

>>>In the end though I'm not sure why it matters that the character is barefoot, also why you would want to bring so much attention to a small quirk for a character.


And this triggered him SO BAD.

Specifically, THIS: triggered him:


>>>In the end though I'm not sure why it matters that the character is barefoot, also why you would want to bring so much attention to a small quirk for a character.

From that point on he went on a full blown Teddy Bear Meltdown. Don't know what a Teddy Bear Meltdown is? Well then, HERE witness the awe that is the original Teddy Meltdown itself. In any case, he went flipping nuts, at the suggestion that being barefoot was a small quirk or that he didn't need to focus on it.

He raved and ranted for several hours while the rest of us just sat in awe at the extreme obsession this guy had with the bare feet of his main character.

Now, this not uncommon. Every author has some sort of fetish that they end up writing into everything they write, wither they realize it or not. Like George Lucas and his need to cut off the hand of a main character in every single Star Wars movie. Until fans pointed out he had done it, he claims he had no noticed he had done it.

Every writer has some fetish for something and it shows up in their work, intentionally or unintentionally. And when writers realize it, usually after readers point it out, usually their response is: "Huh, didn't realize I was doing that. Oh well." And they move one and keep on writing, and often start focusing more on the fetish. They accept the fact that yeah, they like that thing, and write about it. They embrace it. They write about it more.

I certainly do that. I mean just look at how much of the Quaraun series is focused on Quaraun's hair, BoomFuzzy's hair, GhoulSpawn's hair, GhoulSpawn's legs, wait, what? 

I can readily admit I have a hair fetish. Especially when every novel in the Quaraun series features a chapter devoted to somebody brushing Quaraun's hair, and or stroking GhoulSpawn's legs, yes, I like the hair on GhoulSpawn's legs, that's why I put it there, moving on...

There's nothing wrong with having a fetish, as long as it's not hurting any one.

Now this guy, he had discovered he had a fetish for his character's bare feet and couldn't stop writing about her bare feet and felt ashamed of it and, asked: 

>>>Does it make sense for a fictional character to go barefoot. I’m thinking of writing a tropical novel, but I’m not sure if the protagonist should be barefoot or not. Is it okay to write a character without footwear? Is there a way to make it interesting or cool?

>>>The personality is young, energetic, perky, close to nature and tactile. The character was raised in a lower tech tropical society and has to survive off raw resources most of the time. I was thinking of giving it a feel like McGuivor or the primitive tech videos on YouTube. The character also has an excellent sense of touch, which comes from the characters secret heritage. I was thinking of using it as a tool to make the story more inversive, but I don’t want it to be weird.

>>>But if I make the character barefoot, how do I make the character cool interesting and likable instead of weird?


But than when someone said this:


>>>In the end though I'm not sure why it matters that the character is barefoot, also why you would want to bring so much attention to a small quirk for a character.


He had a full blown total meltdown, raving and ranting that he couldn't let perverts ruin his character, citing rule 34, and saying he refused to write fan service for foot fetishes no matter how much he was writing to author appeal. And he posted every bit of it online, and just under 2million people read it and it went viral, and so now a lot of people are jumping on him because, he had not asked how to not sexualize bare feet, but now he was having a rant about how he was trying t avoid sexualizing bare feet, and eventually he got to the point of saying that ALL writers are perverts who sexualize bare feet and that NO author has EVER written bare feet without the goal of trying to arouse the reader.

Yie!

He had 48 professionally published, fairly big name authors giving him real world situation answers and he was replying to everyone by saying:


* "Yeah, I know, but rule 34!"


* "Yeah, I know for I want to avoid fan service!"


* "Yeah, I know, but how do I avoid author appeal?"


* "Yeah, I know, but perverts like bare feet."


No one - NO ONE - was sexualizing bare feet here BUT HIM!

My first reaction to his question is wonder about some of the phraseology he used.

Like:

Why is being barefoot "weird" in his mind? (He had said being bare foot was weird.)

On the other hand:

Why is being barefoot "cool" in his mind? (He had said being bare foot was a cool thing to do and he had thought making her bare foot would make her character more interesting.)

I'll point out too that I live in Maine where we have snow on the ground 7 months of the year and our weekly blizzards average 3 feet of snow per storm.

I was 31 years old the first time I had a pair of shoes.

I was 42 years old the first time I had a pair of boots.

As such, I find it weird that he would find being barefoot weird.

I also find it weird that he would find being barefoot as being cool.

His question came off as someone whom has never encountered a barefoot person before and is simply sexually aroused by the idea of seeing bare feet for the first time.

The others were telling him about various cultures that don't wear shows, even providing examples of places they visited themselves. And HOW did HE answer every comment?

By talking about fetishes, fan service, rule 34, and 50 Shades of Gray. NO ONE BUT HE was talking about those things. No one else even mentioned those things. 

There were 48 people here telling him about real world situations where real world people don't wear shoes, and he was just being so bullheaded, with his sex crazed head shoved so far up his own ass, that all he could do was answer with "but sex, but sex, but sex, but sex, but sex..." dude, no one's talking about sex but YOU.

HE and ONLY HE and NO ONE ELSE, was sexualizing bare feet.

HE and ONLY HE and NO ONE ELSE, was talking about bare feet as a fetish.

HE and ONLY HE and NO ONE ELSE, was comparing bare feet to Rule 34.

HE and ONLY HE and NO ONE ELSE, was putting bare feet into the classification of 50 Shades of Grey.

Dude, these people are pro-authors, not fanfic writers posting on porn sites. None of them knew what Rule 34 even meant. They are all asking him what it means and why he keep saying it. And he was so lost in his own bare foot sex fantasies that he couldn't even be bothered to answer them and tell them what rule 34 even means.  I had to look it up to find out what he were taking about. I didn't know what it was either.

Also, Google can't seem to find a definition for the terms "fan service" or "author appeal". I had to do some heavy duty searching before I could find other forum posts referencing the terms as well.

Near as I can tell, both the term "rule 34" and "fan service" and "author appeal" are terms found only in Tumblr fanfiction circles, which would explain why I never heard of them before as I don't read or write fanfiction.

And apparently the terms refer to authors writing sex fanfiction of copyrighted characters. Which means neither fan service or author appeal apply in his situation, seeing how he was creating his own characters.

But he couldn't stop saying he wanted to avoid fan service and author appeal (he said each 54 times - I counted) and he couldn't stop bringing up rule 34, even though, NO ONE had implied writing bare feet is a sex thing.

People are giving you real world situation answers and he are replying to everyone by saying:


* "Yeah, I know, but rule 34!"

* "Yeah, I know for I want to avoid fan service!"

* "Yeah, I know, but how do I avoid author appeal?"


But NO ONE is sexualizing bare feet here BUT HE!

Uhm.

This issue here?

HE saw bare feet as a sex object, so he was jumping to the false conclusion that EVERYONE saw bare feet as a sex thing, and he was getting crazy jealous, possessive of his character, because he didn't want other male readers lusting after her the way he was while he was writing her. 

And he by day 2, was attacking the people whom had answered him, because he'd worked himself into a sex crazed frenzy, thinking everyone was having perverted thoughts over his character, and yet, none of us even knew his character, because he had yet to even finish writing chapter 1 of his novel.

Bare feet are a natural part of life. To avoid fan service by writing the bare feet, you write the feet no differently that you write anything else. Bare feet only become fan service when you single them out and focus on talking about bare feet for no reason at all. If it doesn't move the plot forward, than there is no reason to bring up her bare feet at all.

If you want the bare feet to be part of her carefree character, than when you introduce her on page 1 of the story, simply describe her:

"She had dark skin and dark hair, and though her indigenous Amazon rainforest tribe had long ago embraced modern technology, she was a carefree spirit who loved to run barefoot in the sand, feel the wind through her long loose hair, feel the warmth of her sun beating down on her face. She was at one with nature. The spirits of the plants and animals called to her and she listened. This was her story..."

In one simple sentence I have told my readers, who this girl is, including that she goes barefoot, without sexualizing it. And now I write her story, without ever mentioning her bare feet, ever again.

If you wanted to remind the reader, you could add a scene like:

"As he was talking to her, he chanced to look down at the ground. He stopped talking He pointed to her bare feet.

"You're not wearing shoes," he said.

"Oh, no, I never wear shoes. I stopped wearing shoes when I was 10. Drove my mom crazy, but she she eventually gave up buying me shoes." She laughed cheerily, amused by his shock."

"You never wear shoes?"

"Nope. Never."

"But don't it hurt your feet?"

"No. Look." She held her foot up. "The skin on the bottom is tougher and thinker than the souls of your shoes. A nail won't even puncture. That's what comes of 30 years being barefoot. Now look at your poor feet. Soft and wimpy. A nail goes through your shoe, you'll be in the hospital."

"Wow, the bottoms of your feet are hideous!"

"I know right! People who have sex fantasies about bare foot women, ought to research what happens when you go bare foot outside for 2 or 3 years, let alone 30 years like I've done."


There. Now in the 2nd chapter I've reminded readers of her bare feet AND showed them the REALITY of what happens to REAL bare feet after a few years. AND called them out for sexualizing bare feet.

That's how easy it is.

Two scenes, under 100 words total. Point out she has bare feet without sexualizing it.

Think about it.

That's all you need to do.

You don't need to write 10 pages describing her feet every time she walks in the room.

Twice in the entire novel, is all you need.

Two scenes, under 100 words total. Point out she has bare feet without sexualizing it.

It really is that simple.

HE was the one sexualizing her feet, because HE was the one who wants to focus on her feet, and write page after page of detail about how her feet make her feel.

When you write a character, you write every part of them equally. With equal attention, giving only as much detail as is needed for the story. He had admitted there was no plot point for her being bare foot as the rest of her tribe wore shoes. He also admitted that making her barefoot had been done ONLY because he wanted to set her apart as different and unique from the rest of her tribe. And he admitted on 22 occasions that he though "being bare foot is cool", thus why being bare foot was what he had decided was the best way to show she was different.

Well, okay. Then just write that into the novel, what is the big deal?

The ONLY reason he worried others would fetishes her bare feet is because that is what he was doing himself.

Well, what is the big deal?

He likes bare feet. So what? He found himself writing too many scenes focusing on her bare feet. Again, so what?

If you are an author and you like bare feet, well, than go ahead and focus on writing scenes about your character's bare feet. What's wrong with that?

Readers who also like bare feet are going to love it.

People who don't like bare feet will pass it by.

What is the problem here?

The problem here is he was over reacting. He was making a big issue out of something that in the grand scheme of life, didn't matter.

He was jealous of future readers, lusting after a character, in a book, he hadn't yet even written, and he was so upset thinking about future readers looking at her feet the way he did, that he couldn't even write his book!

You know what, I went barefoot for 31 years, didn't own a pair of shoes that entire time and I never once went around thinking about the sensations of my toes in the sand.

Sorry, but barefoot people don't do that.

Only people who sexualize bare feet, think bare foot people do that.

In fact there is only ONE time that I remember of that I noticed the sensations my feet where feeling.

I lived on a horse farm, and during a heat wave, it only takes a couple of hours for a fresh pile of poop to become full of maggots.

Well, now take the poop and make it horse poop, on a horse farm, in the stables, that had no air conditioning because we also did not have electricity, and oh yeah, we didn't have running water either so, no way to wash - no sinks, showers, or toilets. 

When I say I grew up in 3rd word living conditions, I'm not joking. I grew up in 3rd world living conditions. I know what it is to go weeks between a meal. And can make a sandwich last for 2 weeks.

So the topic of being barefoot is one I know well.

But this particular day, the heat had reached 121F, not normal for our region, and the horse poop was full of maggots, because flies go from fresh laid egg to giant maggots in under 2 hours.

I was barefoot and I was shoveling horse poop, and walking around barefoot, and there thousands of maggots climbing up my feet, between my toes, up my legs, biting my feet, biting my toes, biting my legs, borrowing under my flesh... that night was spent with a sewing needle, puncturing my skin and running a thread through maggots to pull them back out from under my skin ... it was horrible, and to this day, I still have night mare about it, and now have a raging phobia of maggots that I did not have before that day. 

That's the only time I can remember any distinctive sensation while being bare foot for the first 31 years of my life.

Needless to say, I have no ability to grasp the concept of sexualizing feet.

Hurricane Bob, Maine heat waves, and how Quaraun came to step in piles of maggots as a reoccurring scene in many Quaraun novels, was directly a result of an actual event which happened to me in 1991.

Like I said, Maine's a lot more "out back" than people realize. And Maine in the 1970s, was way more "out back" than it is today in 2021.

Just because Maine is part of America, people forget, how big America is and how varied it's regions are. Even in America, other Americans assume 3rd world countries are ONLY Africa and India. They forget, Maine has 3rd world regions that even now in 2021, see dozens of children dying of starvation daily, and tens of thousands of people without electricity or plumbing or shoes.

I grew up in 3rd world conditions.

I was 31 years old before I had shoes.

I wasn't bare foot by will. 

I suffered severe frost bite several times while shoveling the snow in our 175 foot long driveway, without any shoes on.

I've had my bare feet stepped on my horses. Hurts like hell.

I've suffered many broken toes and foot injuries because I had no shoes.

And when I started wearing shoes, the callous leather layer of shin on the souls of my feet were so think, that it took several weeks of soaking my feet in hot water, than using pruning shears to cut off the inch think layer of hard skin, before I could even fit my feet into a shoe.

That's the reality of 31 years on bare feet.

But he was too busy focusing on sex, to think about the realities of living your life bare foot. And THAT is why he was having trouble writing his bare foot girl.

All he had to do was STOP thinking about how much he wanted to fuck her feet and START thinking about what life is like to live with no shoes.

And this is the same situation for readers who see the Quaraun series as Erotica.

They have some bizarre none sex related thing that they want to fuck, and they see that thing as Erotica no matter where they find it, but HE thinking a non-sexual item is sexual, does NOT make that item sexual to everyone else.

Are there things I fetishize that show up in the Quaraun novels with more emphasis than is needed?

Yes there are.

Does that make the Quaraun books Erotica?

No it does not.

It just means, there ARE things about the characters that I like, quite a lot, and I DO put more emphasis on describing those things.

Clearly I have a strong sexual attraction to not only my main character, but also to both of his lovers and I'm not ashamed to write about them in ways that makes it pretty obvious I'm attracted to them.

Does that make my books Erotica? No. Erotica is a very specific genre with very specific formula and guidelines and the Quaraun series doesn't even come close to it.

Does it make some scenes in the novels erotic? Well, maybe. If the things in those scenes are things you get aroused by, than, yeah, maybe you could find some stuff in the Quaraun series erotic.

Does a novel having erotic scenes, make the novel Erotica? No. And if you didn't know that, than clearly you don't know what the Erotica genre is.

I accepted the fact decades ago, that I am sexually attracted to my main characters and yeah, I do write about them, like I was a teenaged screaming fangirl writing fanfiction. But, so what? I'm not trying to win a Nobel Prize writing this series. It IS "junk writing" written simply because it's fun to write. It's riddled with bad grammar and bad spelling and tropes and I have no intention of trying to edit it into something "good". It was never meant to be something "good". It was only ever meant to be something FUN.

I never wrote it intending to publish it, the early volumes, I didn't publish those: Mrs Bureau did. Mrs. Bureau was a teacher at Old Orchard Beach, Jameson School, back in the 1970s and 1980s, She was trying to get my parents to send me to school. She used to come by the house to drop off text books so I could study on my own, because my parents wouldn't let me go to school.

I don't know what happened to her. I never her first name. She was probably in her 20s. Had long blond hair. One day, she read what I was writing, said "This is really good". I was 5 years old, when Friends Are Forever was published. She sent it in to some magazine. They published it. Their readers wanted more. Mrs. Bureau was the one who published the first few dozen. I didn't know the first thing about publishing. How could I? I was 5 years old!

I don't know what happened. Just when I was 8 years old, my uncle Bruce showed up, locked my a cage, and I never saw Mrs. Bureau again. The Cyr Clan arrived that same summer and the 4 - 5 - 8 shoot out happened.

Grammy Eva, gave me a typewriter and paper, and I sat a racoon trap, typing, there wasn't anything else to do. The cages wasn't even big enough for me to sit up straight. I got let out once a week to go to the store with Grammy Eva, and my uncles took my to the Cape Elizabeth Church on Sundays to show me off to the high priests who paid my uncles to stop by dropping the week to rape me. And that was my life until the BI raid rescued me 27 years later when I was 31 years old.

So I became very in love with the characters I wrote about, because they were the only people I had to talk to.

The racoon cage was in a woodshed behind the house. There were slats about 2 inches wide between the boards. So I was always wet in the rain and freezing in the snow. They gave me one salt herring to eat once every 12 days. 

Grammy gave me paper and ink ribbons so I could type. She published everything.

Everything published BEFORE the FBI raid in 1996, if it made money, I don't know, I never saw any of the money if it did.

And I wasn't even aware I had millions of fans. That was a shock wen I learned it because I had no idea any one knew my characters. 

That's WHY there is so much written. So many novels. So many short stories. And it's also why the stories are like they are: a character constant begging for freedom from a cage, and when he is outside of the cage, just walking and walking and walking, endlessly forever, because he's free, he's not in a cage any more, he can stand up, and sit down at will, and he can walk.

Do you have any idea what that is like?

How much joy there is, in being able to walk?

Walking IS taken to extreme fetish levels in the Quaraun series because at the time I wrote it, I was in a cage, huddled over my knees, without enough room to even stand up.

That's also why Quaraun is always outdoors, never in a house. I wouldn't even begin t know what it must be live to live in doors, in a house.

It's why Quaraun sleeps on hay and furs outside. I don't know what it would feel like to sleep in doors or on a bed, I don't know how to write something like that.

And that's also why I write Quaraun, raped, beaten, abused, and raped again, and never experiencing good or happy se, because I don't know what good or happy sex feels like. 

I had been rape more than 500 times when I was 12 years old. The last time I had sex was when I was 17,more then 40 years ago. There has NEVER been a time when I have EVER had sex willingly. Every instance was ALWAYS rape, and ALWAYS Mormon High Priest from the Cape Elizabeth, Saco, and Sanford Wards of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later Day Saints.

I don't know how to write happy, joyful, pleasurable sex, because I've never experienced it.

Technically most people would classify me as a virgin, because most people don't count rape as real sex.

And when you know THAT, than you start to see, why it is so utterly stupid that people could even think, my books were Erotica.

I write what I know and can't write sex because I know nothing about sex at all.

That don't mean I don't write fetish stuff in the books. But having fetish stuff in the books, doesn't make them Erotica, and if you read Erotica, you'd know the difference immediately.

Don't be afraid to fetishize things in your novel. Every author does. Every author has something they emphasis to the point of a fetish, wither they realize it or not.

Unlike the author who could not accept that he enjoyed bare feet and really just wanted to write about bare feet, I can accept that big men terrify me, because the shortest of my abusive uncles was 6'4" and the tallest 7'3", so I like little men, like Quaraun who's 5'6" and BoomFuzzy who is 5'3". And the priest who paid my uncles to rape me, they were always young men in their 30s to 50s, clean shaven, crew cuts, wearing Mormon missionary style suits, shaved hair so their clean cut big penises are on display... so what do I write extreme fetishes about?

Anyone who has ever read one of my novels will be quick to tell you what my fetishes are:


* Elves.. never Humans

* Wizards... evil men of the Occult, never religious priests

* Men who wear robes and gowns and caftans and kimono and hakama and prom dresses...but never suits, never pants, and never shirts and ties

* Elderly men, also much older than the men who raped me

* Testicles... men hate those for some reason, focus 100% on their penises, to the point I find penises revolting

* Scrotum rings

* Foreskins to keep penises neatly tucked in out of view where they belong

* Eunuch - Quaraun is castrated, so he is safe, he can't rape anyone

* Men with long bum length hair

* Dreadlocks

* Brushing hair... I was in my 30s before I ever owned a brush... I have hundreds of them now... I had wanted a brush so bad my whole life, I wanted to know what brushed hair felt like... my dreadlocks were 42" long when I cut them off so that I could brush my hair for the first time, in 2017

* Hair being brushed

* Hair being stroked

* Hair being petted

You're starting to see a trend right?


