Just Stop Already

I don't even know what to say about this one. Really, this kind of lunacy boggles the mind, even with understanding the wellspring it flows from. You simply have to read this yourself. (Originally posted on http://www.laurellkhamilton.org/2011/08/in-the-zone/)

In the Zone

I was out getting cupcakes for my sister’s birthday yesterday. Cupcakes from The Cup, an uber-yummy cakecakery was all she’d asked for, and so, off I went. I’d never been there before, and anytime I’m in an unfamiliar section of a city, even my own city, I’m always a little more on alert. It was a perfectly nice section of St. Louis. It was a small brick street with high end clothing stores, restaurants, and specialty food shops. It was all very up scale, so why be nervous? It’s me, it’s one of the things I do, especially when I’m writing an Anita Blake novel. My normal caution goes up to a near paranoia sometimes when I’m writing Anita and especially when I’ve been writing a lot of police work, or murder scenes. I spend my days and nights walking around at yellow alert, and it doesn’t take much to put me over into orange, or even red alert.

Parking is at a premium in downtown St. Louis, like most cities, so it took some maneuvering to find parking, finally park, while other cars waited to vulture, as if I would give up before I managed to land the space. I was in the city proper, I wasn’t giving up a parking place, near my destination, they could just wait in an ever hopeful line while I parked. The parking vultures drove sadly away, while I dug for change in my purse. I searched for change too long because more vultures began to wait behind me, hoping I was leaving. I know they were disappointed when I got out and put money in the meter, but that’s parking in the city – full of disappointment.

It was a bright, sunny day, a wide open, space with just a few people strolling the shops, or sitting outside of the restaurants to enjoy the beautiful day. I walked carefully across the bricks in my heels, and just as I got up on the other curb I noticed a white van. It just went on the check list of surrounding details that might be important. I noted it and let it go, then the van pulled into the little street right beside me, and parked. I caught a glimpse of a man’s arm at the passenger side window as I moved further in on the sidewalk out of grabbing room. I was waiting for one of the doors to open and someone to try to grab me and pull me into the van. I moved out of reach, hugging the building. No door opened, nothing bad happened, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the van, except that it had parked right beside me when there was a lot of curb to use that wasn’t right by me. I kept walking, confidently, unhurried, but out of reach and kept a perifial eye on the van. I was yards from the cupcake place. I’d already judged the distance between me, the door to the store, and the van. I knew I could make it inside before anyone got out of the van. No doors opened on it, but it did drive away from the curb, and give up a great parking spot in the city without anyone getting out. Now, maybe they just decided they were on the wrong street; maybe they saw better parking elsewhere, but if they did it was on a different street, because they drove to the far corner and turned onto a major street. They hadn’t done a damn thing that would have made most people that nervous, but I totally didn’t like that they’d parked and then left when I moved into the buildings out of reach. I was happier than normal to step into the brightly lit, cheerful colors of the The Cup. I set about the happy task of picking cupcake flavors for my sister’s birthday, calling home to ask my husband, and daughter wanted, since the flavors of cupcakes change daily. I got my cupcakes in their box, in the neat bag with it’s little handles, and was good to go.

When I stepped out I was looking for the van, but didn’t see it. If I had seen it, I would have walked back into the store and thought seriously about calling the cops. Would that have been over doing the caution; maybe, probably. But I wouldn’t have gone to my car with the same van still lurking outside like some kind of polite shark. Coast clear, I walked for my car, but noticed a person at the corner. They were doing the jittery, almost vibrating, like their engine is on high that says, I need a fix. The person was dressed neat enough, clean, there was nothing to clue me in, but that body movement that is just short of the rocking, and huddling, that comes later if they don’t get a fix sooner. I slowed and let them get ahead of me, then I walked wide round them, and kept an eye on them, and for white vans.

I was very aware that the drug-challenged individual began to cross just behind me. I was very aware that I had a purse, a shopping bag, was wearing high heels,and a dress. People sometimes assume that means you have more victim on you, or that you’re just a softer touch. In my case, they would wrong.

I knew the junkie was going to approach me for panhandling, at least, and I hit the button for unlocking the car, not hurrying (Only prey runs.) but not being slow either. The person called out, “I like your dress.”

I answered, glancing back, as I put my purse and bag in the car. The person was closer than I liked, at the end of the car beside mine. If he rushed me I wasn’t going to try to get in the car, but to rush around it, using it as a barrier between him and me. I no longer had time to get in my car if things went badly.

“Can I have 75 cents?” He asked, but he’d stopped at the end of the other car.

“Sorry, I don’t carry cash anymore,” I lied, as I got in the car, shut and locked the door, in one smooth movement. Nothing and no one would have made me get out of my open car and go back the person as he stood trying not to jitter in street. I put the car in gear, and he drifted away looking for someone else to panhandle from. I wondered what he’d wanted the 75 cents for?