Yeah...


If you've never read the Quaraun novels, you probably will get a but of a shock, when you find out what the most prevalent, reoccurring, fetish found in the Quaraun series is... but anyone who's ever read any volume of the Quaraun series knows, that... I like hairy balls.

Yeah.

There it is.

I find it absolutely utterly revolting when a man shaves off his pubic hair, worse when he shaves his balls.

Quaraun's balls are on display in EVERY Quaraun novel.

BoomFuzzy's balls are on display in EVERY Quaraun novel in which he appears which is almost all of them.

But nothing get's bigger descriptions than GhoulSpawn's balls, when they are on display in EVERY Quaraun novel, that he appears in.

GhoulSpawn if you don't know, from the waist down, he's a Cotswold Sheep.

Do you know what I made Lord Sesshomaru's Mokomoko out of for the CosPlay of him? 7 bales of Cotswold sheep's wool. The Mokomoko is 14 feet long, also I sleep with it, I have since I made it in 2007.

The fact remains, it's no secret that I have a fetish for shaggy balls, dreadlocks, soft fur, and long hair, and I don't make a secret of it in my writing. And I've made a secret of WHY that is. I write men who are the EXACT OPPOSITE of the Mormon High Priests who endlessly raped me from the time I was 4 years old to 17 years old. Yes, I write those scenes full fan service, because, these men, though they are fictional, are the ONLY men I've ever felt safe with. And my writing those scenes as I do, it's part of WHY the people who love the Quaraun series, love it so much.

I've said it before and I'll say it again:

You people need to get off your high horses - I write the Quaraun series for you, I write it for me. There are no hidden message, no agendas, no themes, no meanings, no pushing ideals on anyone. Nothing. In fact, if Mrs Bureau hadn't published those original volumes back in the 1970s when I was 5 years old, you wouldn't even know the Quaraun series existed, because I NEVER would have published it on my own.

Mrs Bureau, she helped my uncles. You see, the more priests they could get to rape me, the more scenes I wrote of men raping other children the same age as me and, she profited off of that.

Those 1970s porn magazine rape stories of 8 year old girls writing diaries about being raped, those weren't fiction and I was 8 years old when I wrote those entries IN MY DIARY.

If you can find out who Mrs Bureau is, she escaped prison time when my uncles and the Mormon priests went to prison in the 1990s, because the Jameson school, said their records department burned down a few years prior so they no longer had info on who she was. She's be around 85 to 90 today in 2021 if she is still alive. 

My uncles and their friends ran a child sex slave ring. And they let 5 year old, 8 year old, 10 year old me write what they did, because they published it as fiction. I never understood why they took my diaries, by it was only after the FBI raid that I found out they'd been publishing my diary entries as child porn fiction in child porn magazine for nigh on 30 years an I never knew.

They sold it as something they called "lolicon".

THERE"S your Erotica for you.

Those were NOT me writing Erotica. That was me, daily writing a diary about the sex abuse and torture I lived through. Those were not me as an adult making up sex stories about children... I WAS the 5 year old child in those stories. I WAS the 8 year old. I WAS the the 12 year old. Those were NOT fiction. And Mrs Bureau and my uncles had no right to publish them at all, let alone publish them in child porn magazines.

Mr Bureau supported the human trafficking my uncles did, because she was making money off of it.

People who ask for my old "lolicon" from the 1970s to be republished... those were pages from my diary, and sick fucks like that Jameson School Kindergarten teacher, KNEW they SHOULD have taken that diary to the police and saved that child from hell, and instead, they took evidence from a crime scene and made money off of it.

That's how my early stuff got published and that's why it's so different than what I write today.

Any sane, kind, caring, compassionate adult would have taken that diary to the police.

I was only 5 years old when she did that, and she could have saved me from 3 decades of rape and torture, had she gone to the police like she should have done instead of publishing it.

Think of how much would be different if that one Kindergarten teacher had taken that diary to the police.

I wouldn't have spent 27 years locked in a cage, starving, freezing, broken bones. Other children, those 31 children whose sawed up bones were found on June 19, 2016, in GooseFare Brook Ravine in the Reclaim Blueberry Plains, would not have died. They'd still be alive today.

On top of the torture by my uncles, there was my mother. My mother had "munchausen syndrome by proxy" and when me and my 3 brothers were little, she would force feed up HER meds, just to make us sick to the point of near death, overdose us, than drive to the hospital and say "see, I told you I was sick, look at them, see what I did to them, they gonna die now and it's all your fault, I did this because you wouldn't give me the meds I asked for!" One time she put my brother in the hospital with a heart attack caused by dumping a bottle of her meds down his throat. He was only 10 years old. DHHS didn't exist back than (1970s) and Maine state law, the police couldn't arrest for child abuse unless a witness who was not the child made the report, so no one would help us. Several times each of us almost died.

Every time she put one of us in the hospital, she would go to her church and ask for donations for medical bills, but she spent the money on designer shoes each time (she had more then 500 shoes some of them costing several thousand just for the one pair) and sent the medical bills to our dad.

Later we found out, the whole thing was because she was child number 8 of 12 children, and never got any attention from her parents, so she tried to get attention from doctors and police by faking mental illnesses via doing things to make her kids sick, so she could in turn get sympathy, pity, attention and money from people at her church.

All 4 of us, me and my brothers once we were adults wanted nothing to do with her, because of what she did to us.

Munchausen syndrome is just horrible, and munchausen syndrome by proxy is 10 times worse.



How did so many people become so convinced that this series was Erotica, that a mob of over 70 people arrived in my driveway on April 10, 2015, to violently, brutally murder my family, because they were outraged over my books being Erotica?

How?

How does something like this happen?



Remember folks: 


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!


I've ignored the sex crazed trolls calling my books Erotica for years...


...but now my family is dead. Murdered by one of those very trolls.


One of those trolls put a bomb in my house.


One of those trolls cut my children's heads off and nailed them to my door.


While other trolls now take those real world events and sex memes about them.


So let's talk about this.


Let's talk about how slanderous jackasses calling my books Erotica, when they were not Erotica, resulted in my entire family being murdered April 10, 2015.


I think part of the problem with people calling me an Erotica author, when I've never even written a sex scene and I find scenes glorifying nude bodies to be revolting, largely because I find the human body to be utterly disgusting... stems from the fact that I write Yaoi and people seem to not know what the word Yaoi means.

Just because sex crazed teens write sex crazed fan fiction and post it on Tumbler with the tag "yaoi" underneath, doesn't mean it's ACTUALLY Yaoi. In fact, if it's fanfiction, chances are high it contains no Yaoi in it at all.

Yaoi is a Japanese word, which when translated to English means:

"Boy Love Written By Female Authors For Female Readers"

It means Gay Couples written by a female author.

Yaoi is NOT Erotica. Not even close. Usually, professionally published Yaoi is Romance. It's ONLY it stupid Yaoi Slash (fanfiction) that you see sex scenes or Erotica. If you've only read Yaoi Slash aka Yaoi fanfiction, than you've NEVER read the Yaoi genre, which is the LARGEST genre published in Japan, and 99.99% of the time is 100% sex-free.

I'm sorry, but horny 10 year old writing gay sex on FanFiction dot net is NOT the Yaoi genre and you're an idiot if you think it is.

Usually Yaoi is Sweet Romance aka sexless Romance like what Barbra Cartland wrote.

And while ALL Sweet Romance is sexless, MOST Romance is 100% sex free. 

It's very rare for a Romance novel to contain a sex scene.

And before the Fabio books of the 1990s, you never even saw so much as a hug, let alone a kiss, and sex wasn't even hinted at, let alone implied.

The Fabio books introduced couples how risked scandal by hugging in public and once in a while a couple got really daring and held hands. Kissing, still out of the question and sex did not exist outside of marriage and was not on the page.

In fact, the first Romance novel to contain an on-page sex scene, was written in 2013. Yes. 50 Shades of Grey.

Before 2013, sex was not allowed in the Romance genre and no publisher would touch a sex scene.

Sex scenes existed in other genres, as far back as the 1950s, but they were considerably rare before the 1990s and were generally seen as a death sentence to the career of any author daring enough to risk slipping a nipple onto the page.

If you wanted sex scenes, you wanted Erotic Romance, Erotica, or Porn - the ONLY 3 genres allowed to publish a sex scene in America, and YES the American government did and in fact still does have obscenity laws restricting what you can write, with sex outright not being allowed, by federal law, to be published in certain genres, until September 1997.

You might want to look up the federal laws that govern the publishing industry in America. Freedom of Speech ain't as free as you'd expect. There are a lot of things, you can't legally publish in America. 

No one ever referred to me as an Erotica author prior to 2013 when Kendra Silvermander highjacked my KBoards account while I was in the hospital, and started posting weird sex filled gibberish all over the forum using my account.

The Erotica rumor returned when Twitch streamer ThingyChan set out to making 5 hour long videos, detailing weird sex filled BDSM shit about me.

In both cases of Kendra and Claudia, it appears to be a case of "too retarded to know what words mean" followed by letting their overactive perverted, sex crazed imaginations run away with them on social media.

Both of them discovered I write in the Yaoi Genre and both of them, not knowing what Yaoi means, automatically thought Yaoi = Erotica/BDSM and ran wild spreading sex lies about me and what I write without ever once actually READING my novels to find out how incredible inaccurately they had misjudged me.

The fact remains, Quaraun is bisexual and polygamist. He has 2 male lovers: BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn, both of whom are gay, and he also has 3 female lovers, all 3 of whom are straight. Quaraun is married to all 5 of his lovers and they all live together.

And guess what?

Quaraun is also, not only asexual, he's a castrated eunuch, which you would have known if you had actually READ my novels instead of running around spreading lies and rumors about them.

Sex doesn't run Quaraun's life. He loves his partners very much - no sex required for that. They have a strong emotional bond. It's unbreakable, and when one of them dies, one of the others driven to suicide by it, which is a primary plot point for the entire series.

BoomFuzzy's suicide takes over Quaraun's entire life. He becomes obsessed with. BoomFuzzy commits suicide right in the beginning of the series. It's one of the first things that happens. And the whole rest of the series after that, is older Quaraun, retelling his life with BoomFuzzy. 

The series shifts back and forth. Chapter A is a flashback to the past when BoomFuzzy was still alive, chapter B shifts to the present where we see Quaraun slowly going insane, suffering suicidal guilt driven depression blaming himself for BoomFuzzy's suicide.

THAT is the ENTIRE story... all 138 novels and 2,000+ short stories.

It's not sex, it's not Erotica. It's a man torn apart and trying to find a reason to live after his lover commits suicide.

There ARE sensual scenes, that involve a lot of touching and groping, kissing and hugging, but sex itself occurs in only 21 scenes out of the entire series.

Quaraun has a raging phobia of both sex and humans. Being a small, feminine looking Elf, he is often mistaken by Humans for being aa female and over the years several men have raped or attempted to rape Quaraun.

Because Quaraun's father did not want Quaraun to be the next king, he gathered together several women hell bent on being the next King mother, and held Quaraun down while the women raped him. The even repeats itself, until one of the women finally gives birth to a male baby. This event happened shortly before Quaraun is castrated by his father. His intent was to ensure that Quaraun did not father another child which could lay claim to the throne.

Needless to say the very thought of sex traumatizes Quaraun on horrifying levels. This results in the strange relationships he has with his lovers.

The story follows their life and has no theme of sex or gay-rights or anything, even though haters have made such claims. In fact, the fact that the characters are gay, bi, ad polygamous is not even mentioned at all. AND, back in 1978 when I first started writing the series, I have never heard the word gay... in fact, the first time I ever heard the word gay was on September 12, 2015 when a mod of gay haters arrived in my driveway. Even though I had written a GAY couple for over 40 years, I had to Google the word GAY in 2016 to find out what GAY was, because I had never heard the term before. That's how big of a non-issue GAY is in the novels.

I had known a gay couple in Saco, Maine when I was a small child. They were friends of my grandmother and she often visited them and several times I had been with her. I was about 12 years old when one of them was murdered at Saco Shaw's - it was the first of 5 Saco Shaw's Transgender Murders that would happen at that store over the next 30 years. About a year later the other one commit suicide. While not my first encounter with death, his was my first encounter with suicide.

I think because I was so young, about 4 years old, when I met them, and they were married before I meet them, and this was back in the 1970s, that it never occurred to me, that men were "not supposed" to be a couple.

One was a transvestite. He did not try to be a woman, he just liked wearing prom dresses, and the other looked like Billy Idol, spiky white hair, always dressed in spiked black leather. They owned Maine's first Dollar store, which was in the Saco Shaw's parking lot. Both of them died in the store a year apart. One was murdered by gay haters in the store, the other hung him self in the store on the one anniversary of his partners murder.

This couple HEAVILY influenced Quaraun and BoomFuzzy's characters and the theme of suicide that is in the Quaraun novels.

When I created Quaraun and BoomFuzzy, I even designed them to look and dress and talk like this real world gay couple whom had owned the Saco Shaw's Dollar Store.

They were a married couple. I never noticed until almost 40 years later, that they were the ONLY male couple in town. I didn't see them as different. I didn't see them a unusual. They were just a married couple, live may parents and other kids parents, it never occurred to me that they were the ONLY couple who were 2 men.

So, I grew up, just thinking sometimes families had 2 dads. 

When the transvestite was murdered, it was the 1970s and I was so young, it never occurred to me that it was because he was married to another man. I didn't realize that was what happened until many years later.

When the "Billy Idol" one hung himself, we were at the store, so we saw him like that. Me and my grandmother. I was I around 12 at the time. I understood why he did it. He was so sad after his partner was murdered. 

I never forgot what happened to them and it just stuck with me my whole life, that these men really loved each other a lot, so much that they couldn't live without each other and I just started writing stories about them and over time it evolved and became the Quaraun series.

It's not sex, it's not Erotica. It's man torn apart and trying to find a reason to live after his lover commits suicide.

And you people who call my work Erotica... you all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

You judged it without reading it. Had you read it, you'd have known what it was. So all of you "god hates sex" protests in my driveway... you blew up my house with a bomb for nothing, you murdered my children for nothing. You stupid ass idiots. May you all burn in hell where you belong.

 The series spans 138 novels, 2,000+ short stories, more 8 million words total, and has exactly 21 sex scenes, which are there only because they were important to the plot, and they fade to black.

The story is Quaraun murdered someone and is on the run, at first alone, but he meets people alone the way, who, like him are outcasts of society for one reason or another and they form a sort of DnD/Pathfinder type adventuring group that travels together.

Quaraun started out as a character I played in Dungeons & Dragons, decades ago. And the earliest stories about him, were nothing more than me writing down the game story as my game group played the game. The character was created because the Dungeon Master wanted to hide the game's end boss villain (a Necromancer) in the adventure party, for the 2edAD&D Temple of Elemental Evil and needed a player he could trust to play a Chaotic Evil character and not let the rest of the players know the character was evil. The DM gave me the stats and I created a Moon Elf.  With the release of SpellJammer a few years later, I kept the character going in the SpellJammer Champaign, and than in a RavenLoft one as well. Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, BeLuna, ZooLock, and Bullgaar were all characters I played in various campaigns with this game group. It was a large group with 15 players and 3 DMs (myself being one of the DMs) and 9 of us were published authors who were writing our novels based off the game nights. Because of this most of the Quaraun novels are heavily influenced by Temple of Elemental Evil, Raveloft, and SpellJammer. Because 9 of us were authors, we all retained the characters we personally played as our main characters in our novels, and changed the names and races of other players' characters, that way ONLY my novels contained Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, BeLuna, ZooLock, and Bullgaar, but never contained any characters played by other players. Each author did the same, and all of us published 50+ novels each over the course of running this D&D game group.

Quaraun was not originally written as a gay/bi character, as can be seen by the early stories when he had multiple wives and 8 children. This changed when an affair started between him and another Elf wizard as a result of a gay player wanting to play his own character gay and there being no one else willing to declare their character gay and his (the player's) boyfriend not wanting to join the game group. He designed his character as a half-elf wizard, with a pocket full of parrots. In the Quaraun novel's his character was changed to a Demon named GhoulSpawn and the pockets full of parrots became pockets full of sheep.

Also, Quaraun's a serial killer. Remember, I said he was designed to be the final boss villain of 2edAD&D's Temple of Elemental Evil, and part of what the DM's plan was, was for my character to one by one kill off the entire adventuring party, then resurrect them as Liches. This required players, to be killed in the game, without knowing my character had killed them, and than, being contacted that night, after the game, by the DM, to inform them: "DO NOT roll out a new character! Here's what's happening. You are now one of the Necromancer's minions. The Moon Elf will resurrect you and you are now Lawful Evil, and a Lich, but you have to pretend to be Lawful Good and don't let anyone know you are evil or a lich now." 

In the novels, like in the game, the murders are grizzly rituals, with scenes drawn out in medically accurate gory detail. Thus why the series is rate M18 or M21 in countries which have book ratings, and banned from being sold in some countries. Why would you call something like that Erotica? If you are so sick and so twisted that you would call something like THAT Erotica, than you probably belong in prison yourself.

Quaraun IS the villain. That's why he never fights any villains in the series. It's WHY the series goes on with Quaraun able to enter any village, any town, and country, any planet, with no one challenging him, and people running away in terror at the sight of him. He's the ultimate super villain, completely undefeatable. Unlike most story arches in typical fiction, the heroes NEVER win in the Quaraun series. Every hero who ever enters Quaraun's life to try to stop him, winds up dead and eaten. Every adventuring party that arrives to stop him is obliterated.

Quaraun is the most powerful wizard of the known universe. He's invincible. He's The Pink Necromancer. And any D&D style adventure party that tries to stop him, he just unleashes Pocket Lich - his pet DracoLich - on them, or BoomFuzzy - his Undead purple lich unicorn. Quaraun is more powerful than the Lich Lords, he made the Lich Lords, he controls the Liches.

Quaraun's world is dark and bloody. You're very in the wrong place if you came here looking for sex and Erotica, because you will not find that here.

The characters I played in Dungeons and Dragons (2ed AD&D, 3rd ed, 3.5 ed, 4th ed, 4.5 ed... I've never played 5th ed - I have more than 10,000 DnD, Pathfinder, Warhammer, d20, MTG, EverQuest, Iron Kingdoms, and other such games splat books/game guides, etc). 


The characters I played in Dungeons and Dragons are:


   *   Quaraun: Moon Elf Prince - Necromancer; infected with Mind Flayer Larva in his brain and will eventually evolve into a Mind flayer; primary attack is resurrecting dead flowers/plants/trees as armies of undead.


   *   BoomFuzzy aka King Gwallmaiic The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley: Phooka/Kelpie/Evil Unicorn - Candy Chef Illusionist; makes marshmallow bunnies that transform into Holy Hand Grenades when thrown at enemies; delights in skewering Humans on his horn


   *   GhoulSpawn: Half Sun Elf, Half Cotswold Sheep Demon - Portal Master, Beast lord, and Chaos Sorceror - a coward who flees from fights, but throws glittering sheep into the path of enemies when doing so, causing confusion in the enemies, allowing the entire party to escape through a portal he made


   *   BeaLuna: Flower Gnome - Assassin/Rouge, Alchemist, Pixie Hunter; has a pair of ruby encrusted magic daggers and keeps pixies in glass jars


   *   Bullgaar: Half Dwarf Half Mountain Troll - Barbarian Warrior - a very big and very stupid Dwarf with rock-like skin


   *   FarDaariig: A Farrdariig (Welsh Vampire Leprechaun); wears a coat made of Human skin, dyed red with human blood; Mind Control -semi-psion, makes drugged food that he gives to travellers, causes them to sleepwalk off cliffs allow him to defeat enemies without actually confronting them in battle


   *   AlKeeme aka The Lansquin: Moon Elf - Quaraun's great-grandson; Cult Leader, Alchemist. Used alchemy to transform into a Gorgon/Snake-shifter beast. Uses mind control to turn enemies on each other.


   *   ZooLock: Illithid/Mind Flayer - Psion Priest with a pet Jelly Cube; A coward who flees fights, but leaves behind bloodthirsty flying pink goldfish and giant green jelly cubes, both of which massacre the attackers; worships the Sacred Pink JellyFish a female god wo is bored with being a god and has taken refuge in the brain of an Elf (the parasite that has burrowed into Quaraun's brain)

As Illithids/Mind Flayers are copyrighted character races and can not be used in published works not published by Wizards of the Coast, ZooLock underwent a race/species change in the published Quaraun novels, but in the original game play, he was a Mind flayer. 


...and they all appear in the Quaraun novels and do the same things they did your game group's game nights.

Does ANY of ^THAT^ sound like BDSM Erotica to YOU?

Let me tell you more about these novels they are calling BDSM and Erotica.

BoomFuzzy aka Unicorn is NOT a good person.

Let me repeat that:

BoomFuzzy is evil.

He's a serial killer known as The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley.

People call him this because he eats Elves.

He is in the habit of befriending an Elf, getting it to trust him, seducing it, making it his lover, than viciously attacking, killing, and eating it.

Quaraun is fully aware of this. But Quaraun, as a young child, had an emo-like crush on this villain whom all Elf children were taught to be on the look out for. When as a young adult Quaraun meets The Elf Eater, he is attacked, beaten, taken prisoner, and raped. Quaraun escapes and flees. Years later, they meet again and this time The Elf Eater is now very old, elderly, crippled, almost blind, and nearly starved to death. 

Initially Quaraun plans to kill the evil creature that has murdered thousands of Elves. But when BoomFuzzy does not fight back and simply let's Quaraun kill him, saying it would be a mercy for his life to end, Quaraun can't bring himself to kill the beast and ends up taking care of BoomFuzzy, nursing him back to health. They live together for about 30 years, but Quaraun is a very young Elf, he'll live another 500 years or more, and BoomFuzzy is an ancient Phooka somewhere around 2,000 years old. Old age, arthritis, dementia, Alzheimer's, blindness, and manic depression are all things the Phooka is suffering from. 

One day a village of Elves finds out Quaraun is living with The Elf Eater as his lover, and they attack the couple. Quaraun is seriously injured. BoomFuzzy rescues him, but gets stabbed in the belly when doing so. While nursing Quaraun back to health, BoomFuzzy neglects his own injury and it becomes infected. Knowing he will not live more than a few weeks and not wanting to suffer in agony just to die, BoomFuzzy kills himself and Quaraun is devastated and feels responsible for BoomFuzzy's suicide. 

Quaraun uses magic to preserve BoomFuzzy's body and spends 100 years studying Necromancy in search of a way to restore BoomFuzzy's life. Quaraun eventual raises BoomFuzzy from the dead as a Lich and does the spell wrong, also resurrecting dead trees, dead rose bushes, dead wildlife (deer, rabbits, etc.), and all the dead in several local graveyards  all as liches too. 

Quaraun is horrified by what he has done and goes into hiding for 300 years, terrified to face the world, now that he's unwittingly unleashed a massive hoard of assorted undead on society. Ghosts of his long dead old friends start to follow him around, and he spends time talking with them, but no one but Quaraun can see BeaLuna or Bullgaar so everyone thinks Quaraun's insane.

The world believes Quaraun is an evil super villain who created the Liches to take over the planet. BoomFuzzy thinks it's hilarious because he WAS trying to take over the planet and Quaraun gave him a way to do so, while also making BoomFuzzy immortal. BoomFuzzy will stop at nothing to destroy everything and everyone, and now Quaraun is suicidal over the guilt of having unleashed this madman on the world. Blinded by love, Quaraun didn't want to believe BoomFuzzy was evil, but now he sees BoomFuzzy for what he is. But, BoomFuzzy actually does love Quaraun and wants to keep Quaraun from committing suicide. Quaraun attempts suicide in almost every novel, and the plot is often around BoomFuzzy's attempt to keep Quaraun alive. Quaraun, realizing that he can keep BoomFuzzy from hurting others by keeping the Phooka's focus on him, uses this to try to keep BoomFuzzy from hurting others.

Quaraun knew that BoomFuzzy was dangerous. He loved the thrill of the danger. It was a fantasy of his that he never thought would come true. He never expected to meet The Elf Eater.

It is also well established that Quaraun is not mentally competent. For lack of a better word, Quaraun is borderline retarded in many respects. He was born "slow". He's not very smart, most consider him stupid. We see scenes of him in early childhood and it is apparent from as early as 3 years old, that Quaraun is not right in the head. Quaraun's father is abusive of him for this very reason. 

The King believes his son to have been infected by a type of Demon (called a Thullid) that starts out as a maggot like larvae, crawls up your nostril, burrows into your brain, slowly eats your brain, and as it's body grows it fills your skull, replacing your brain, while sending long tentacles into your spine to attach to your nerves. You eventually die and it takes over your body, and no one ever knows you die because it fuses to you and it effectively becomes you, taking over your identity and living as you. This is the process of "Demon Possession" in Quaraun's world, where Demon Possession is not a spiritual possession but rather an actual alien creature possessing your body.

And, the King is not wrong. When Quaraun was 3 years old, he and his mother were attacked by Thullids. Both were implanted. Quaraun's father noticed a change in his wife's habits and killed her by smashing her head in with a rock, to break open her skull and pull the JellyFish-like creature out of her brain. He than stomped the Thullid to death. Quaraun witnessed this. Only 3 years old, he was deeply traumatized by what he had seen, and no one believed him when he told other adults that his father had killed his mother. Quaraun was sent away to a wizarding school on the other side of the planet and it was there that he was raised and heard stories of the Elf Eater and eventually came to meet the Elf Eater.

Young and foolish, born not quite "right" mentally, and suffering from a Thullid infestation in his brain, Quaraun was not prone to thinking clearly or rationally, and when he realized who BoomFuzzy was, he foolishly thought he could change the Elf Eater's ways, buy casting a soul binding spell. Quaraun literally cut his soul in half, and cut BoomFuzzy's soul in half, and switched souls. Taking half of The Elf Eater's soul and putting half of his soul in BoomFuzzy.

And while the soul binding ritual worked to somewhat tame the Elf Eater, by making him more like the timid Elf Quaraun was, the soul binding also made Quaraun more violent by making him more like the vicious Phooka BoomFuzzy was.

The two became as one being, knowing each others' thoughts, feeling every pain the other feels. If one became drunk, they both got intoxicated. If one took drugs, they both got high. When one was stabbed, they both felt the pain. When one was wounded, they both started bleeding. When one caught the flue, they both got a fever. Quaraun had underestimated the full effects of the hive mind of soul binding and never even thought about the fact that he would become like BoomFuzzy.

When BoomFuzzy died, Quaraun felt it happen inside of him, as though he himself were dying. And after BoomFuzzy was gone, Quaraun couldn't function, because half of his soul died with BoomFuzzy and was now gone, while half of BoomFuzzy's dead soul was still inside him, slowly turning Quaraun into an undead creature.

When Quaraun resurrects BoomFuzzy as a Lich, the spell goes wrong because of the soul binding spell, and Quaraun partly becomes a Lich himself.

This all happens with in the first few chapters and is how the series starts.

The end result is they have a very hostile and toxic relationship. BoomFuzzy is violent, a drug dealer, and is often drunk. He's prone to drug Quaraun's food and drink, keeping the Elf constantly high. BoomFuzzy beats Quaraun up frequently and is not uncommon for Quaraun to be seen with a black eye, a bloody nose, or a split lip.

GhoulSpawn sees this and is actively trying to break them up out of fear that BoomFuzzy with beat Quaraun to death. GhoulSpawn and Quaraun become lovers and that sends BoomFuzzy on a violent rampage with Quaraun, and starts beating on him worse than before.

The whole thing is a big mess.

And while this quick bit of info may seem to imply Quaraun is a misunderstood hero, nothing could be further from the truth. Quaraun, in order to resurrect BoomFuzzy, murdered his wife and four children, than killed and ate his father, and than poisoned all the food in his village and sat on the king's throne and laughed while watching everyone frothing blood and coughing up their acid dissolved organs. He later murdered his 2 best friends BeaLuna and BullGaar. He makes and sells magic items to other wizards, but if you piss him off, he'll put a curse on the item before selling it to you, so that it turns into a mimic and eats you. He routinely hunts down Wood Elves, imprisons them, tortures them, then gives them to BoomFuzzy who cooks and eats them. A total male slut, Quaraun is prone to having affairs with anyone and everyone every time he angry at BoomFuzzy.

They are both, very bad people.

Does ANY of THIS sound like BDSM or Erotica to YOU?

Their relationship is not "cute" or "BDSM" even though it has been called both, by readers.

While they do both love each other and they are generally happy together, they are two very violent, high strung, temperamental, spiteful men. And their relationship is very violent and abusive.

And it seems that a lot of people can't tell the difference between an abusive relationship and BDSM. Likewise a lot of people can't seem to tell the difference between the horrors of rape and the pleasures of Erotica.

I feel that there is a rather disturbing trend the past 4 or 5 years, of authors writing weird abuse-based fetish sex and selling it as Erotica or Erotic Romance, which has lead to the trend in young readers, reading books like the Quaraun series and calling it's extreme levels of abuse "BDSM Erotica" without actually knowing what BDSM even is.

BDSM is consensual.

Abuse is not.

If a character is being taken advantage of by another character, that is NOT seduction, that is abuse.


I shouldn't need to say this as it should be plain and simple common sense, but...


ABUSE IS NOT BDSM!


AND


RAPE IS NOT EROTICA!

And if you think it is,

please get psychiatric help.

You NEED it!

HOW did Kendra Silvermander, ThingyChan, or their hoards of super-Christian, gay-hating, followers get the idea that anything in my life, let alone the Quaraun novels, were in any way connected to sex, BDSM, Erotica, or dominatrixes?

And WHY did their group of super-Christian, gay haters decide any of this was reason to blow up my house with a bomb, drive a backhoe over the house which replaced that house, trash my cars, or murder my family? 

They did these things saying citing that it was because I was: gay, trans, dominatrix, into BDSM, and wrote Erotica. And yet, I am/do NONE of those things!


Let me repeat this:


   *   They put a bomb in my house because they FALSELY CLAIMED I was: gay, trans, dominatrix, into BDSM, and wrote Erotica. And yet, I am/do NONE of those things!


   *   They drove a back hoe over my next house because they FALSELY CLAIMED I was: gay, trans, dominatrix, into BDSM, and wrote Erotica. And yet, I am/do NONE of those things!


   *   They trashed my cars - 5 of them - because they FALSELY CLAIMED I was: gay, trans, dominatrix, into BDSM, and wrote Erotica. And yet, I am/do NONE of those things!


   *   They MURDERED my children and nailed their heads to my door because they FALSELY CLAIMED I was: gay, trans, dominatrix, into BDSM, and wrote Erotica. And yet, I am/do NONE of those things!


What the fuck?

What is wrong with these people?

I CosPlay characters from the novels at book signings, lectures, writing workshops, carnivals, festivals, car shows, and YouTube-Twitch-gaming-geek-comic book conventions (ComicCon, etc)

Interestingly, this has caused some very WILD rumors about me.

Because I CosPlay male characters, many of Maine's ignorant locals call me trans, transgender, or transvestite, and this had lead to groups such as West Burrow Baptist Church, Curtis Lake Church, That Church (in Biddeford), Arundel Christian Tabernacle, and even my own church The Saco Ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, to arrive in massive and violent protests and riots on my farm. 

People often ask why I no longer attend the local Mormon Church (The Saco Ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints), but as you recall, May 2010 this church was the one who cute my car (the 1964 Dodge 330) in half claiming it was demon possessed and that they had to kill the car in order to kill the demon in the car.

My Dazzling Razzberry was in the parking lot of his church when acid was poured on the windshield in 2016.

On 4 occasions between 2010 and 2017 my Volvo had all 4 tires slashed while parked here.

This is the church where a pair of missionaries, pushed me off the curb in front of a car.

This is the church my Volvo was at when the brake lines were cut: 13 times over the period of 7 years.

This is the church where my Volvo was parked when the power steering line was sawed off - 3 times in 4 years.

This is the church, who in 1994 gathered in my yard and beat my 27 year old horse to death, by smashing her in the face with large rocks.

Tis is the church, who bought all of my books from local bookstores and staged a book burning bonfire on my lawn - 8times since 2010, the most recent one in 2018.

The last time I attended, the Relief Society women, refused to allow me in the building, and had gathered a pile of rocks and were throwing them at me.

278 members of this church claim I am a witch, 14 families in this church claim I used curses to kill a member of their family, 16 bishops have been excommunicated for their involvement in hate crimes, 3 of those bishops were institutionalized at Pine Land Center (Maine's government run mental institute for the criminally insane), 3 members of this church including the Bishop who was also Old Orchard Beach's town manager have gone to prison for their hate crimes including the bomb that blew up my house, and the current bishop's younger brother is the "Corporal" of the local Neo-Nazi Organization and fronts some of the most violent Ku Klux Klan attacks east of the Mississippi.

I am a 5th generation LDS/Mormon and the only reason I no longer attend church is because it's rather expensive to pay on average $5k in repairs to my car every week and $200k in hospital bills every year, because of the extreme levels of violence committed by the members of this church.

In every case of a violent attack, members of these churches, make the false claim that I am gay, a witch, trans, or an Erotica author, and make the claim they were told this by God himself and that God instructed them to do the violent hate acts they committed. 

In one instance, they had even printed up INFO OFF OF THIS PAGE of my website, and claimed that that page was an "About Me" page. ... uhm... yeah, go look at which page it is, I'll wait.

Did you see WHICH page it is?

Yeah.

They printed up sections of that page, specifically the part about Quaraun being a castrated eunuch, not willingly, after people in his village hung him upside down naked in a tree and tortured him, than mutilated his genitals, and afterwards he became a serial killer to punish people who tortured gay men.

They printed up that section of that page, in 2015 and 2016, and posted flyers all over Southern Maine, saying that I, ME, not Quaraun, by EelKat, was a dangerous serial killer, out to kill all Christians, and was gathering up an army of gay men to to kill all non gays in Maine, out of vengeance for being a castrated man.

Yeah. I have copies of the flyers. Gene Libby gave them to me. Don't know HIM - oh just, you know - Google him. See WHO he is and WHAT he does? Yeah. The Old Orchard Beach Town Hall actually sued me for being "Too gay to live in the family friendly town of Old Orchard Beach, where gays are not allowed to own houses, business, or property." And the PROFILE PAGE FOR A FICTIONAL CHARACTER was the evidence that their lawyer handed to the judge in court, while claiming that I WAS Quaraun... he used photos of my off the PortCon Convention website, there page where I was listed as a winner of best costume... and tried to tell the court that was me, every day.

It takes 4 hours to put the Quaraun CosPlay on, that's why I wear it at so few conventions. And that wig is a good 90F - it's almost impossible to wear that costume for more than 2 or 3 hours.

But the idiots who run the Town of Old Orchard Beach, can't separate a FICTIONAL ELF WIZARD from the author who wrote him.

Why?

Guess who else was involved?

Yep.

Kendra Silvermander. 

SHE is the one who printed up those flyers. No. This wasn't just some random internet troll. Kendra Silvermander is local. VERY local.

Walk out my driveway, turn right, keep going until you get to a little blue breakfast café. There she is. How long did it take you to get there? 3 minutes? 4 minutes? Yes, she's VERY local. One my street local.

She printed up tens of thousands of those flyers, put them on every telephone pole, every church, every mailbox, in every restaurant ... in York County.

When you ask HOW did it reach the point that 30,000 people arrived in my yard and trashed my farm... THAT is how.

Online, offline, she went on a vendetta.

And to this day, I still don't know why.

She is the source of every sex rumor about me. She is the source of the Erotica rumors, the gay rumors, the trans rumors, and she is the ring leader behind every violent attack....

...I've begged police for help for well over 2 decades now.



She's a stalker, with severe mental disorders.

   *   No one would help. Not even after the bomb blew up my house in October 16, 2006.

   *   No one would help. Not even after 75 pet roosters were beheaded, rope nooses tied round their necks and they hung in my rose bushes in 2007.

   *   No one would help. Not even after my car was cut in half in 2010.

   *   No one would help. Not even after the back hoe ran over my house August 8, 2013.

   *   No one would help. Not even after Kendra Silvermander herself, arrived at Southern Maine Community College, armed with golf clubs and attacked me, broken my spine, my hips, my knees, left me for dead, leaving me paralyzed for 5 months and spending 18 months relearning to walk, November 14, 2013.

   *   No one would help. Not even after my children were kidnapped April 10, 2015.

   *   No one would help. Not even after my children were murdered, their heads nailed to my door May 15, 2015.

   *   No one would help. Not even after Kendra Silvermander herself, arrived at Scarborough, WalMart, armed with a shopping cart and attacked me AGAIN, leaving me paralyzed AGAIN, June 26, 2016... this time damaging my spinal column, in addition to again breaking my spine, hips, and knees. I'm crippled for the rest of my life now.

There were witnesses for EVERY event, but no one ever helped. Not once. Not one single, solitary time, has ANYONE ever stepped up to help me.

Not once.

Everyone did exactly 2 things: They either turned a blind eye and said it wasn't their problem, or they they joined in and helped harass us.


April 10, 2015, we were attacked by 14 men armed with guns... and more than 70 of my neighbours, right here all the houses that can be seen from my address 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine... all came out of their houses, and stood in my driveway, while those 14 men, tied wire lines around our necks and beat us in the face with cinder block bricks, while holding hand guns to our heads.


^^^THAT^^^ is what Kendra Silvermander's sex lies about me caused.


Remember folks: 


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!

The problem with these attackers is can not see or hear them coming and I can not cry out for help.

I originally took up writing because I was mute.

I had no other way to communicate.

There are reasons why I was mute, which I won't go into here, but I talk about n detail on several other pages of my site, so it's easy enough to find out what happened.

I fact is, I was born with speech, hearing, and eye/seeing medical issues. 

I've had a slur/stutter since I was a baby. I still have it, though it's less now thanks to speech therapy classes I took in my 40s.

I am severely hearing impaired. I have been since I was born. As a child, I tested at having the hearing of a 60 year old, and it's grown worse over the years. Now 50 years later, I am almost deaf and do not hear people when they talk to me. I do more reading of lips than I do hearing of words, so you MUST be looking straight at me while you talk, and I MUST be looking at your face, otherwise, I will not hear a word you say and I will not know you said anything to me at all.

My inability to hear well causes more issues than my vision and speaking impairments.

Also I come from a culture where women are not allowed to speak unless a man gives them permission to, and she can not ask for permission. She must be given permission to even ask for permission. So I NEVER start/initiate conversations with ANY ONE... EVER. Before you can talk to me, you must get permission from a male relative to ask him for permission to speak to me, and if I am to answer you he must grant permission for that as well. Females have no freedom or rights in Gypsy culture. 

So, AFTER you get permission to speak to me, THAN you have to get my attention to get me to NOTICE that you are talking.

I can not hear you speak, I need to read your lips. But, I'm not allowed to look up, women are required to always look at the ground. 

One I'm looking at you, I can read your lips IF you are close enough to me. I can only see 18 inches in front of my face. Less than 2 feet. So you need to be VERY close to me before I can SEE you talking and try to translate what you are saying.

This process makes talking to anyone rather difficult for me and is why you see me talking on Twitch streams and YouTube videos, because I can face the camera and talk, but also why you see me NOT talking to actual people in face to face conversations, because I can not hear or see what you are saying, making it incredibly difficult for me to understand what you want and reply accordingly.

I've lived with this issue my whole life.

I don't know what it is like to see or hear normally the way fully sighted or fully hearing people can do. And as such, I have great difficulty in writing people/characters who have good vision or good hearing, and is WHY the bulk of the characters I write have hearing, speaking, and or vision issues. I write what I know.

I've been legally blind on one eye and nearly blind in the other eye since I was 8 years old, because again an uncle with masonry equipment beating me in the face.