Welcome to the inside of my head when I’m in the groove of writing an Anita book. Its like living in a world that is just a little brighter, a little scarier, a little more aware of all the awful, and wonderful possibilities that surround me. I don’t think like this when I’m writing a Merry Gentry novel; it’s only Anita that affects me quite this way. Years ago this new awareness made me jumpy, paranoid, and opressed. Now, I know what’s happening and I sort of welcome it, because I know it means that I’m in the zone for Anita. The book is going well, her voice strong in my head, in my fingers, tingling down my spine and spilling out my skin. I’m home in a slightly hyper-reality that I carry like a song in my head.

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It might have been a DUN DUN DUN delivery van. This woman is crazy. Thank goodness she's not political or she'd be (your favorite nut group).

I wondered what he’d wanted the 75 cents for?

idk, food?

Though I don't blame her about being nervous around the van. Odd that she sapped all the tension out of the experience, though, because when stuff like that happens to me I start to get anxious.

Once more she points out why she needs some serious meds for some seriously messed up brain chemistry. I'll admit to getting a bit more paranoid as I've gotten older but then again I *AM* on meds for messed up brain chemistry.

Morgan

If she really thought she needed meds, she has the resources to get help, a diagnosis, and a prescription. Either she is just in love with her own darkity-darkness too much to want to take it away, or she's hyping this up a whole lot to seem special and dramatic and a REAL writer who is REALLY into her work and world and such.

I was afraid of being helped with my depression because having had it lifelong had made it a huge part of my personality and I was terrified that without it, I would be nobody, just an even emptier shell with no identity. I can't say for sure and I don't like to speculate far on the "reality" of mental health issues of others (or their mental health at all, especially over the Internet) but that's...not the vibe I'm getting from this entry at all, and that's as much as I'll allow myself to think on it.

IMO, she thinks her darkity-darkness (love that!) is just a part of her genius - either a symptom of it, or a cause. She couldn't let that go!

Holy classism, Batman! At least she didn't start narrating her inner monologue to that panhandler.

(Also- "I wonder why he'd want 75 cents?" Maybe to EAT, you overprivileged asshole.)

Welcome to the inside of my head when I’m in the groove of writing an Anita book.

So.. basically you're saying that writing a book makes you even more of a classist, speshul snowflake asshole? Color me surprised.

Oh, and Laurel? Your life is not that of Evan Bourne. Stop trying to write as though it is. No one else on the planet thinks going for cupcakes is equivalent to international espionage. Hell, real international espionage isn't like hollywood espionage.

I swear, she makes my dear mother (who had reasons to be paranoid after a guy who tried to rape her and swore to kill her vanished off the FBI's radar) seem normal. My mother was convinced that if I didn't move into a house with an alarm or kept my shades down, I'd be stalked and raped. And yet, she didn't assume every van or begger was out to get us. As I said, my mom had a reason to be paranoid (and reading books by John Douglas and Ann Rule didn't help). LKH just makes me think she likes drama.

The van "following" her on a street where she already said parking is at a premium, could just be looking for a parking spot. After all, it passed her. Just because there's a guy in it doesn't automatically mean it's a kidnapper. And the panhandler on the street? I see a lot of them where I live, and I bet every city has a lot of them. You either give him your spare change or ignore them. Not that big a deal. I've only had one case where a panhandler got dangerous, and know what we did? We went to the cops around the corner. Problem solved. (and dangerous, jsut so everyone knows, was just him calling the women of the group nasty names. Nothing physical)

A) can you please put in an LJ cut so this entry isn't so huge, f-lock it, and

B) this community has

blogfloggery for all its blog posting uses. The mods are in control of this account. We have been using it to post writing-related blogs as opposed to ones that talk more about her personal life so we can avoid hating on LKH for existing. We've had this policy in place for several years, now.

Yes, LKH says things in a wanky way an awful lot. Which leads to:

C) what, exactly, is your point in this? I've already given you a warning in the past about drive-by "HEY LOOK!" type posts -- a couple of sentences for context and discussion would be preferable instead of pasting in her entire blog entry. Like I said above, LKH says things in a wanky way an awful lot, what are you trying to highlight here?

This is your last chance in this comm. If you have issue with that, feel free to PM me.

Edited 2011-08-27 05:42 (UTC)

Hey, LKH, sweetie-pants, my DAD drives a big white van, and he often goes to St. Louis. Could have been him for all you know! And you know what he does for a living? HE OWNS A BAKERY. Not the Cup, but who knows, the owner of the Cup could be a nice man like my dad who drives a white van. And you see panhandlers and homeless asking for food all the time at the riverfront, which isn't too far from Downtown, genius.

Yeeeesh.

I wondered what he’d wanted the 75 cents for?

To buy a second hand version of your latest book because he's out of toilet paper.

Gah, who narrates their life like a novel, even a badly written one? I follow a few other published authors and they just write like normal people, like you and I. They don't go along the 'it was a dark and stormy night' approach to heading down the shops.