I've suffered with Selective Mutism my whole life, I stull struggle with it to this day.

When I was 14 I suffered an injury that went ignored by adults. I became "near mute". Meaning nearly always mute and struggling to form fragmented phrases, let alone full sentences. 

I remained "near mute" until I was 42 years old, when I had an MRI for other things, and the MRI revealed, I had suffered a serious injury to my jaw, and no one thought to take me to the hospital.

At 42 years old, I had surgery on my jaw, replacing much of my jaw bone, reconstructing the muscles/bones/nerves, and the exhorbantly expensive root channels, removal, and porcelain replacement of 7 teeth from the canine tooth back to the morals.

Did you know, it cost over $2k for EACH replacement tooth, and I had to 7 of them. And that just EACH replacement tooth, that doesn't include the 7 root channels, the bone replacement surgery. It cost $14k just to replace the 7 teeth my Uncle Bruce shattered with a brick.

In total, with the MRIs, the spine surgery, the hip surgery, the knee surgery that I required because of Kendra and her golf clubs... in total it cost over $3MILLION to rebuild my bones.

And I don't have Medical Insurance, because my income is less than $4k a year and insurance at the cheapest with Obamacare is $237 a month.

And miraculously, a month later after the stitches were gone, the incisions healed, and swollen gone away... I was suddenly able to talk for the first time since the cinder block had been used to beat me in the face at 14 years old.

Today, I can talk, and I've been revealed to not be "retarded" as the adults had told every one I was for so many years.

Unable to talk, I was also unable to tell people how much pain I was in or that my uncle Bruce Mervin Atwater had beaten me in the face with a brick and broken my jaw and teeth.

I was treated by EVERYONE - family, friends, church, and strangers - as though I was too stupid to understand them, so no one talked to me, no one bothered to read what I wrote to find out I had a brain and was also in a lot of pain.

My parents told everyone I was too retarded to talk and no one bothered to question if maybe they were just saying that to hide their own abuse and neglect.

This the reality of being mute.

No one cares.

People think you are stupid.

And you have no one to turn to for help.

And you can't ask for help because you can't speak.

You can express yourself, but no one pays attention.

You can write words on paper. But no one bothers to read them.

When you are mute you are invisible to every one with a voice. And THAT is why people think they can get away with beating, abusing, and raping mute people. Because they know, no one cares. No one see our silent screams.

That's just the way it is.

And that is the problem with these attackers and their ability to so easily sneak up on me. I can not hear them coming, I can not see them coming, so they take me by surprise when they charge up behind me with golf clubs or shopping cart, because I had no idea they were there, no idea they were charging towards, me no time to get out of their way and being mute I can't scream for help,

I can not see or hear them coming and I can not cry out for help.

And people like Kendra Silvermander and my uncle Mervin Bruce Atwater, is they know I'm legally blind, they know I can't see them coming, they know I'm almost deaf, they know I can't hear them coming, and they know I'm mute, they know I can't scream for help, so they think they can beat me nearly and get away with it.  They think no one will ever find out what they did.

Remember folks: 


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!

And you people who spread sex rumors and sex lies, know that every one of those rumors and lies were started by Mervin Bruce Atwater. A horrible, evil man, who devoted his life to sexually abusing children.

He started those rumors, after the FBI raid rescued us children, because he never expected us children to ever escape, to ever see the outside world, and knew he had to do something to pre-discredit those children, just in case one of them told anyone what he did to them.

The thing was, no one was talking. We all just wanted to recover, move on, and live a life free from his sexual tortures.

We wanted to forget Uncle Brucie even existed.

So had he not started the sex rumors, about me and the 140 others, none of us, me or them, would have ad any reason to speak out, because the attacks on us, by locals whom he instigated, locals like Kendra Silvermander, none of us ever would have talked to anyone about what happened.

Know your sources before you say something.

Know the source of everything you say, because you just might be quoting lies started by a pedophile, who started those lies to try to cover his ass.

Unlike Mervin Bruce Atwater, I have nothing to hide.


Remember folks: 


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!

Kendra Silvermander... what the fuck? You don't hire a hit man to blow up someone's house, because you don't like a novel they wrote!

Claudia ThingyChan ... what the fuck? You don't hire 5 men to gang rape someone one and vandalise they car, because you don't like a novel they wrote!

Are you both fucking retarded? What the fuck is wrong with you, and your shit head simps you paid to do these thing? 

I was astounded when I encountered one psychopath like this, but now a second one?

And, then to top it all off, you fucking murder my family?

What the fuck?

And your reason, is because your upset over my books being Erotica... what?

My books are not Erotica! You murdered my family because you thought I wrote Erotica, and I don't even write Erotica.

You were so damned stupid that you couldn't even take the time to READ one of my books, to find out what they were before you put a bomb in my house, kidnapped my children, cut their heads off, nailed their heads to my door, than trashed my car.

You were so hell bent on killing Erotica authors, punishing them on God's orders, that you couldn't even be bothered to find out what I even wrote.

You were so convinced that I wrote Erotica, you never even bothered to read one of my books, to see if you were right or not.

I still want to know, how the fuck, did you come to the conclusion that my books were Erotica to begin with.

I don't know if there's an actual name for what I do, but I usually call it "The Exploration Method". I don't know if it's common or unique. I don't know if others do it or not. I have never studied writing methods or how to plot or outline, so I can't really compare if what I do is similar to what others do or not.

I'm someone who in real life, travels in a motorhome, camps, hikes mountain trails, explores forests, visits tourists sites, and am prone to just get in the car and start driving, just to see where this road goes. When I first started writing, I was writing travel shorts for travel magazines. 

But than I discovered that I love building fictional fantasy worlds based off of real places I had visited or places I wanted to visit. And so I became one of those writers who world-builds endlessly and never wrote anything about that world. I'd create characters, build world, create characters, build worlds, travel around New England, write for travel magazines, build worlds, and than one day it occurred to me that I had all these places created, based off all these real world places I had visited, why don't I do something with it?

So, I started writing little short stories, about the characters I created, exploring the world I had created. I never set out to publish it. It was just quick little short stories that I wrote before bed every night because they were fun to write. Some friends from church wanted to read them, so I used a local copy shop to print up a few copies to hand out. Before long I was printing up a few hundred copies at a time and selling them at booths at local festivals. One thing led to another and it gains a following on a local level, and than word or mouth from my readers, caused out of state people to want it, so I started self publishing it, and over the years ebooks came to exist, and after about 30 years and 2,000 short stories it evolved into novels, and eventually it gained a rather large following, today 43 years later after starting the series, it has around 27,000 die hard fans/readers who buy every copy today, but it was never something I set out to publish at all, and even to this day, I don't try to make it "marketable" and I still write it same as I always did.

But the whole thing is literally just me grabbing a character and dropping them into a random location in my world I built, and just having them explore the land like a tourists on a hiking trip. So it has a lot of dialogue about random shit as the 2 or 3 characters hike, and lots of descriptions of the world in between. It's kind of straight up a travel blog by an Elf wizard and there's no real plot at all.

It's just plain fun to write. I get to "world build as I go" and I discover the world together with the Elf wizard, and it's like I'm there hiking with my best friend, in the fictional world I created. For me it's just super fun to write, and as I write for fun and not for money, it works for me.

I created the characters around 50 years ago, fell in love with them, and just started following them wherever they went. I've never used a plot or plan or outline. I never start with any ideas. I just write and see where it goes. Novels sometimes meander around aimlessly because of it, and at times readers complain about the extreme experimental plotless story-flow-style, but it's a pure adventure to write as I have no clue where the characters will go or what they will do or who they will meet. It's like I'm a reader, reading it for the first time and doesn't feel like I'm the writer. 

This probably wouldn't work for everyone. The only reason it works for me is I know the cast of characters inside out. I know them better than I know any real people in real life. There is one main character who is in every novel, his primary lover who is in almost every novel, his other lover who is in most novels, and than there is a rotating cast of about 20 characters who appear at random. So usually there will be 2 to 3 primary characters and 2 to 3 minor characters in each novel. I think, this method of "plotting" wouldn't work unless you had a cast of characters that you know really, really well, so you know what they would do, what they would say, and you never stop the flow of writing to ask yourself "What SHOULD they do next?" because you already know that character A when faced with random event X-Y-Z WOULD respond by doing ___.

Also while it's Epic Length High Fantasy, it steps VERY far outside the norm of what most mainstream Fantasy "formula" follows. It's written more like Days of Our Lives type Slice of Life Soap Opera TV Family Saga Drama, about Elves, Faeries, and Mages, and it doesn't have any of the typical action, adventure, quest seeking, monster hunting, kings/factions fighting for the crown that you normally see in Fantasy novels. So it very heavily character driven and focuses nearly 100% on character emotions to create conflict and push the story forward. So that too, I think lends itself to this "plotless" style of following the character and see what they do type of plotting/writing method.

But, I think the thing that makes it work best of all, is the actual writing style itself. The whole thing is written as though it was a travel blog. So for the reader, it's like going to a travel blog and reading the daily posts of the blogger while they hike across the country. The main character and his friends are "homeless" vagabonds, sleep on the road, and are just traveling around the world aimlessly with no goal of getting anywhere. They just hike the roads, and stop at tourists sites, talk with random people they meet along the way, it's just them going wherever the road takes them to see what they can find. The stories are very "literary slice of life" style, where not a lot of "action" happens, and it's mostly just 2 or 3 characters talking lazily while they lazily hike across the country. Most novels literally take place in the space of only a couple of hours. Rarely does a novel span a full day or more than one day, and usually it's a line by line look at the every day details of their "dull, boring, eventless" every day lives. So, it's also very much NOT for every reader either, very niche.

Well, it's not ALL totally random. I subscribe to travel type magazines, like National Geographic (which is my fave magazine and the one I use most often for this) and I've got thousands of issues dating all the way back to the 1970s. I've never thrown away any of my travel magazines. So, what I'll do is, I'll grab a magazine at random, don't even look to see which one it is. Than I open it to any random page, and look at the photo on that page. It might be a bird standing in a swamp, or a homeless child sleeping on a garbage heap, or a snow covered mountain, or the damage done by a typhoon... it doesn't matter what it is, whatever it is, that's what I start off with.

I start every novel the same way: main character and crew are sitting around talking (usually at a campsite in the forest or at a table in a tavern) and whatever the magazine picture was, that somehow becomes their focus. Maybe one of them hears a bird and they decide to trek to the swamp to look at it, or they look out the window and see a homeless child sleeping in the garbage and decide to bring him inside and buy him a meal, or they see a snow covered mountain in the distance and decide to hike to it, or they have just arrived in a town decimated by a typhoon. And from there, I just start writing at random, letting the character conversation take the lead.

Like I said, this style of plotless writing probably won't work for everyone, and it may not work well with every genre. And also, if you were aiming to make a career out of writing, this method is probably the exact opposite of what you should do. It works for me, because I just write for myself and self publish it, and if a few people like it, great, and if it never sells or makes money, well it's no big deal, because I had fun writing it and having fun while I write it is my own goal.

For me, it's fun to write this way, because it let's me do massive amounts of world building, and then just drop my characters into the world and use them as tools to explore every corner of the world. This method would work well for people like myself who spend hours world building and just want to explore the world after building it. But for someone looking to make a serious career of writing serious novels for the mainstream genre market, this method probably wouldn't work well for them.

^^^THAT^^^ is what you fucking ass retards are claiming is Erotica.

A vagabond, Elf wizard, hiking across the country, and blogging about the landscape. You called THAT Erotica, and than you killed my family because you convinced your fucking retarded mind that it's okay to kill the families of Erotica authors. But than I'm not even an Erotica author at all, so you murdered the wrong fucking family, you stupid dick heads!

Remember folks: 


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!

How is it, that peoples reading comprehension is so horrifically illiterately bad, that they mistake the Quaraun books as Erotica?

And than, how much MORE retarded to you have to be to go to that author's house, blow it up with a bomb, murder her children, nail their heads to the door, and trash her car... all because you THOUGHT she wrote Erotica ... when she didn't write Erotica at all, and you're just a retarded jackass who murdered her family because you saw sex in places there was no sex, just like you saw white people in places where there were no white people.

Well, before we answer that, let's look another thing that commonly gets said by readers.

Readers who are seeing things in my books, which I did not write, things that are NOT in my books... like sex and white people.

Yeah.

Did you know there are no WHITE or CAUCASION characters in the Quaraun series, at all. Not one?

Quaraun himself is said to be "white" only because he is an albino. He not by RACE, white, but rather, me the author, Quaraun is a Gypsy with very pale skin. And a lot of readers don't notice that either and will than send me an email asking: "Why does Quaraun travel in a Gypsy Vardo/Covered wagon? Why doesn't Quaraun live in a house? Why is Quaraun always on the road? Why does Quaraun sleep outdoors? Why does Quaraun sleep in a bight coloured circus tent? Quaraun seems like a Gypsy, is he?"

Uhm... Oh ... I don't know... maybe PAY ATTENTION to WHAT I WROTE. Every chapter of every volume of 138 novels outright calls Quaraun a gypsy, and the author bio states that much of Quaraun's Gypsy culture is based off the author's real world Gypsy culture, you know because, I'm the author and I'm a Gypsy, so I write a character who is a Gypsy, because I write what I know and I don't know the first thing about writing white people.

But before we look at HOW people mistake the Quaraun series as Erotica, let's look at how people also mistake main character BoomFuzzy, a BLACK man, with waist length dreadlocks, as being Caucasian.

It's funny to me, to see how many people crap on main character Quaraun, wearing a pink dress, or other main character BoomFuzzy, being black, or both of them for being gay.

The thing that gets me, is HOW LONG it takes readers to realize that King Gwallmaiic: The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley aka BoomFuzzy the Unicorn, is black.

Volume 22.

Yes. They read 22 volumes of the series before they realize BoomFuzzy is black.

How?

How do you read 22 volumes of a series of novels and not know that one of the 2 main characters is black? How fucking retarded are you, to read 22 novels and NOT KNOW the main character is black?

Look at how I write my dialogue.


"Blah, blah, blah," said Quaraun.

"Blah, blah, blah," replied BoomFuzzy.

"Blah, blah, blah," the blue eyed Elf bemoaned.

"Blah, blah, blah," laughed the black skinned Phooka.

"Blah, blah, blah," said the pink robed Necromancer.

"Blah, blah, blah," replied candy maker as his braided his woolly dreadlocks.

"Blah, blah, blah?" Quaraun asked.

"Blah, blah, blah," BoomFuzzy answered.

"Blah, blah, blah," said the albino Moon Elf.

"Blah, blah, blah," replied the black trickster Fae.


And the Quaraun novels are 74% straight up, pure dialogue. Most of them go on for 100+ page stretches of full dialogue with ZERO narration at all.

And EVERY said tag, includes descriptors.

I just checked, just now, Volume 1 The Night of the Screaming Unicorn, described BoomFuzzy as BLACK 5,678 times.

Let me repeat that:

#Volume 1 The Night of the Screaming Unicorn, describes BoomFuzzy as having BLACK skin 5,678 times.

And EVERY novel in the series is like that.

So WHY do readers, read through 22 volumes, and NOT NOTICE until GhoulSpawn and The Lich Lord's Lover, that BoomFuzzy is a black man?

The N-word.

Yeah.

In volume 22, GhoulSpawn and The Lich Lord's Lover, there a scene, where Quaraun and BoomFuzzy cast a spell wrong, and they end up sucked into a portal and land in the battlefield in an unnamed Southern state, in the American Civil War. At first the duo are mistaken for a wealthy plantation women and her black slave, but the Confederate soldiers quickly release Quaraun is a man, and BoomFuzzy is the dominate one pulling the strings. So the soldiers now believe that Quaraun is crossdressing to pretend to be a wealthy planation owner, to help the Underground Railroad to help smuggle black slaves to the North.

One thing leads to another and a solider takes to pushing Quaraun around, calling him "a niger lover" while beating him up. Quaraun getting hurt, incites BoomFuzzy to attack the soldiers, killing one of them to save Quaraun from being killed. Which causes the Captain to order his men to "kill the fucking niger".

It is the scene of white Confederate soldiers calling Quaraun a "niger lover" and the men being ordered to "kill the fucking niger", that is when MOST readers, suddenly realize: "Wait! OMG! Is BoomFuzzy a black man? Why was this only just being revealed now 22 volumes into the series? I should have been told up front in volume 1!"

You were.

In Chapter 1 of Volume 1, The Night of the Screaming Unicorn, Quaraun enters a tavern, and is immediately taken back by the sight of a BLACK man sitting at the back of the room, in a town where everyone else is white, in a time period when BLACK people are seen as slaves. Quaraun outright says this to the reader.

In this scene which introduces BoomFuzzy, right at the start of the series, Quaraun makes a point of going to other side of the room, to avoid the BLACK man, who is sitting by himself. It's noticeable that Quaraun is very racist. People in the tavern even call him out on it. The BLACK man sees this white man being harassed, and leaves his table to try to speak to him. Quaraun, ignores the BLACK man and mentally tells the reader he wants the BLACK man to leave him alone.

When the BLACK man asks Quaraun why Quaraun won't speak to him, Quaraun outright turns around to face the BLACK man and says: "Because you are BLACK, and apparently also Asian judging from your eyes."

To which the BLACK man responds: "Aye. Me father were BLACK. Me mother were Japanese. I tinks. Maybe Chinese. Suppose it could of been Mongolian."

In fact here: read those scenes for yourself: All of these come from Chapter One of Volume One The Night of the Screaming Unicorn:

Quaraun simply froze in the doorway, shocked and unable to move, unable to think or respond, and could do nothing but stare at the evil Faerie sitting far into the back of the room, skulking in the shadows and avoiding the rest of the people in the building.

Phookas were Scottish Faeries that had more in common with demons than the rest of the densins of Fae. Phookas were shape shifters, most taking the forms of black birds, black horses, or sometimes black Humans. Like vampires they lusted insatiably after blood fresh from the vein and were known to slaughter entire families in horrific bloodbaths. 

“A Phooka in a public place is never a good sign, for no good thing associated with something as evil and accursed as a Phooka.”

BoomFuzzy was the only Phooka Quaraun was interested in. All other Phookas, the nervous little Elf wanted nothing to do with.

While most Phookas were content to remain in a single form, never changing, BoomFuzzy, King Gwallmaiic, was a shape shifter with many forms, and shifted daily, sometimes hourly changing bodies the way a woman changed dresses. He could and often did look like any one of any race he wanted to be. The body the old shape shifter wore today, looked like a dark skinned Human, with a wild mess of black unbrushed frizzy braids and dreadlocks that hung to his waist and were stuck full of bones, feathers, beads, ribbons, and twigs. 


Quaraun stared, mesmerized at the Phooka’s wild hair. Massive, unbrushed frizzy braids and dreadlocks that hung to his waist and were stuck full of bones, feathers, beads, ribbons, and twigs. All marks of Scottish Hoodoo Cloutie Magic. And looked exactly like BoomFuzzy’s hair. This Phooka’s hair and it’s similarity to BoomFuzzy’s stopped Quaraun in his tracks, and left the Elf unable to think or move or even remember why he had entered the building at all.

“BoomFuzzy,” the Moon Elf whispered.

The hair was distinctive. While most Faeries were known to have wild, unbrushed hair, Faeries were very obsessive in sticking to rigid rituals. The career of a Fae could be identified by the style of their hair. Items woven into their braids, told the onlooker what their job was. Even a shape shifter would not style their hair differently when looking like someone else.

A Phooka might change form to look like your mother, but you would be able to tell your mom from the Phooka, by the messy hair. You would wonder why your mom had suddenly taken to styling strange plaits of red ribbons in her hair.

No matter the form he took, King Gwallmaiic always kept his hair, exactly the same. The black unicorn. BoomFuzzy the half-Elf candy maker. The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley. Quaraun had seen all three and all three had the exact same hair. Even the little black unicorn, his mane and tail had been King Gwallmaiic’s natural hair.

Quaraun stared at the Phooka sitting before him and recognized the bits of brick a brack in the Phooka's hair as Cloutie Magic immediately. That marked the Phooka as magic user, a wizard of some sort. 

A Necromancer. 

BoomFuzzy.

BoomFuzzy’s hair.

The same bones.

The same braids.

Strips of grey and purple wool, woven into the braids to make them bigger, thicker, wilder.

The thing which startled Quaraun, though he refused to admit it, was not the presence of the Phooka, but rather the Phooka's eyes. Those strange haunting pupiless black eyes which Quaraun knew so well. 

BoomFuzzy. 

No matter what form, BoomFuzzy took, two things about him never changed: his massive wave of frizzy dreadlocks filled with Cloutie ribbons and his gleaming, almond shaped black eyes. Regardless of any other racial features, white skin, black skin, tan skin, brown skin, red skin, yellow skin, gold skin, BoomFuzzy's eyes made him look Asian. 

As a Moon Elf, BoomFuzzy had resembled more of a Half-Elf, appeared to be half Chinese Human. Mongolian, BoomFuzzy had called it. He had lived in Mongolia for many years, long before Quaraun was born. Quaraun had always found BoomFuzzy's eyes hypnotic. 

Quaraun's stunned response to this creature, was the fact that, while it looked nothing like BoomFuzzy, at the same time, it looked everything like BoomFuzzy, had BoomFuzzy's eyes and BoomFuzzy's passion for dreadlocks filled with random items.

BoomFuzzy's black demonic eyes had no whites and no iris, and were like staring into two black bottomless pits. He could have passed for a Moon Elf if not for his eyes, his piranha-like fangs, and the huge, fearsomely, sharp eagle talons which tipped each finger. 



This Phooka, looked so much like BoomFuzzy. His black eyes had no whites and no iris, and were like staring into two black bottomless pits. 

The Phooka could have passed for Human if not for his eyes, his piranha-like fangs, and the huge, fearsomely, sharp eagle talons which tipped each finger. He was dressed head to toe in a miss-matched patchwork of mostly black and dark brown furs, mostly skins in their natural forms with heads and legs still attached.

He looked so much like BoomFuzzy that, Quaraun nearly fainted at the sight of him. But BoomFuzzy was dead. BoomFuzzy had died, 300 years ago. This could not be him. Quaraun told himself, this wasn’t BoomFuzzy, and yet, somehow, he knew it was. BoomFuzzy. Back from the grave. Alive again. Or undead. A Lich? That was the rumour wasn’t it? That BoomFuzzy had become a Lich?



The presence of a Phooka puzzled Quaraun for a few moments, but as the Phooka seemed to be skulking in a dark corner keeping to itself, as any Phooka would be expected to do. 

Quaraun presumed the dark creature wished to stay away from the others, meaning the Phooka very likely had also come in to get out of the oncoming storm and would not cause any trouble.

Quaraun stared at the Phooka. Every bit of him was black. His skin, his hair, his eyes, his clothes. He was dressed all in black, every inch of him draped in ragged, frayed, black garb, heavily trimmed in thick shaggy black fur. His long, black, shaggy, waist length hair and looked as though it had never seen a hairbrush the way it was tousled about every which way. The Phooka’s hair was nearly as black as his dark golden brown skin.

Quaraun cringed at the thought of unbrushed hair. He devoted three hours each morning to smoothing his long glorious milky white locks. The Phooka's deep, dark golden brown skin was a stark contrast to Quaraun's albino white flesh. 

Their eyes meet. 

Quaraun shivered. 

The Phooka's thin almond shaped eyes were as black as a bottomless pit and completely lacking any whites or colour. With the realization that Quaraun's attention was on him, the Phooka's expression grew very grim. 

Quaraun quickly turned away from the creature. It just would not do to anger a Phooka.


Quaraun made a point of going to other side of the room, to avoid the black skinned Phooka, who was sitting by himself. It was noticeable that Quaraun was very racist. People in the tavern even called him out on it. Quaraun made no secret at all, of the fact that the black man on the other side of the room bothered him. 

A few of the Gnomes chided Quaraun, as he slid passed their crowded area, rather than walk-through the open spaces around the black man’s table. The black Phooka seeing this white Elf being harassed, on his account left his table to try to speak to Quaraun. 

Quaraun, ignored the black Phooka. 

Please leave me alone, Quaraun thought in his mind, but remained silent.

“Why ya no speak to me?” the black man asked the white Elf.

Quaraun turned to face the Phooka and said: "Because you are black, and apparently also Asian judging from your eyes."

Now this wasn’t exactly true. Quaraun didn’t care if the man was black, brown, white, or purple. The fact that the man was not a man, but rather a Phooka pretending to be a man, is what was really upsetting Quaraun, but Quaraun blamed it on the man’s skin colour, because he was uncertain if anyone else in the room knew this was a Phooka. Quaraun was a Fae Sighted wizard after all and he could see through Faerie illusions. And this was a white dominated region in a time period when white Humans, were keeping black Humans as slaves. So it was logical for a white man like Quaraun to put blame on a black man like this Phooka, for anything and everything. And while Quaraun was not himself racist, he knew he had to appear racist in order to not raise suspicion.

So, Quaraun ignored the Phooka and turned back to the Rock Gnome and was about to speak, but the Phooka grasped Quaraun's long billowing pink sleeve with its black taloned hand and pulled him aside away from the Gnome, pulling him away from everyone in the building. The little creature was far stronger then he looked, the tiny Phooka had the strength of a Mountain Troll, which caught Quaraun by surprise. The little Elf had not expected a Fae so small to have such strength.

"Yis from de Far North, eh?" Hissed the beast, as his gleaming red snake-like tongue flicked from his mouth and licked Quaraun's face.

"Is there any other type of North?" Quaraun shuddered at the up close sight of the beast's many rows of long sharp piranha-like fangs. 

Quaraun turned away from the Phooka again, hoping it would go back to its table and leave him be. But the creature did not let go of his arm and pulled him back.

"Ya be such a pretty Elf. So sweet like candy. I loves candy. Taffy?” 

The Phooka handed a bowl of salt water taffy to the Elf.

“One must never take food from Faeries.”

“One usit love candy from Faeries.”


Quaraun was taken back by the Rock Gnome's harsh and very and-Gnome-like attitude. Gnomes were typically pleasant and jovial, this one was clearly irritated, perhaps the tavern was not always this busy and the little old man was just stressed, but still he did seem openly hostile at the thought of an Elf in his establishment.

"I'm sorry, are Elves not welcomed here?" Quaraun asked, now worried there may be a darker reason why this village had no Elves.

For some reason Quaraun had forgotten that Elves had gone extinct, and he was the last Elf left. But a sword through the belly will have that effect on someone. Quaraun was in desperate pain just now and was focused more on finding a place where he could be alone to tend to his wounds. Thinking about anything else was not a priority at the moment.

Quaraun was not a quick thinking. Things that startled him, left him slow to answer. 

While Quaraun thought what to do, the black skinned, black eyed, black haired, black robed Phooka slunk from his table in the back corner and now stood uncomfortably close to Quaraun, forcing his face just inches from Quaraun's. 

Quaraun, being an Elf, was not very tall. And he was small for an Elf. The average Human male would have towered over him by several inches. The Phooka, as was typical of all races of Faerie, was even shorter than the Elves were and like the little candy maker, BoomFuzzy, this one seemed shorter than most. He was barely five feet tall, if he was that. The little Phooka had to stand on tip-toe to speak to Quaraun face to face.

"Where bes ya from, Stranger?" Asked the black Phooka. 

The Phooka, being originally from Alba, spoke with a thick Scottish accent. The Phooka spoke to Quaraun in the Elf's native tongue, which Quaraun did not think strange, though he should have, given that the Moon Elves had died out three centuries ago, Quaraun being the last, and with them, their ancient Elven language had died out with them. 




“Please, I need to find a room, I can't stop to chat with you.”

“Yis can stay me. No more lonely nights, eh?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Is ya certain?”

“I think I would remember an Asian Black man, don’t you?”

"Aye. Me father were black. Me mother were Japanese. I tinks. Maybe Chinese. Suppose it could of been Mongolian."

"You don't know?"

"No. They killed her. She wasn't black enough for 'em."

"For who?"

"Me father's family. Phookas, ya know. Bigger racists dan ya Elves is."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Elves are cruel. Phookas crueller."

"Aye. Does na know how we ever find out. I twere small child when she died. Beat her to death dey did. Course we did eats dem after, so, dey got dair due."

"You ate your family?"

"Me father ate me mother, so I ate me father. What good for goose be good for gander, eh?"

"I suppose."

"Two peas in a pod we are."

"How so?"

"Is ya not Quaraun de Insane? Elf what ate him father. Un all de other Moon Elves. Un well, all de Elves. Yis the Last Moon Elf."

"I'm the Last Elf."

"Because ya ate de rest."

"I'm a vegetarian."

"Who eats Elves."

"They deserved it."

"Did dey?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"They were bullies. One must never suffer a bully to live."

"No?"

"No. Kill them all. Bullies must die."

"My, my. Ain't we an evil one."

"I'm not evil."

"No?"

"No."

"I suppose no villain tinks dey is."

"Are you suggesting I'm a villain?"

"Yis a cannibalistic racist, what has gone done devoted hims life to killing bullies."

"Are you suggesting this is wrong?"

"Not denying ya does those tings?"

"No. Why should I?"

"No reason, I suppose. Humans is bigger bullies dan Elves. Now what all 'em Elves is dead, ya gonna kill de Humans next?"

"No."

"No? Why not?"

"Because I'm on my way to Ivujivik."

"Inuvik?"

"No, Ivujivik."

"Quebec?"

"Yes. Ivujivik, Quebec. It is where I was born. It is where BoomFuzzy died."

"Dat de deep, Deep North. Noting up dair but snow and Santy Claws un me cousin Krumpas. Ain't seen him a while. Maybe I goes wid ya. Visit Krumpas while we dair. What ya going to do up dair?"

"Kill myself."

"Ah. I see. De anniversary of BoomFuzzy's suicide is soon, is it not?"

"It is."

"Ya've not dwelt wid hims death well, have ya?"

"No."

"Why are going to kill yaself?"

"So I can be with BoomFuzzy again."

The Phooka fell silent.


“Hello! Elf? Is ya even hearing me? House falling out of sky? Gone off lost in hims own heid agains. Usit do that all the time I remembers to. Never knowing there be a world around him.”

The Phooka pointed up at the ceiling as he spoke. 

"Ya know what else I knows Elf? Yis an Elf who eats Elves. We can smell it in you blood."

The black skinned Phooka looked over at the Rock Gnome: “I should fucking drop a house on his head, see if he notices that. I done that a'forah ya know. Never noticit a thing, him did.”

“I think he's in shock over the chiries,” the Rock Gnome answered.

“Elf! Hey!” The Phooka clapped his hands in front of the Elf's nose. “Do houses fall out of the sky much wheres ya come from, eh? No? Nothing? Ah! Let's say we eat the Elf, hims be too stupid to turn around an walk out of here, even after hims be been told Elves ain't no welcomed.”

“A gingerbread house fell out of the sky,” Quaraun muttered.

The Phooka got up and stood on his tip-toes to be nose to nose with Quaraun.

“Arrogant an stupid. That be what ya be. Arrogant an stupid. That be what the Elves is,” he said to the Elf. “Think their beauty gives them the right to walk on everybody. And they is too self-centred to notice what be going on around. Usit see Elves all the time when I twere young. Haven't seen an Elf since I grew old. But ya, Elf from the North, yis different. Ya ain't dressit likes no Elf I did has seen a'forah. The Elves around here wore birch bark an leaves, as I recall. They hide in the bushes an live in the trees. And they darker skin, not so dark as mine..."

"Wood Elves? What you are describing are Wood Elves. I am not a Wood Elf. They are black like you. Do I look black to you?" That came out sounding much more arrogant than Quaraun had intended, but be as it may, Moon Elves were arrogant and thought themselves better than other Elf clans.

"Oh, we is seeing that much, at least, can we not, eh? Haha!" 

The Phooka looked around the room and laughed heartily. Everyone in the room laughed with him. All together at the same time in unnatural unison.

"Wood Elves just does not wears pink, me thinks no, eh? Bowl of chiries?"

The Phooka suddenly had a bowl of cherries in his hand. Quaraun could have sworn it wasn't there a minute ago.

“I didn't...I'm not hungry, I'm tired...”

“Tired, oooh, well that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Ya has no heard half a word I did has said. Though ya heard chiries both time. Ya got a dirty mind. Haha! Good thing I were'na talking about apricots, eh?”

"Apricots?"

The Phooka handed Quaraun a box of chocolates. Quaraun stared, dumbfounded at the box. He hadn't seen one like it in years, not since his lover BoomFuzzy the candy maker had died over 200 years ago. Across the box in bright gold letters it read: 

BOOMFUZZY'S CHOCOLATE COVERED APRICOTS. 

Quaraun felt faint. 

"Only the bestest, for an Elf likes ya."

The Phooka burst out laughing. When the Phooka started laughing, so did everyone else in the building. All at once. All at the same time. All the same way.

Quaraun looked at the box again. It still had BoomFuzzy's name written across the top in friendly gold letters.

"BoomFuzzy,” Quaraun whispered.

“Aye,” answered the Phooka. “Chocolate cover apricots, gingerbread houses falling from de sky. Me doubled black dicks chasing ya pearly white ass. And me purple puppy dogs wagging their tails, happy to be home. This is the Forest of No Return. Ya shoulds have notice dat by now. Someting do be amiss wid ya.”

“Where did you get this?” Quaraun did not notice the reference to the puppies which had been running across his map earlier.

“I made it. Plenty more wheres that came from. I is a candy maker, remember? We usit have a gingerbread house to sell them out of but some crazy Elf went an shrunk it an put it in a bottle. Shrunk me too for a while. Stuck me in a bottle. Poor thing went an lost hims mind. Shrunk everyone an put them in bottles. Cut the heads off some first. Poor Gibedon...”

“Gibedon!” Quaraun reached into his pink beaded heart shaped bag of holding and pulled out the long dehydrated head of a half-Elf. “I still have his head.”

“Oh my!” The Phooka took a few steps back away from Quaraun. “Dat ya do. Why does ya still have Gibedon’s head?”

“I don’t know... I ... he... BoomFuzzy... I...” Quaraun shoved the severed head back in his bag.

“Ya ain’t gots me gingerbread house in dair still, has ya?”

“I killed Gibedon.”

“Dat ya did.”

“I’d never killed any one before.”

“Yes, ya had. Yar killed de Di’Jinn.”

“No. I mean... the Di’Jinn. That was magic. I didn’t mean to kill them. I was young. I wasn’t trying to kill them. I just didn’t have enough training back than. I didn’t know how to use magic properly yet. The Di’Jinn was an accident. But not Gibedon. I went to his bedroom, stabbed him and his lover. I cut off Gibedon’s head. I was going to kill them both.”

“I knows. I was dair.”

“I couldn’t kill BoomFuzzy. And after I killed Gibedon ... I immediately regretted it, but by than it was too late. And after that BoomFuzzy killed himself and it was my fault. I should not have killed Gibedon. BoomFuzzy would still be alive. He wouldn’t have killed himself.”

Quaraun burst into tears.

The Phooka stared silently at the tiny bag, only big enough to hold a few coins, yet big enough on the inside to hold Gibedon’s head.

After a few minutes of silence, the Phooka went back to speaking to the Rock Gnome.

“Hims got tadpoles for brains ya know, does'na know what hims doing half the time, eh? Poor lil crazy Elf.” 

“BoomFuzzy made these.” Quaraun held up the box of chocolates.

“I know.”

“And there’s a jellyfish in my brain, not tadpoles.”

“Oh? So ya heard me. Who of thunk?”

“You didn't make these.” Quaraun was focused on the box of chocolates again.

“Aye I dids.”

“BoomFuzzy made these.”

“Aye. Hims did. I am he.”

“You're not BoomFuzzy.”

“Ah, ya gone an banged ya noggin' agains, eh? Who gone done it this time? Ye ain't got no Moon Elves left to hang ya up in trees, ya done gone went an killed all them.”

“These aren't real,” Quaraun said as he aimed to throw the box.

“That be a right fool thing to do, eh?” The Phooka grabbed the box. “These is hard to make. Lich trees is hard to come by, ya know?”

“You got in my head to trick me somehow.”

“Ya gone got paranoid in ya olde age, eh?”

“You're an Elf Eater. You're from the Elf Eater clan."

"Of course I is. Ya would no sees a Phooka black as me in any other tribe would ya? We is de blackest Phookas of dem all."

“You're an Elf Eater."

"Oh that I is. I is. Just like ya BoomFuzzy were. Of coursing I is ya BoomFuzzy un yar just refusing to believes dat.”

And OMG! Don't even get me started on how BoomFuzzy talks and the onslaught of hate email I get over him being what some people refer to as "the accent character trope".                            

I did not learn how to speak or write American English until ... wait for it: 2010.

I didn't even meet an American and find out that American English existed until 1996.

And the BULK of the Quaraun series was written between 1978 and 1987... LONG before I knew American English.

I've had a lot of people say stuff like this about one of my characters, BoomFuzzy, complaining that he "talks funny for no reason" or "what is the weird accent you gave him and why, I can barely understand what BoomFuzzy's saying" or "all BoomFuzzy's dialogue is in reverse negative, BoomFuzzy's talking backwards, why did you do that" and I always roll my eyes, because, OMG! BoomFuzzy's speaking MY NATIVE LANGUGE - AN ACTUAL REAL WORLD LANGUAGE - one you can learn, buy dictionaries for and everything. Fact remains American English is not my native tongue and the novels were originally written in my native language. 

Let me repeat that:

In the original untranslated 1st editions the entire novel, was written the way BoomFuzzy speaks ... all of them!

Well, this one character is the same race as me, so when the books were translated into English, I asked that BoomFuzzy's dialogue not be touched, and it left exactly as it was written. But if you read the old untranslated into American English editions, you would see that the ENTIRE novel was originally written in the language seen in BoomFuzzy's dialogue.

He speaks the same language I do, and the 1st editions of the novels were WRITTEN ENTIRLY in that language. Later editions were translated into American English and left BoomFuzzy's dialogue as the only dialogue untranslated.

A lot of people say he talks strange... well... yeah you know what? I think Americans talk strange. So how is that different? Anything not your native tongue comes off sounding strange if you are not familiar with it. 

But OMG! So many people will ask me: 

"Why did you make up such a weird language?"

"Why are you using a fictional language?"

"Why'd you write him with a wonky accent?"

*rolls eyes*

He speaks in Gypsy Cant also known as Scottish English. It's a REAL language. Spoken by a few million people in the real world. Not only that it's my NATIVE language, the language ALL of my family and my relatives and friends and neighbours ALL speak every day. It is NOT made up, fictional, or "wonky accent" like some ignorant people have described it.

I just think it's funny, that so many authors will make up fake languages, to the extent that readers don't recognize a REAL WORLD language when they see it.

Of course, I think it's equally as funny that people who don't speak American English are even a trope at all, I mean, how many people reading this right now speak American English as their native language? Why shouldn't authors write characters who speak the same native tongue the author speaks? 

I think the problem, why this became a trope, is because so many people make up fake fantasy languages to make their characters sound cool, hip, and trendy, that characters who actually speak real world languages, just get assumed to be speaking fictional accent to sound cool. Which is frustrating for those of us who don't speak American English as our native language, and we want to include a character who is our real world race/culture because we identify with our own native culture/race/language, and we get tossed into the "oh that's just an accent character trope". 

:(

It makes me sad to think that my race is so rarely seen in novels and is used so tropishly when it is used, that when an actual Gypsy, writes and actual Gypsy character, speaking actual real world Gypsy language, he gets seen as a trope and nothing more (which is a thing people have said. I've gotten emails from readers saying: "You shouldn't write Gypsies that way, real Gypsies wouldn't like it" and I'm just.... uhm... you know I AM a real world Gypsy and he does and says things me and my family do in real life, right?