The privilege of this lady. People who actually live in poor neighborhoods would kill for the security she seems to be so bored of.

Why did he want 75Cs?

Maybe to complete the fare for a taxi or the last bit to get a Big Mac you heinous, self-centered douchebag.

Everyone's making such valid points, but I'm still stuck on "perifial."

A "perifial eye" sounds like the white is discolored due to infection. As in "After the doctor gave me some special drops, my perifial eye cleared right up."

I'm just gonna pretend she's using obscure words and not trying to use the actual, common word "peripheral." It's better for my sanity this way.

I fear that reading LKH's blogs is not good for one's sanity generally.

Also, ICON LOVE. :D

ugh, this make me seethe

Listen, Laurell, all women need to be aware of their surroundings and be wary when approached by strangers. That's sadly how the world still works, you're not special for feeling a touch off about these things and it's not because you're writing such an ~edgy and dangerous~ character. Also, some people really do suffer from genuine paranoia, either from past trauma or mental illness, and so you actively seeming to enjoy and praise yourself for it in that bit at the end is REALLY infuriating, you smug speshul snowflake.

In my case, they would wrong.

*snort*

Oh god. Yeah, kick his ass with Krav Maga!

I just...she seriously thinks she's Anita sometimes, doesn't she? It just sounds so dramatic the way she's wording this, but also so cheesey, so it's like...idk, a Dramatic Chipmunk that takes itself seriously as an actress or something, does that make sense/sound right?

(deleted comment)

Hey, you're right, I didn't know that either!

It's Pilli, Carri's (LKH's PA) Partner, lately LKH has been calling Pilli her 'Little Sister' and refering to her as Trinity's Aunt.

LKH's tldr can be summed up easily:

"Sheltered suburban middle-aged white housewife is afraid for no reason."

Seriously, we should all be grateful it was only a junkie...well, according to LKH it was a junkie. What evidence does she have that this is a junkie? He could be simply mentally ill, there are mental illnesses that cause twitching and rocking. There are people who simply cognitively impaired that engage in the same behavior. But no, LKH instantly knows that this guy is twitching because he needs another fix (and she has to dress up this revelation in overly floral and pretentious language). I'd be more inclined to think that the individual is mentally ill, in fact many homeless folk are mentally ill...which is a big reason why they are homeless in the first place.

And Jesus...it was just 75 cents. I've given change to people who ask. It's broad daylight in a nice area of the city...take a chill pill, you don't live in the fucking ghetto and I'll bet that you've never seen a real junkie in your life.

Thank God a negro didn't approach her. Lord knows how those negros are always targeting 'soft white women.' ::massive eyeroll...now my eyes hurt::

It was disappointing that LKH didn't whip out her gun and pistolwhip the poor man with a tendency to twitch a little. But I fear LKH is less Anita, more Aga Saga Woman. (http://youtu.be/ldZhlTc8k_E) ()

I used to take the Metro into work everyday, and at least once a week there would be this guy at the exit. He was mentally ill (with what, I don't know) wearing a santa hat and asking for change so he can buy a hamburger. For him, it was always raining outside. His normal call was: "Trying to get change for a hamburger. Someone gave me twenty cents. Please give another twenty cents. It's raining outside. God bless and Merry Christmas. Trying to get change for a hamburger."

If I had loose change on me, I gave it to him. He was pretty harmless and always grateful for the few pennies or dimes I could find in the bottom of my purse.

Same thing with me. I live less than 2 blocks from the main transit center for my town (older inner suburb of Philly). I'm constantly getting approached by panhandlers. If I have the cash on me I give it to them. I've never been terrified by them. But then again I'm not the speshulest of all speshul snowflakes.

Yeah. I have a movement disorder and while mine is not severe, I was less than impressed with her description of him obviously being a junkie because of the twitchiness. There are other explanations, Laurell.

Yeah, it could be Parkinsons. Maybe he suffered a stroke recently. My grandpa had a stroke a couple years ago and he's still working on his mobility skills. Maybe it's Tourettes. Maybe he was in some sort of accident in the past that caused some nerve damage. God, there are so many other reasons for why a person is twitching.

But no, it has to be drugs, because that shows how dark and dangerous LKH's world is.

I thought the van might have stopped so the driver could adjust the gps, or answer a call. When I was on the school bus run in Sydney (it was a small 11 seater bus) we would pull over for those types of things, or to check the schedule. Unless a van has "free candy" written down the side, and the van driver is leering at you then I think you're pretty safe (especially in the middle of the day and in a nice neighbourhood).

The OP has had ample enough time to comply with the previous mod request (http://lkh-lashouts.livejournal.com/553710.html?thread=20163822#t20163822), but it's been ignored. This was the OP's last chance to remain in the comm, after previously picking fights with other members, the mod, and failure to comply with comm rules.

The OP has now been banned from Lashouts.

This is why we can't have nice things. *sigh*

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Just Stop Already

In the Zone

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Mode Note II

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