Oh well. It's not as bad as the email I got saying: "Wait, are Gypsies real? I thought they were just some fictional fantasy race like Elves and Unicorns. I had no idea they were real people."

*sigh*

But than there are the people who get all pissed off, when they realize BoomFuzzy is black AND he talks "with an accent". OMG! Hell fire inferno in my inbox than!

"YOU CAN"T MAKE A BLACK PERSON TALK WITH AN ACCENT...." all caps and the entire email typed in the subject line.

*bangs head on wall*

You DO know that a lot of us Gypsies are BLACK, right?

Are you aware that I am 1/4 black, myself?

It's WHY my hair turns into massive dreadlocks if I go a couple of hours without brushing it.

My grandmother Eva Viola Dyer LittleJohn Atwater had a mother who was full blooded 100% Kickapoo Native American and a father who was 100% full blooded black Voodoo Priest from Haiti.

Hey guess what else, just like me, BoomFuzzy in part black, part Asian, part middle-eastern, and part Native American. And I wrote him that way, because that's what race I am.

You know what I hate?

I hate when a white person who doesn't have clue what it is to be black, red, brown, yellow, gay, bi, whatever, barges in all high and mighty and does the whole: "Now listen up, you can't write about this minority that way, blah, blah, blah..." 

Guess what? I don't need your racist white ass coming in here and telling me how to write a character who is the exact same race and culture as I am.

I am so damned sick of so called social justice warriors parading their white asses around, claiming to be fighting for minority rights, when all they are REALLY doing, is being white bastards running around telling color people how to live, LIKE USUAL.

Yeah, so fuck off and burn in hell.

If you are offended by my race, my skin colour, my native language, my religion, my dreadlocked hair, or my anything else, - that's YOUR problem, not mine. You're a loser, you need to get a life. I'm sorry, I can't help you with that. No one can.


But here's the kicker... you can tell a reader who only read SAMPLE CHAPTERS from a reader who read the ACTUAL NOVELS, by how they respond to BoomFuzzy and how he talks.

You see, people who ACTUALY READ the novels, know full well, that BoomFuzzy can talk just fine, when he wants to, and that his accent, is totally fake.

And you will also see that BoomFuzzy NEVER CALLS QUARAUN INSANE. And this is VERY important.

Quaraun is perceived to be insane, by pretty much the entire planet, to the point that he is dubbed on his wanted posters as: Quaraun The Insane"

Quaraun hates being calls "insane". In fact, calling Quaraun "insane" is the #1 way to get Quaraun to kill you.

Quaraun does not call himself "Quaraun the Insane" and we see scenes of him going through cities, looking for the wanted poster, crossing out the words "The Insane" and writing under it "I'm not insane."

Real insanity goes by several names depending on the type:

   *   Dementia

   *   Alzheimer's

   *   Parkinson's

   *   Schizophrenia

   *   Bi-Polar

   *   Dissociative Identity Disorder


Are the most common forms of "insanity" and one of those 6 are usually what people actually mean when they say "insane". There are 862 actual medical diagnoses that are classified as "forms of insanity" so, definitely too many to list or go into detail about here.

As a reader I often complain at the lack of research authors do when it comes to insanity. You SHOULD research actual medical journals and studies into real world actual "insanity" cases, before writing it, because it can often be written in horrifyingly offensive ways. But few authors do, and it shows.

The Quaraun series has won awards for the extreme levels of accuracy it uses in showing Quaraun's "insanity" from his perspective vs showing how other characters perceive him as and call him "insane".

My main character for all 138 novels and 2,000+ short stories in the series, Quaraun, is generally described as "insane" by other characters, but what he actually has is Dementia and Kannar's Syndrome and Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease.

 I spent over 20 years researching real patients of all 3, interviewing actual doctors, patients, and families to make sure I got it right, when I wrote a character who was seen as "insane" by the rest of the cast of characters.

I highly recommend doing ACTUAL research before writing any medical disorder of any kind. And by research, I mean, NOT the internet, but rather actual medical journals, go to your local hospital and explain you are a writer looking to research - most big hospitals have an extensive library of medical books and journals that their staff references, ask to interview doctors who specialize in the disease, ask them to recommend patients and families willing to be interviews, ask them to recommend nursing homes, rehab centers, and mental health institutes. Once you start asking around, you'll quickly find hundreds, even thousands of people willing to talk to help you get it right. Again, avoid asking on the internet, and don't bother searching with Google, there is too much bad info out there presented as accurate when it's not, that could really mess up your research

Know too that "insane" is not a medical term, but rather is a slang hate slur, calling a mentally disabled person insane, is the equivalent of calling a black person the N-word. So be mindful of that when you write your characters. Doctors, nurses, friends, and kind caring people are not going to call your character "insane", where as bullies, bigots, and ableists WILL call your character insane. 

When someone calls a person "insane" they do so to try to hurt that person emotionally. This is true even in historical periods. The term insanity has been frowned upon by the medical profession since the 1700s, even though movies and novels about "insane asylums" will tell you otherwise.

You will be able to convey a character's personality, how cruel or kind a person they are, by if they call your mentally disabled character "insane" or not.

And THIS is where BoomFuzzy's off-language comes into play.

Quaraun has lost touch with reality and he doesn't know it.

BoomFuzzy can see that Quaraun is drastically changed mentally, from how he was in his youth and is trying to help him.

Quaraun's mind is so far gone, however, that he can not recognize BoomFuzzy anymore.

When they met 300 years ago, BoomFuzzy struggled to learn Quaraun's language and spoke horrifically broken speech. But 300 years have passed, and speaks fine now. But Quaraun refuses to believe BoomFuzzy IS BoomFuzzy because he no longer has trouble speaking, and so BoomFuzzy goes out of his way to speak badly JUST so Quaraun can remember him.

And this IS explained in the novels. In almost every novel a character will pick up on the fact that BoomFuzzy speaks normally to every one, and that speaks horrifica bad to Quaraun, and they'll ask him, why he does is, some accusing him of mocking Quaraun. But BoomFuzzy explains the situation.

Quaraun's mind is so far gone, however, that he can not recognize BoomFuzzy anymore.

When they met 300 years ago, BoomFuzzy struggled to learn Quaraun's language and spoke horrifically broken speech. But 300 years have passed, and speaks fine now. But Quaraun refuses to believe BoomFuzzy IS BoomFuzzy because he no longer has trouble speaking, and so BoomFuzzy goes out of his way to speak badly JUST so Quaraun can remember him.

And this is what REAL PEOPLE, have to do, with REAL dementia and Alzheimer's patients. 

Dementia and Alzheimer's patients can remember things for 30 or 40 years ago with vivid detail, but they can't remember who they talked to 5 minutes ago. They remember a birthday gift they got at 4 years old, but they can't remember you visited them last night. The remember eating cotton candy when they were 10, but they can't remember how to pick up a fork and feed themselves.

And if you had black hair when they were 10, but now your hair is grey, they don't know who you are, and they won't recognize you unless you dye your hair black, because they can't remember your face, but they can remember your hair. And that's the situation with Quaraun and BoomFuzzy. Quaraun remembers young BoomFuzzy learning to speak Quaraun language but he can't remember who BoomFuzzy is f he speaks normally.

This is the reality of REAL "insanity", REAL dementia and REAL Alzheimer's 

I have 3 family members with Dementia and 1 with Alzheimer's and I myself have Kanner's Syndrome. I know these 3 disorders from long term personal experience of living with them every day.

And it's painfully obvious when people mock how BoomFuzzy talks, that they DID NOT read the novels, otherwise they would know WHY he does it.

He loves Quaraun and he's losing Quaraun to a horrifying mental illness that is erasing Quaraun memories. And that's heartbreaking to live with.

Here, seeing how you're too lazy to read the novels and pay attention to what you read, let me take it out of the novel and put it here to stand on it's own, maybe than you'll actually read it as I actually wrote it, instead of self inserting what you want it to say instead:

BoomFuzzy and GhoulSpawn talking about Quaraun, after a big fight between the three of them leaves Quaraun in a coma for several weeks:

"You drug his food!"

"Yes! I do!"

"This is wrong!"

"You don't know what you are talking about. You don't live with him. You're hardly ever here. You come and go as you please. You show up for a few days and than you leave and we don't see you again for months. I'm the one that's with him every day. I'm the one that has to take care of him. You're not here to see what he goes through. You don't know how bad it is. He can barely function on his own."

"You don't have to drug him."

"Yes! I do!"

"Why?"

"Because he can't function at all if I don't. You've never seen him not on drugs. You have no clue how bad it gets."

"You're accent's gone."

"Yeah."

"I can barely understand you half the time and now you're just standing here talking normal?"

"Yeah."

"What the hell? Why? What is going on?"

"Quaraun has lost touch with reality and he doesn't know it."

"Yeah, I think it's pretty obvious he's lost touch with everything. But what about you? You run around like a raving lunatic. You're more insane then he is."

"Clearly I'm not."

"Are you saying he is insane, and you're just pretending to be insane to fit in?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"Why?"

"When we met years ago, I spoke a different language, he saved my life. I couldn't thank him. I was chained up, tortured for days. He risked his life to bring me food. He couldn't get the chains off, he tried. Quaraun was so young than. His, uhm, 'insanity' hadn't set in yet. He was just an average, rather ordinary little Moon Elf. That was first time he ever killed any one. The slave drivers would have killed me. Quaraun killed them. He didn't mean to. You could see it on his face. He was just trying to stop them. I think Quaraun was the type of person who would have felt guilty stepping on a bug. The guilt did something to him. He couldn't live with it. But than, we meet again, a few years later. I struggled to learn Quaraun's language and spoke horrifically broken speech. But we became friends, then lovers. Than Gibedon came back."

"Came back?"

"Yeah. You don't know who do Gibedon was, do you?"

"He was a Necromancer. Quaraun carries his head around in that bag."

"Yeah. I know. We were lovers. Gibedon and I. We were a couple before Quaraun was even born. He was gone to war when I met Quaraun, so Quaraun didn't know. Quaraun was more serious about the relationship than I was.  Quaraun saw me as a life long mate and I saw him as a temporary fling until Gibedon came back from the war front. Quaraun was furious. Gibedon was even more furious. They started fighting. I had a magic dagger, I just kept laying around the house, and before I knew what was happening, Quaraun had grabbed the knife, went full psycho on us. Stabbing both of us, me and Gibedon. He doesn't remember that part. I don't know why. He thinks a gang Moon Elf bullies stabbed me."

"Quaraun stabbed you?"

"Yeah. He cut off Gibedon's head. He was going to kill me next. Than, a portal opened up. A man I'd never seen before walked out and tackled Quaraun, took the knife away from him. I passed out. I don't know what happened after that."

"The man in the portal..."

"You. The other version of you. Gremlin. It was the first time I ever saw him. You. Your future self. Apparently there was a different end of the world, that had been caused by Quaraun murdering me and your future self came back to stop it."

"Why did you never tell me that before?"

"I didn't know THIS was going to happen between you and Quaraun."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Quaraun needs you. You're good for him. I see the old Quaraun in his eyes when you're around. You need to be around more often. It helps him, having you here."

"So, what is, all of this?" GhoulSpawn waved his hand toward BoomFuzzy. "An act?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't know me otherwise."

"What do you..."

"He can't remember who I am, if I don't act like this. He just stares at me through blank empty eyes and asks where BoomFuzzy went, than runs around like a madman looking for me, while I'm right here in front of him. I was wild in my youth and I struggled to speak Quaraun's language. Quaraun refuses to believe I am ME because I no longer have trouble speaking, and I no longer act like a wild, dare devil youth, so I go out of my way to speak badly and act wild and crazy, just so Quaraun can remember me. "

"You act crazier than him sometimes."

"I know."

"You seem pretty sane right now."

"I am sane, Ghouly. There's nothing wrong with me. I turn it on and off at will."

"So that's all an act too?"

"Yeah. It is. Every bit of it."

"Everything?"

"Everything. I love him. And I'll do whatever I have to for him. He wasn't always like this. I don't know what happened to him, but I don't think it can be fixed."

"What about your drinking problem? And the violence? Is that an act too?"

"No. That's me being very frustrated with this whole situation. Drinking too much to drown out reality and taken my frustrations out on Quaraun, when I shouldn't be."

"You drugged his food and than beat the shit out of him."

"I know."

"Why?"

"I told you. I'm frustrated with this entire situation. He's not easy to take care of. And I'm doing it by myself. I don't have any one to help me. I don't have an excuse for it, GhoulSpawn. I know what I did."

"You almost killed him."

"I can see that."

    ~GhoulSpawn and The Lich Lord's Lover

How was it Kendra Silvermander described it:


"Retarded books about a retarded character written by a retarded author."

She posted those words, more 500 times, in as many 1 star comments that she put in the reviews she wrote with her 52 now banned Amazon accounts.

And do you know how I found out those accounts were her's?

She emailed me and told me. After she tried to spam that same review in more 1 star reviews and found out Amazon had deleted her accounts. 

I had no way of knowing the 52 accounts of a single ISBN where her. Amazon never said any names, they told me it happened. Had she not emailed me later accusing me of deleting her accounts, yes, accusing ME of doing it, not Amazon, I never would have known who had done it.

All of this, always goes back to this Kendra woman, who, I still don't know who she even is.

I've ignored her wild emails for years, blocked her on Twitter, FB, Pinterest and ever place else she sent her hate comments with, never replied or responded to her, and I didn't know she was connected to the bombs in 2003 and 2006 until the FBI got involved after my family was murdered in 2015.

I also didn't know about the tens of thousands of flyers she had been putting on car windows at every shopping center in York County, Maine, until the flyers turned up in court. She'd been handing those out around the state for over 20 years, some calling me a male to female transgender person, others calling me gay, others calling me an Erotica author, ALL of them call people to action, telling them to "obey God" and kill the gay bastard, kill the trans bastard, kill the Erotica bitch.


She went on a massive, massive, MASSIVE vendetta attack, but vendetta for what  still don't know.


In one of her flyers she made the claim I was a bully whom had beat her up in school, but... I never went to school, AND, she's 30+ years older than me according to the police.


Near as any police officers or FBI agents can tell, she mixed me up with someone else and is completely convinced I am someone I'm not.


My family is dead, because one women, saw an old school bully, where there was none.

My family is dead, because one women, gathered up a massive street army" of haters, and convinced them I wrote Erotica, when I didn't.

This is the power of an over active imagination combined with paranoia.

This woman was so blinded by hate, so full of paranoia, that she latched on to me and my family for decades of harassment, that ended in my family being murdered.

Why?

Because she saw things in places where they were not.

Just like how readers saw a white man, not a black man, when they read BoomFuzzy in my novels.

Can you people see the danger of NOT checking the facts before you act?

She gathered up, extremist Christians - The Ku Klux Klan themselves - who were willing to kill over sex, and convinced them that my books were Eroica, and just believing her word, without reading my books to see if she spoke the truth, 14 men, arrived at my house at 1PM on April 10, 2015, held me to the ground with a gun to my head, and tied piano wire choke holds around my children's necks, and beat their faces in with cinder block bricks. While a crowd of more than 70 men and women stood in my driveway and cheered them on, while chanting "Too Gay For The Family Friendly Town Of Old Orchard Beach!"

Those 14 men took my 12 children with them when they left and on May 15, 2015, they nailed the heads, hands, feet, and intestines of 10 of my children to my front door.

What the hell?

This happened because one woman was convicted she had read Erotica in my books and went on a hell fire crazy spell over it.

After she had already convinced herself that I was the adult form of some bully who beat her up in school, back in the 1950s, a full 20 fucking years before I was even born.

All this because she saw things in places where they did not exist at all.

And THAT is what I'm reminded of, when people email me, upset, that will reading volume 22, they discover that BoomFuzzy is black.

Why didn't you know BoomFuzzy is black?

What mental disorder do you have, that your brain inserted a white man where a black man was?

Is it the same mental disorder Kendra Silvermander has that caused her to insert Erotica in books that had no sex?

Is it the same mental disorder that Kendra Silvermander has that caused her to think I who never went to school and was born 20 years after she graduated from school, was someone she knew in school?

And you people want me to go back to writing the Quaraun series?

Why?

You can't even be bothered to pay attention to what I wrote.

People paid so  little attention to what I wrote,, that they self inserted things I did not write and then went and murdered my real children because of it.

Oh, our world has a pandemic all right! But it's damned BIGGER than Covid19! It's fucking mentally incompetent people reading fiction and not being able to mentally process what they ACTUALLY read from what they THOUGHT they read. And they think what the THOUGHT they read was so bad that they decided it was okay to commit murder and kill the author's family!



#Let me repeat that this novel, which is 303 pages long, spanning 130k words, Volume 1 The Night of the Screaming Unicorn, describes BoomFuzzy as having BLACK skin 5,678 times.

On only 303 pages, you are told, 5,678 times that BoomFuzzy has black skin. This means BoomFuzzy is described as being a black man, on average 18 time on EACH AND EVERY SINGLE PAGE!

And each of the next 20 volumes does the same. Meaning there is no way, to read these novels, and NOT know BoomFuzzy is black.

And yet, more than 2,000 people have read all the way to volume 22, WITOUT KNOWING that BoomFuzzy was black, and stopped reading at volume 22, to send me hate mail, saying how upset they were, that I didn't tell them sooner (before volume 22) that BoomFuzzy, was black.

Their emails also state that they are ashamed of me because as they put it, "no self respecting white author would stoop so low as to defile their book by including a black character" followed by lots of raving and ranting on white all coloured folk are evil, and they never will never read another of my books again until I repent of my sins and remove all references to persons of colour from my novels...

Uhm... what the fuck?

For starters... I'm not white. Did you not know that?

Why would ME, a NOT WHITE person, write white characters?

I don't know anything about white culture or white lifestyle, how the heck would you expect me, as a none-white person to know how to write white characters?

Secondly there are more than 750 characters in the Quaraun series, and not one of them is white!

What the fuck!

Did you never notice that?

NO ONE in the Quaraun series is white! NO ONE!

You really want me to take 48 million words of text across 138 novels and 2,000 short stories, written across 43 years, and change all 750 characters into white people?

Why the fuck would I do that?

In short they simply proved themselves to not only be racist pigs, but also, to have a serious lack of any reading comprehension ability, whatsoever.

And how does this bring us to the topic of the series being called Erotica?

Well, we are getting to that.

Did you notice how people read 21 novels, roughly 7,000 pages, BEFORE they reach volume 22 and the scene that uses the N-word, BEFORE they realize BoomFuzzy, the fucking main character, is BLACK?

It's called Poor Reading Comprehension Skills, and for people too stupid to know what that means: it means you are illiterate aka you are too stupid to understand the meanings of words aka you are too retarded to understand what you read.

And that, is where we see, the Erotica issue come in as well.

Because not only is their Reading Comprehension so bad that they can read 7,000 pages before realizing the man character is black, that also means they are so stupid that they can read those same 7,000 pages and have sexual fantasies the whole time, without realizing there is nothing titillating on the page at all.

In fact, I suspect that the very REASON< they did not know BoomFuzzy was black, was because they were so busy masturbating to sex scenes that did not exist, that they didn't see the black descriptions that did exist.


Remember folks: 

   *   You ignoring the fact that in just volume 1, I described BoomFuzzy as BLACK 5,678 times, doesn't change the fact, he's still black.


   *   You imagining BoomFuzzy as white, doesn't change the fact, that BoomFuzzy is black.


   *   You thinking of BoomFuzzy as white, doesn't mean that I wrote him the way your fucked up brain thought of him.


   *   I wrote BoomFuzzy as a black man, and no amount of you IGNORING what I wrote, is going to change the fact that BoomFuzzy is black.


   *   READERS SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE and DO NOT SEE WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE!



Just like the same way:


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!

But than, let's look at how OLD Quaraun and BoomFuzzy are.

Why?

Because we see the same thing happen with Quaraun's age, that we see happen with BoomFuzzy's skin.

   *   READERS SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE and DO NOT SEE WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE!

Let's look at another place where readers commonly see things I did not write.

A common question readers have with the Quaraun books is: "Is this supposed to be like this?" And yeah, every time you encounter a thing that seems "off" or "wonky", it is style choice. For example, in Night of the Screaming Unicorn, you see very early in that BoomFuzzy addresses Quaraun, by name, and about 20 or so pages later, Quaraun is hiding the fact that he's a wizard because he doesn't want BoomFuzzy to find out who he is, and yet, it's clear BoomFuzzy already does know who he is, because he's already called him "Quaraun". 

A couple of readers pointed that out and, saying that it felt like a writing error, a consistency error, felt like the author (me) had forgotten BoomFuzzy already knew who Quaraun was, so why is Quaraun trying to hide it? Well, if you pay attention to the story, you ARE told that Quaraun is very old, he's elderly, he's having a hard time getting around. 

Try to remember: Quaraun is elderly, nearing the end of his life, and BoomFuzzy is already dead. BoomFuzzy is a ghost. BoomFuzzy had two lovers: Quaraun and Gibedon. And Quaraun murdered Gibedon and a few days later BoomFuzzy commit suicide. And it's now 300 years later, and Quaraun is planning to kill himself, and BoomFuzzy's ghost shows up to try to stop him.

The story tells you that most Elves live around 300 to 400 years and Quaraun is nearing 700, maybe 800, he doesn't know how old he is, he can't remember. He can't remember what year it is. He can't remember when he was born. That's the point. Quaraun has some server old age memory lose issues, maybe dementia, possibly Alzheimer's, what it is exactly isn't important. What's important is that Quaraun is struggling to remember: ANYTHING.

And BoomFuzzy sees this, and he knows, Quaraun can't remember something he said, barely 5 minutes ago. Which is WHY you see BoomFuzzy, constantly repeating himself, constantly talking about the same events over and over again.

Quaraun is seen by most people in his world as insane, a raving lunatic, just plain crazy. No one takes him seriously because of how he talks, how he acts, how he dresses. And than there's BoomFuzzy who has been avoiding Quaraun for centuries. He's mad at Quaraun. Quaraun murdered BoomFuzzy's lover Gibedon and BoomFuzzy can't forgive Quaraun for that, so he refuses to talk to Quaraun for 300 years.

Night of the Screaming Unicorn is the first time they meet up again after 300 years away from each other. And BoomFuzzy, recognizes that something's wrong with Quaraun, something's seriously wrong. Quaraun is confused, stumbling around, gibbering madness. Quaraun doesn't recognize BoomFuzzy, and than Quaraun does recognize BoomFuzzy, but then 5 minutes later, BoomFuzzy is a stranger to him again and Quaraun doesn't know who BoomFuzzy is all over again.

BoomFuzzy was in love with Quaraun, when Quaraun was young and healthy, but that was years ago, and Quaraun's changed. Now Quaraun's old, and alone, and in very poor health, he can barely function - physically or mentally, he's in desperate need of someone to take care of him, but he has no one. No friends, no family, and society is so scared of him, that he can get help no where.

This is an elderly man in need of constant medical attention, and he's wandering around homeless, and no one cares. BoomFuzzy sees this, he sees this person that he used to love, wandering around homeless and alone, in desperate need of medical attention, half starved to death, and not mentally capable of remembering one minute to the next, let alone having the mental compacity to take care of himself.

It breaks BoomFuzzy's heart to see Quaraun like this, because it is so far vastly different from how Quaraun had been in his youth. BoomFuzzy had thought Quaraun had moved on, and he's now seeing that Quaraun didn't. Guilt over what he did (murdering BoomFuzzy's lover, Gibedon) absolutely shattered Quaraun's mind, he's spent his life isolated and alone, reliving the day of BoomFuzzy's suicide in his mind. 

Quaraun is nearing the end of his life, and his advanced old age had lead to serious memory issues, where he can remember things that happened in his childhood, but he can't remember what his did even an hour ago. If fact Quaraun acts like he just murdered Gibedon and BoomFuzzy just killed himself. Quaraun's mind is stuck in the day BoomFuzzy died. He can't moved passed it. He can't see that 300 years have gone by and he hasn't moved on. And THAT is why you see the story written the way it is.

And I remember when people first pointed that out and I explained this memory issue is what is going on (which, IS explained IN THE NOVEL, so I shouldn't have to explain it anyways) people pointed out: "OMG! Wait... is Quaraun an old man? I imagined him like being a teenager. I thought he was like a young adult. Ain't he like only 15 or 21 or..."

No.

Quaraun is an old man. So isn't BoomFuzzy.

Uhm... yeah. Do you know what the following words mean?


   *   old - 123

   *   elderly - 6

   *   ancient - 27


Also here's some more words for you to look up the meanings of:


   *   forgetful - 2

   *   forgot - 18

   *   remember - 81


 As usual with these kinds of comments, I use Night of the Screaming Unicorn to judge by, as most of these comments come from people whom have read the ebook edition of that novel, AND because this is volume 1 of the series and is the novel MOST people have read if they've read the Quaraun books, and is the novel which introduces both Quaraun and BoomFuzzy.


   *   The Night of the Screaming Unicorn describes Quaraun as being "old" 123 times.


   *   The Night of the Screaming Unicorn describes Quaraun as being "elderly" 6 times.


   *   The Night of the Screaming Unicorn describes Quaraun as being "ancient" 27 times.


  *   The Night of the Screaming Unicorn describes Quaraun as being "forgetful" 2 times.


   *  The Night of the Screaming Unicorn says Quaraun "forgot" something 18 times.


   *  The Night of the Screaming Unicorn says Quaraun could not "remember" something 81 times.

Uhm... again... yeah.

You ARE told what is going on.

It's NOT hidden.

I'm not one of those writers who likes to weave hidden meanings and messages. I tell you outright, Quaraun is old, elderly, ancient, nearing the end of his life, has outlived all other Elves, has lost his ability to remember things, is very forgetful, can't remember things that happened moments ago... you just ignored what I wrote, and imagined things as you wanted them to be instead reading them as they actually were.

With the lone except of the flashback novel 'BoomFuzzy', Quaraun is literally described -in every single novel- as: "the Elf was somewhere around 750 years old, the equivalate of a 90 year old Human"

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy are both elderly men who used to love each other when they were young but, a really horrible event broke them up and they haven't seen each other, in 300 years, BoomFuzzy has already died and is a ghost, while Quaraun is dying from old age, and he knows it. He's suffering. His health is falling apart. His memory is almost no-existent any more. He knows he won't live much longer and he just wants to see BoomFuzzy before he dies.

And yet, readers, are shocked when, they are talking to me on Twitch livestreams and hear me say Quaraun is elderly. They reply to say they thought he was a young kid, a 15 year old boy, a high schooler, a young adult around 21.

How?

How do you read the Quaraun novels and think Quaraun is young?

How is that even possible?

Others have pointed out BoomFuzzy speaks really bad, but all of a sudden, sometimes, he suddenly can speak fine. They ask, "Why did you edit some of his dialogue to be good and other lines to be practically illiterate." Again, pay attention to WHEN BoomFuzzy's ability to speak coherently changes.

It changes when he's angry.

No longer thinking clearly.

Starts yelling.

All of a sudden, yeah he can speak fine. He's no longer tripping over his words.

Yeah, BoomFuzzy can speak fine when he WANTS too and when he forgets to to speak in broken grammar - like when he's angry. 

But why?

Again - pay attention to the story. Quaraun doesn't recognize BoomFuzzy as BoomFuzzy if BoomFuzzy starts speaking clearly. When Quaraun was a teen, he meet BoomFuzzy, and BoomFuzzy didn't know Quaraun's language. They had a huge communication barrier. BoomFuzzy struggled badly to learn to speak with Quaraun. The language was hard to learn. And BoomFuzzy still struggled with it, at the time he and Quaraun broke up. But now it's 300 years later and BoomFuzzy knows Quaraun's language well and can speak it clearly, but Quaraun's dementia issues, cause him to only remember who BoomFuzzy is IS BoomFuzzy speaks broken grammar. 

So, BoomFuzzy deliberately goes out of his way to speak messed up broken sentences, because that's easier than trying to find a cure for Quaraun's failing memory.

So the bad grammar, the spelling errors, that's all deliberate, and adding into the story during editing, AFTER the novel was written.

The novels are written from Quaraun perspective, so even the narration is broken, and shifts back and forth in a muddled mess.

It's written that way, so that the reader IS just as confused as Quaraun is. Keeping the reader confused as to what is going on, IS the intention.

You got to remember that I write what I personally enjoy reading, and as a reader, I enjoy books that draw you into the mental and emotional psychology of the main character. I WANT to see the world the main character sees it. I WANT to experience what the main character is experiencing.

And if the main character is confused and struggling to gain their bearings in their world, I as a reader WANT to be confused and struggling in that world as well. I enjoy reading books that make me experience the emotion the character feels. And in the Quaraun series, Quaraun is mentally lost, confused, uncertain of what's going on around him. 

Remember folks: 

   *   You thinking of Quaraun as young, a teen, or a young adult, does not change the fact, that he is the equivalent of a 90 year old Human, exactly as you were told in the novels.

   *   You ignoring the fact that in just volume 1, I described BoomFuzzy as BLACK 5,678 times, doesn't change the fact, he's still black.


   *   You imagining BoomFuzzy as white, doesn't change the fact, that BoomFuzzy is black.


   *   You thinking of BoomFuzzy as white, doesn't mean that I wrote him the way your fucked up brain thought of him.


   *   I wrote BoomFuzzy as a black man, and no amount of you IGNORING what I wrote, is going to change the fact that BoomFuzzy is black.


Just like the same way:


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!

  *   BoomFuzzy is black - get off your fucking white power high horse and deal with it.

  *   Quaraun is elderly and has dementia & Alzheimer's, when he runs off naked, he needs a psychiatrist, a doctor, and some medication, not you lusting after him and calling scenes like that Erotica.

  *   Lusting after an elderly man who is wandering around naked and confused instead of thinking "Why isn't anyone helping him?", is sexual harassment and elder abuse NOT Erotica. What the fuck is wrong with you?

  *   A man getting drunk and beating the crap out of his lover, is abuse and domestic violence not BDSM.

Those scenes weren't written to titillate you. What is wrong with you people?



   *   READERS SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE and DO NOT SEE WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE!

Which is why they can read 7,000 pages before realizing BoomFuzzy is black, think of Quaraun as a young adult/late teen, see sex scenes in places where no sex happened, and think of a series where nothing titillating happens at all, as Erotica.

 - BoomFuzzy is black

 - Quaraun is elderly

 - And there is nothing even remotely erotic in the Quaraun novels.


And so can you start to see the issue?

Readers see what they want to see.

Readers insert what they want the story to be.

And this is not unique to the Quaraun series.

No.

There are hundreds of studies into this phenomena.

Look up studies about Witness Testimony, where 3 people saw the thief run off with the old woman's purse. One says the guy wore a red sweater and had a big beard. The next one says he wore a green Tshirt and was clean shaven. The third says he wore a blue hoodie. But than when checking the security cameras the police learn the guy wore a black and white stripe button down. What happened? Each witness saw the image of someone they were scared of.

Go to any readers' forum and look at the conversations about characters. 

Look at page 179 of the Witcher novel Lady of the Lake where Ciri raped and castrated Avallac'h. Did you know 81% of Ciri fans swear Avallac'h raped Ciri?

Did you know that 34% of Harry Potter fans believe Prof Snape is an elderly woman and are shocked when they see the movies and see a fairly young man as the actor?

What about The Hunger Games where MORE THAN HALF OF THE CHARACTERS are described specifically as "African American", but when they were cast as black in the movies, MILLIONS of novel fans protested the black actors, swearing the characters in the novels were white?

How many times do you see a reader describe a character as blond, than you read the book they recommended and learn that character was brunette?

This phenomena is wide spread.

But... a family being murdered by enraged anti-Erotica Christians is a rare event.

My family was murdered by radical Christians who wanted to punish me for writing Erotica.

The only problem with that is: I don't Erotica.

I've never written Erotica.

As a Christian myself, I have no intention of ever writing Erotica.

People who admit they never read my books, murdered my family, because they had seen so many people on NaNoWriMo forum, KBoards forum, Twitch VoDs, Discord, Twitter, and FaceBook, make the false CLAIM that my books were Erotica.

They saw so many of my readers CALL my books Erotica, that they became fully convinced I MUST be writing Erotica, and so without even reading m books to find out if the rumor was true or not, they kidnapped mu children, cut off their heads, than nailed their heads to my door.

   *   READERS SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE and DO NOT SEE WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE!

   *   MY FAMILY WAS MURDERED BECAUSE READERS SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE and DO NOT SEE WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE!



Remember folks: 

   *   You thinking of Quaraun as young, a teen, or a young adult, does not change the fact, that he is the equivalent of a 90 year old Human, exactly as you were told in the novels.

   *   You ignoring the fact that in just volume 1, I described BoomFuzzy as BLACK 5,678 times, doesn't change the fact, he's still black.


   *   You imagining BoomFuzzy as white, doesn't change the fact, that BoomFuzzy is black.


   *   You thinking of BoomFuzzy as white, doesn't mean that I wrote him the way your fucked up brain thought of him.


   *   I wrote BoomFuzzy as a black man, and no amount of you IGNORING what I wrote, is going to change the fact that BoomFuzzy is black.


Just like the same way:


   *   YOU thinking about sex while I talk, DOES NOT mean that I was talking about sex.


   *   YOU fantasizing about sex while you read, DOES NOT mean that I wrote a sex scene.


   *   YOU sexualizing things and jerking off to them, is NOT me writing titillation for you.


    *   YOU thinking about sex while reading a book I wrote, does NOT mean the book is Erotica, it just means that YOU are a fucking pervert capable of sexualizing anything and everything.


AND:


    *   YOU THINKING ABOUT SEX WHILE YOU READ A BOOK THAT I WROTE IS NOT AN EXCUSE YOU CAN USE TO GET AWAY WITH MURDERING MY FAMILY!

The genre of the Quaraun series, further makes the Erotica claims even more baffling.

The Quaraun series is a dystopian multiverse, where lots of dimensions of Earth are happening all at once, each with different endings to the world, and a Wizard named HellBorne unlocks the ability to move through dimensions, via portals. His assistant GhoulSpawn develops time travel, and starts traveling through time and dimensions in search of his mother whom was swallowed by a portal when he was a small child.

Yes, there are multiple outcomes in Quaraun's world, which is a primary plot point within the series, and is why we see some novels that are full on copy paste of each other with different outcomes, because of different changes of events during the story.

In 2525, the world ends, and a group of scientists from another planet arrive days earlier to rescue a group of people, they fell can help prevent this, by sending them back in time to change past events.

They pick a few hundred people from various points in history and show each of them a different event in history, which lead to the 2525 implosion of the Earth, and tell them: change this event, to make THIS happen instead of THAT. If everyone does the task we assign them, the world will not end in 2525.

One of the events that needs to change is the birth a baby, that should not have been born. The mother was beaten by an angry husband and baby is stillborn as a result, however, Quaraun fell through a portal, witnesses the event, and pushes the woman aside, saving the unborn baby, who is born and grows up to be the one that directly causes the end of the world in 2525.

This task is assigned to a Chaos Demon named The Gremlin, who in his youth had been known as GhoulSpawn and had been friends with Quaraun.

GhoulSpawn is one of the people rescued in 2525 and sent back to 1978, to change history, by tossing his teenage self through a portal to 1458, to stop Quaraun from saving the baby's life.

In 1458, young GhoulSpawn falls out of the sky and lands on Quaraun, becoming one of his travel companions, but he is unaware of how he got to the past or why he is there, and when he comes to the event he was supposed to change, instead of stopping Quaraun from saving the baby, he helps Quaraun, and while history is changed, it is made, far, far worse, with a massive plague unleashed on the world.

And as it turned out, history is in fact not changed at all, as the alien rescuers learn, that BECAUSE the end of the world caused them to create time travel portals, they have in fact caused the end of the world to become and unchangeable event.

In their panic they begin to send more people to the past to change even more events.

And eventually they realize that because they had tasked a Chaos Demon with killing the baby, they themselves had in fact unleashed the chaos that would set into motion the events causing the end of the world.

In a twist of events, they discover, had The Diontite Scientists lead by Dr. Dameon, Cheecka, and BoomFuzzy's grandson Harrier, NOT interfered the world would NOT have ended, and now they must go back through time again, to find the Chaos Demon and stop him, from making things worse.

Other, darker motives are at play when it is discovered that Twin Emperor Vielder and Melaca, are pulling the strings in an attempt to resurrect their mother: the baby that should have died, because in another dimension she DID die, and things were far worse.

Another layer comes in when Melac's son Roderic and Roderic's sons Etiole and RazzBurry, take control of a giant man eating Mimic that roams the Ross Forest and haunts The Reclaim Blueberry Plains of Old Orchard Beach, Maine, settling down the day as a massive mansion called The Twighlight Manor, and roaming the forests of Maine at night as BoomFuzzy's gingerbread house eating everyone in it's path, and it is revealed it is the mutated soul of the baby. 

Another layer comes in when the origin of Maine's deadly Twighlight Manor, is discovered to be 2 immortal souls bound together centuries ago: SunTa in the attic is revealed to be Quaraun The Insane and Antares in the basement is BoomFuzzy, both now thousands of years old and hell bent the utter destruction of the universe that destroyed them.

Meanwhile, 2525 GhoulSpawn also known as The Gremlin, starts using portal magic to travel to thousands of dimensions and times, changing history at will and NOT doing what the alien scientists had wanted him to do. Instead he changes things he dislikes and wants to be different, damn the consequences.

The result is lots of important points of history get changed, some are minor and insignificant changes, while other changes are devastating.

A recon crew is sent to find Gremlin and stop him before he destroys the entire universe.

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy are caught up in the crossfire of all of this. Quaraun is a suicidal Necromancer who has been escaping Death against all odds and seems to possibly be immortal, while BoomFuzzy is a ghost destined to eternity in Hell once he takes care of the unfinished business of heling Quaraun through the grief of BoomFuzzy's suicide, and BoomFuzzy will do anything to both keep Quaraun alive and keep himself out of Hell (a literal prison, a physical place in Quaraun's world) and becomes a Lich.

With Quaraun and BoomFuzzy, both undefeatable mega super villains who simply can not die, now traveling with Chaos Demon GhoulSpawn through time and space, they start changing far more than the history of the Earth, but change history on every planet they touch, and spread with them The Crystal Plague, and deadly "lich virus" that is turning life across the universe and in every dimension into undead shambling zombies, devoted to following their lich lord The Pink Necromancer who unknowingly created them.

I ask you again, does ANY of this sound like Erotica to YOU?

  *   BoomFuzzy is black - get off your fucking white power high horse and deal with it.

  *   Quaraun is elderly and has dementia & Alzheimer's, when he runs off naked, he needs a psychiatrist, a doctor, and some medication, not you lusting after him and calling scenes like that Erotica.

  *   Lusting after an elderly man who is wandering around naked and confused instead of thinking "Why isn't anyone helping him?", is sexual harassment and elder abuse NOT Erotica. What the fuck is wrong with you?

  *   A man getting drunk and beating the crap out of his lover, is abuse and domestic violence not BDSM.

Those scenes weren't written to titillate you. What is wrong with you people?



 *   READERS SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE and DO NOT SEE WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE!

Which is why they can read 7,000 pages before realizing BoomFuzzy is black, think of Quaraun as a young adult/late teen, see sex scenes in places where no sex happened, and think of a series where nothing titillating happens at all, as Erotica.

 - BoomFuzzy is black

 - Quaraun is elderly

 - And there is nothing even remotely erotic in the Quaraun novels.


So now... let's actually LOOK at what it is, people CLAIM is the "erotica" found in the Quaraun novels.

Keep in mind that Quaraun is an elderly man, the equivalent of a 90 year old Human.

Let me repeat... the "erotica" scenes are describing an elderly man, the equivalent of a 90 year old Human.

And let me give you a question to think about here:

Would YOU be sexually aroused by descriptions of a 90 year old man?

Are you starting to see how utterly silly the people calling the Quaraun books Erotica, are?

If you have ever read one of my novels, you know much I like to write character descriptions. Every chapter contains now fewer than 500 words describing the character... 500 words for EACH character ... describing everything from their skin to their eyes to their hair to their cloths ... and well, you know me ... Screaming Unicorn gets branded as "Erotica" for it's 10 page long description of Quaraun's gold rings ... 128 gold rings that are used like Frankenstein stitches to "sew" his badly mutilated and near severed penis and foreskin back together and the matching 58 gold scrotum rings ... a scene that gets copied, reworded, and pasted into EVERY single volume of the series, and is followed, by an equally detailed scene of BoomFuzzy. BoomFuzzy as readers are aware, is a shapeshifter. A silver horned, black unicorn in his natural form, he can change to look like anything or anyone, and one day he saw a pair of snakes breeding, and discovered what it is also snakes have that no other species has: two penises.

Sooooo... BoomFuzzy, a black man in his Human form, because he's a black horse in his real form, has not one, but two black penises for me to describe, in 10 page detail, because, it's what I do. It's what the Quaraun series is known for: grueling specific details of men with no pants on. Of course in volumes that include GhoulSpawn, you then get a third description, of GhoulSpawn's, well, and well isn't his a doozy, those volumes banned in 27 countries.

So, you have ditzy, clumsy, clutz of an albino Elf who can't walk in high heels, never met a staircase he couldn't fall boobily down, and gets his dresses snagged on every tree root, just so we can watch him fall bum up, flat on his face, with his skirts over his head, so we can describe his gold rings, you know because, I'm apparently addicted to describing his gold rings, bee doing it for 43 years now.

Speaking of falling boobily down stairs... have you ever read a Fabio novel?

Try it sometimes.

Sooner or later you will run across a scene of a woman, who boobily stumbles down the stairs, just so the male lead can rip her bodice off and free the boobs. It won't take you long, because that scene appears in EVERY single Fabio novel, all 371 of them. That scene also appeared in 842 Fabio-knock-off novels.

From 1991 to 1994, Zebra Erotic Romance Historical became so legendary for woman "stumbling boobily down the stairs", "falling boobily down the stair", "bouncing boobily down the stairs", "tripping boobily down the stairs", that there is a subReddit called "Men Writing Women" and their tagline is: "She Bounced Boobily Down The Stairs". The goal of the subReddit is "to catalogue every incident of a male writer describing a female as boobily".

Boobily is a word that you will not find in the dictionary, but in the world of Romance novels, particularly in the Bodice Ripper subgenre, and especially in the Fabio line by Zebra Publishing in particular, the word "boobily" is the single most common word used to describe female leads. Interesting to note that these novels are sold under female pennames and feature cover art near nude women falling out of their Southern Belle dresses in the arms of Italian male model Fabio, thus the term "Fabio novels".


In any case, the trope of women falling "boobily" down the stairs because a male author wants to spend 10 pages describing her breasts after they spilled boobily out of her corset, after she fell boobily down the stairs, and landed boobs first on the man sitting at the table nearest the stairs, is so widespread and so over used, that, I decided to make fun of it, by being a woman, who wrote a man who falls boobily down stairs, and gets his cock and balls miraculously exposed on the table below every time, followed by a detailed description of said cock and balls that have landed in the nearest soup bowl.

Yeah. It makes fun of the fact that men can't write women without a woman's boobs falling out of her dress and landed on the table, by showing how idiotic that same scene would be, if a man fell down the stairs and landed dick first, half naked on the table, the same way the women constantly land half naked boob first on the table.

Fans of the Quaraun series are often elderly women (yes MOST of my readers are in their 70s to 90s) who read the Fabio novels when in their 40s to 50s, and immediately recognize the joke, and are fully aware that this is Pink Humor (Comedy that makes fun of how utterly ridiculous the Erotica genre is by turning every atrocious boob joke into an even more atrocious dick joke - yes, Pink Humor is an actual genre.)

Quaraun falling boobily down stairs became a running gags in the series, so every volume contains a scene of Quaraun, decked out in a fancy belle of the ball dress, and falling, and landing someplace awkward, balls out.

People who know Pink Humor genre, know this is not Erotica, but rather is making fun of how stupid the Erotica genre is, by putting men in the same scenes female Erotica characters are forced to endure. In Erotica, male authors write scenes of female public humiliation to jerk off to, because those male authors, think jerking off to a woman's public humiliation is sexy and seduction. Real world women read these so-called "Romance" novels that are marketed for women, but are clearly written by men for male readers, and are generally horrified by the kind of abusive, degrading, and humiliating things men find to be titillating.

The Pink Humor genre, rose up in the 1990s, a few months after the Fabio novels took off as the top selling Romance novels off all time (and stayed there until 50 Shades of Grey knocked them off their pedestal). Pink Humor is a genre, generally written by feminists with one goal: to show the world how humiliating, abusive, and degrading to women the Erotica genre is by replacing females with males and those subjecting males to the exact same abusive, degrading, humiliation. 

And in the 1990s and early 2000s, while the Fabio novels were selling like hot cakes from every grocery store check out line, people understood what Pink Humor was and why outraged women were writing it. And many of the Quaraun books were written during this time period.

However, in spite of outselling it's biggest competitor, the Harlequin line, Zebra, was still only a tiny indie publishing house, with only a few authors craning out Fabio novels on a weekly grind, and Harlequin was a large publishing house, with hundreds of authors, putting out hundreds of new titles every week across more than 70 separate lines. Zebra could not keep up, nor could they price their 500 page door stopper Fabio novels high enough, and they soon filed for bankruptcy. And in 2002, the last Fabio novel was published.

The Fabio novels changed the publishing industry. They were the first books to publish sex scenes, and soon other genres (Horror, Westerns, Fantasy, Sci-Fi, etc) began to see sex scenes hear and there. This had never been done before, because prior to 1997, American federal laws dictated what could and could not be published in comic books, newspapers, and yes even novels, and sex was simply not allowed.

The Fabio novels challenged those laws and because the authors could go to prison for writing body parts in sex scene, they wrote fruits and vegetables instead. Boobs became melons, bums became peaches, penises became eggplants, to allow sex scenes to NOT fade to black and be written on the page without the author going to prison for 15 years. Massive lawsuits rocked the publishing industry as outraged church groups stared suing Zebra for daring to publish sex in books, which contributed to Zebra's filing for bankruptcy and the Fabio books ceasing to be published.

However, as these lawsuits ended up on nightly TV news, more and more people became aware of the fact that the Federal Government was regulating what could and could not be published in books and outraged Freedom of Speech supporters, discovering sex was banned by federal law from being published in Romance novels, took to the courts with 1st armament lawsuits against the American government... and thanks to the daring authors of the Fabio novels... on September 26, 1997, the federal law that banned sex and violence from being published in comic books and novels since it's rise against EC Comics in 1953, was at long last obliterated, and the flood gates were opened for brand new genre: Erotica, to be published in America, for the first time since it's banning in 1953.



Since 1997, sex scene began to appear more and more often in any and every genre, while the Romance genre, suddenly left behind it's sex free Sweet stories of wooing and courtship with no bedrooms to be found to be replaced with sex dripping raunchy bedroom romps, that had no story at all, no romance to be seen, and indeed rarely even had a plot and was in fact nothing but page after page of sex scenes.

And the Bodice Ripper, aka The Fabio novels, faded away, all but forgotten, with few sexual liberated authors today even aware that without the Fabio novels, their freedom to write sex, would not exist at all. This strange genre that focused on none-stop sexual abuse, sexual harassment, and sexual humiliation, done entirely by throwing assorted fruits and vegetables in the bedroom, disappeared ... until 2013, when for the first time in 10 years, a novel that focused on none-stop sexual abuse, sexual harassment, and sexual humiliation,  this time with house hold items like tampons and golf balls instead of fruits and vegetables, took the world by storm ad went on to be the first book to not only out sell Harry Potter, but also, out sell the Bible: 50 Shades of Grey. 

With the arrival of 50 Shades of Grey, the Bodice Ripper genre retuned, darker than ever, and now known as BDSM Erotic Romance. And all the work feminists made at squashed the genre that focused on none-stop sexual abuse, sexual harassment, and sexual humiliation,  was flushed down the toilet, as millions of women, rushed to be the next ELJames, and wrote novels that focused on none-stop sexual abuse, sexual harassment, and sexual humiliation, to the point of extreme.

No more was the Romance genre dominated by male authors writing women falling boobily down the stairs for the pleasure of male readers. Now the Romance genre was dominated by female authors who WANTED to be sexually abused, WANTED to be sexually harassed, WANTED to be sexually humiliated in public places.

And with the rise of the BDSM Erotic Romance 50 Shades Knock-Off genre, came too, a resurge in readers buying old and nearly forgotten Pink Humor novels, including the Quaraun series which had been practically forgotten along with the Fabio books.

And this is where I give rise to concern. For the definition of Erotica, seems to have changed.

Erotica used to be about seduction. Two or more WILLING partners WILLING CONSENTING to seduce each other. ACTUAL BDSM has the same definition.

The Bodice Ripper Genre and the 50 Shades Knock Off genre, both focus on LACK OF CONCENT.

Every Bodice Ripper follows the same basic story line: wealthy young girl (usually said to be 14 years old - YES - the girls on the covers of Fabio novels are supposed to be only 14 years old according to the story inside) away from home for the first time, on a stage coach that stops a saloon in the middle of no where, after freshening up in the bath up stairs, she falls boobily down the stairs, her hoop skirt gets caught on a chandelier, ripping her bodice off, as she lands on the table below, naked boobs out, wearing nothing but her pantaloons. The man at the table immediately gropes her bare breasts, calls his drunk friends over to join in, gang rape ensures, but low and behold, Comanchee Chief Fabio or Highwayman Fabio or Half-Bred Buk Boy Fabio or Swashbuckler Pirate Fabio swoops in, rescues the poor naked defiled gang rape victim, carries her off to his lair/ship/teepee, to... oh look, he's gonna rape her too, because she's already 14 years old, got to get her pregnant before she becomes an old maid, so now she's his wife by rape, but sex is just greatest so she doesn't care that he kidnapped her, raped her, and is holding her hostage.

Also known as The Dubious Consent genre, the Fabio novels aka the Bodice Rippers were blatant child rape stories.

And if you are wondering how I know... I own more than 3,000 1990s Bodice Rippers including the entire Zebra Historical Romance line aka The Fabios. And yes, I have read all of them.

Once mass market produced and sold by the millions,  in the mid 2010s (from 2013 to 2016) church groups across America gathered up massive millions of Fabio novels and burned them in what they termed "Pentecostal Tent Revival Meetings".

I found out about these book burnings when a local church gathered up my own novels to burn in my driveway.

Millions upon millions of Bodice Rippers were destroyed, as these groups bought every copy they could find on Amazon and eBay.

Today, the Fabio novels, once the most popular, top selling books on the planet, each title selling an astounding, mind boggling around 20 million copies per title, thanks to the Christian tent revival book burnings of the mid2010s these books are today among the rarest books on the planet.

Now in 2021, most of the controversial of 1990s Bodice Rippers sell for $100 to $500 each. Books that sold for a cover price of only $2.99, new, just 20 years ago.

A true Fabio, with Fabio himself on the cover, some titles, go from $900 to $13,000 now on eBay in 2021, when just 10 years ago, in 2010, you could buy these books bulk by the und for $1 per pound of books (about .50c each book)

Some of them can be now found as Kindle editions, but beware: the Kindle editions are HEAVILY EDITED... words like "half bred" or "buck boy" are now replaced with "Native American" or "African American", while the ages of the 14 year old girls are changed to 19, 21, or just removed entirely. Most of the fruits and vegetables are now boobs, bums, and cocks, and while the early chapter gang rape attacks are still there, they are rewritten to not include actual rape, just attempted rape, while the later chapter hero bride by rape scenes are rewritten into consent scenes.... If you want to see the way they were before being edited for Kindle, buy the original Mass Market paperbacks from the early 1990s.

I bought most of mine new. And the rest I bought in 2005 to 2007 on eBay bulk, by the pound. I have one of the world's largest and most complete collections of these now very rare and as always very controversial books.

And if you are someone too young to have ever seen a Fabio book in the grocery store check out line, or are some one who never paid attention to those books when you saw them, and are wondering now, what exactly are these wild rape fantasy books writing by men using female pennames and that all feature variations of the same story of kidnapping and raping 14year girls? Here's a few of them:

That is what 3,000 Fabio and Fabio Knock Off books look like. That stack of books is 10 piles deep, 4 piles wide, and from floor to ceiling stands just over 5 feet tall, coming up to my nose. And I've read every one of them. It takes me around 5 hours to read a 500 page Fabio novel, so I can easily read 1 to 3 novels a day.

Pay attention to the covers... ONLY the ones with a hologram heart shaped sticker on the top corner are "true Fabios", the ones without that heart in the top corner, are Fabio Knock Offs.

Speaking of Knock offs, let's move on to the other great offender:

The 50 Shades Knock Off genre is very similar. They all follow this basic story line: poor girl, desperately seeking a job, gets hired by wealthy millionaire/billionaire with a dark brooding past of childhood abuse, that he unleashes, by chaining his secretaries in his basement, AGAINST THEIR WILL, so he can jerk off will whipping them, beating them, raping them, and shoving various dangerous items up their vaginas. 

50 Shades and the 50 Shades Knock Offs are NOT BDSM. They are abuse. And it's horrifying that so many millions of people don't know the difference.

And because people don't know the difference, they call the Quaraun books BDSM. And that is terrifying.

Why?

Look at the chart below:

BDSM is ALWAYS consensual

Are the interactions between BoomFuzzy and Quaraun consensual? No. Quaraun is constantly asking BoomFuzzy to stop touching him, stop hurting him, and Quaraun is frequently brought to tears and begging "Please don't rape me" while BoomFuzzy laughs in his face.

BDSM follow rules. Set boundaries. And those rules and boundaries are respected.

For Quaraun and BoomFuzzy, there are no rules, no boundaries, no respect. Quaraun is asexual, he doesn't like sex. BoomFuzzy is sex crazy out of his mind and what BoomFuzzy wants, BoomFuzzy gets, wither Quaraun agrees to it or not.

BDSM is used for mutual pleasure. It's a role playing game, enjoyed by both partners.

Quaraun is scared of BoomFuzzy.

BDSM has safe words. BDSM stops when one party become scared, hurt, or uncomfortable with the situation.

Quaraun can't stop BoomFuzzy. BoomFuzzy is stronger than Quaraun, by quite a lot.

BDSM is about giving pleasure, building a strong connection, growing a relationship, and being in love.

BoomFuzzy, gets high on power. He loves to be in control. He gets off on watching others cower before him. He likes scaring people. He likes to see others terrified. Quaraun was born very frail and sickly. He's weak, unhealthy, and elderly. He struggles with arthritis and memory loss. Early stages of dementia are setting in. He knows he need someone to take care of him in his old age. He needs medical attention. BoomFuzzy loves this. He loves the power he knows he has over Quaraun. 

BDSM does not involve drugs or alcohol.

BoomFuzzy is a candy maker and pastry chef, he also makes wine and various drugs, most notably opium. When Quaraun says "No" to anything, sexual or not, BoomFuzzy puts drugs, usually opium into Quaraun's food. He bakes gingerbread and chocolate covered apricots, knowing can't resist either, and fills them with drugs. Opium subdues Quaraun, lulls away his freewill, makes him open to suggestion, and leaves him in a dream-state-stupor, which allows BoomFuzzy to make Quaraun do things he wouldn't normally do, or more often, so he rape Quaraun.

While the on page sex scenes are rare, the scenes of Quaraun passing out from a drug overdoes are frequent, and usually followed by a scene of Quaraun waking up the next day, fully aware that he's been raped by BoomFuzzy.

There are scenes when characters, ask Quaraun outright: "Did BoomFuzzy rape you?" and Quaraun answers with: "No. He never rapes me. I love him." And the other characters ask: "But you don't like sex. You asked him to stop. You asked him to rape you." and indeed there are frequent scenes of BoomFuzzy sexually harassing Quaraun, bullying Quaraun, trying to drag Quaraun into bed, while Quaraun says: "No. Please. I don't like sex. Please don't rape."

This is abuse, NOT BDSM.

The Quaraun series takes a deep, dark, dive down the path of abusive relationships. It is NOT BDSM. It's not meant to titillate the reader. It's meant to show the reader, how terrifying it is, to be in an abusive relationship, to love the person who constantly abuses you, and to have to live with the turmoil and confusion that comes with being terrifying of the person you love.

BoomFuzzy is not a good person. Nor is he portrayed as such. He does love Quaraun. And can be kind and loving. But he drinks, he takes drugs, he makes drugs, he's brutal, he's violent. We've seen scenes of BoomFuzzy pummelling Quaraun in a drunken rage and other characters trying to pull BoomFuzzy off of him. We've seen BoomFuzzy shove Quaraun to the ground and jump on him, deliberately trying to break his bones.

The series is full of scenes of characters, worried about Quaraun, when they see him with a black eye, or a split lip, or a bloody nose, or a broken wrist. Character are always trying to convince Quaraun, he shouldn't be with BoomFuzzy and Quaraun won't leave him.

Quaraun is with BoomFuzzy because of guilt. BoomFuzzy was in a long term committed relationship, with Gibedon, before Quaraun was even born. Gibedon was a solider. Went away to war. BoomFuzzy had a fling with Quaraun. BoomFuzzy wasn't serious about it. Quaraun was. They lived together for a few years. Then Gibedon came back. Quaraun caught BoomFuzzy and Gibedon in bed together, and stabbed them both, killed Gibedon. BoomFuzzy commit suicide. Devastated, Quaraun became a Necromancer and resurrected BoomFuzzy as a Lich.

Quaraun feels like he has to stay with BoomFuzzy now, to make up for killing Gibedon. BoomFuzzy, he loves Quaraun, but he also loved Gibedon, and he would them both together, not choosing one over the other, had Quaraun not killed Gibedon.

But Quaraun did kill Gibedon, and the guilt is crushing his mind, so he let's BoomFuzzy do anything. And BoomFuzzy's angry. He loves Quaraun, but Quaraun murdered Gibedon and Quaraun's presence is a constant reminder of that.

So BoomFuzzy takes to drinking, and sing Quaraun like a punching bag.

Their relationship is very toxic. It's not a good relationship. It's full of domestic abuse.

Does ANY of this sound like Erotica to you?

   *   READERS SEE WHAT THEY WANT TO SEE and DO NOT SEE WHAT I ACTUALLY WROTE!

Which is why they can read 7,000 pages before realizing BoomFuzzy is black, think of Quaraun as a young adult/late teen, see sex scenes in places where no sex happened, and think of a series where nothing titillating happens at all, as Erotica.

 - BoomFuzzy is black

 - Quaraun is elderly

 - And there is nothing even remotely erotic in the Quaraun novels.


  *   BoomFuzzy is black - get off your fucking white power high horse and deal with it.

  *   Quaraun is elderly and has dementia & Alzheimer's, when he runs off naked, he needs a psychiatrist, a doctor, and some medication, not you lusting after him and calling scenes like that Erotica.

  *   Lusting after an elderly man who is wandering around naked and confused instead of thinking "Why isn't anyone helping him?", is sexual harassment and elder abuse NOT Erotica. What the fuck is wrong with you?

  *   A man getting drunk and beating the crap out of his lover, is abuse and domestic violence not BDSM.

Those scenes weren't written to titillate you. What is wrong with you people?


Keep in mind that Quaraun is an elderly man, the equivalent of a 90 year old Human.

Let me repeat... the "erotica" scenes are describing an elderly man, the equivalent of a 90 year old Human.

And let me give you a question to think about here:

Would YOU be sexually aroused by descriptions of a 90 year old man?

Are you starting to see how utterly silly the people calling the Quaraun books Erotica, are?

It makes me sad that so many people call the Quaraun books BDSM.

I'm terrified for anyone those readers are in a relationship with.

If you want to see what REAL ACTUAL Erotica reads like... read Cum 4 BigFoot by Virginia Wade.