Vamps in Space!

First, a shameless plug… hustle… ah, notice of importance. My novel Hell Cop is now available in print from Amazon.

I’ve been thinking lately (always good to try something new) about what happens to vampires in space. Why am I thinking about that, you ask. And you should ask, because who the hell thinks, or cares, about the physiological effects of space on vampires? Except for Vampires and those who want to round them up, send them up and Good-fracking-bye paleface bloodsuckers.

It all began a long time ago, but never mind that. What matters is that I recently sent off the sequel to my novel Blood Justice — tentatively titled Blood on the Water.  So, fool, glutton for punishment, and/or masochist that I am, I’m already thinking about the next book in the series. There has to be a next book because two isn’t a series — it’s a couple of books looking for a third for gin rummy, a night of kinky pleasure, or maybe just a chaperon. I already have an idea for that all important third; but what about the next and next and next? If you keep going far enough you have to go up to space or down to Hell.

Hell — been there — the Hell Cop almost series (2 1/4 and counting) – and plan to go again, but vamps have to go up. So what are the rules up there? Think a space station, inside and out, no suit.

No air – No problem. Vampires don’t need to breathe, except to talk. Though if one got shoved out an airlock they could beat on the door all they wanted but would certainly prove the truth of the  phrase – “In space, nobody can hear you scream.” (Thank you, James Cameron)

Vacuum – Problem, sort of. Explosive decompression will do to vamps what it did to all those mortals in all those B Sci-Fi movies when their helmets got cracked – Phump, all nasty inside the faceplate. However, slow decompression they can handle, though not without a lot of grimacing and uncomfortableness  in the nether regions. Their quick healing can counteract all that cell and gas (yes they have gas, too) expansion.

Cold –  Even the toughest already dead vampire will be a stone-cold vamp way before getting close to absolute zero (0° K, 273.15°c,459.67° F) By -50°c, they’re getting creaky. By -100° C they’re barely able to move. Below that for any  time and they’re likely to be stone dead and not coming back a third time. Even vampire healing can only go so far. Although that might depend on whether they’re a good guy or bad guy and the state of alien technology . (See below)

Heat — For you, much time over 115° and you’re done. Vampires, 130-140° and their super repair faculty can’t keep up with the damage.  From vamp to mummy real quick.

Sun — Big Problem. We (unless you’re a hard core Buffy buff) all know that a Vampire has a maximum 30 minutes in the sun until they’re ash and dust. At 15 minutes they are praying for the immolation agony to be over. That’s on Earth where they get some shielding from the atmosphere. In space – 15 minutes max and they’re dust in the solar wind. No repairs. No redos.

With a proper space suit (a mortal one will do) they would be good to go for a long time. That sounds good until you get kicked out an air lock and are flung out into space to drift to the next star. You’d get mighty lonely floating out there for years, ravaged by a Blood Hunger that can never be fulfilled.

IDEAS

What if a vampire was ejected, intentionally or accidentally, into space for decades or years or even a really long time and was picked up by some aliens and rejuvenated, reconstituted, reanimated, revived, or whatever. What would they think? What would he or she think? What if the aliens were at war with some nasty invaders — like humans? Who would the vamp fight for? What would humans be/look like by that time? Would the long lost vampire finally find romance in an alien war?

What if  a vampire was a security chief on a huge Ark ship on the way to ____? He would have to solve murders, find stolen goods, locate missing people (whether they wanted to be missing or not) in a sort of Hardboiled/Spock/Sherlock H. kind of way. But who would be Watson?

What if the Earth was invaded by aliens and they were winning. There was one last escape ship ready to go with lots of important people – scientists, engineers, women, children on board. No vampires allowed – they’re being blamed for the invasion. The last group (the ones who know how to run the ship and where to go once they get away) race toward the ship. A group of vamps want to escape, too, and they know that one of the last group is an agent for the aliens. Would they be able to stop him/her from boarding? Of course not. So, how do they get onboard and find the spy before the Ark ship is blown up or captured, the humans enslaved, tortured or eaten? Whew!

Makes me hungry just thinking about it. And thinking about eating, unlike zombies, not all vampires are bad. And you don’t have to be an immortal dead to read about some. Go HERE at vamp speed, not zombie speed, and check it out. In the UK go HERE.

Pleasant dreams.

“Repent, Harlequin!”

–said the Ticktockman. That’s Harlan Ellison’s classic story, “Repent  Harlequin,” said the Ticktockman, in case you missed it somewhere between  1965 and now. Not to spoil it (how many of you are going to actually read the story, if you haven’t already) but the reason Harlequin was called to repent was because he caused the schedule to be off by six minutes. And that threw off another schedule, and another, and another, causing chaos in all the world’s schedules. No wonder the Ticktockman was pissed. Six minutes off? Oh, the horror. But nothing should be scheduled that close.

If the Ticktockman,who was in charge of the world’s TIME, was going to be so anal about six minutes, he should grab a brew, put his feet up, and chill, baby.  Nothing needs its corsets pulled that tight.  Failing to chill, he should be able to stop time and  fix it.

I’m sure TTman would know this, but what actually happens if you stop time? Does everything, meaning EVERYTHING, except you (otherwise what would be the point) stop? Do you have to weave your way around frozen people, cars, bicycles, and dogs as you go about your business of robbing banks,  doing research for that report you had a few too many happy hour drinks to do last night, wander through a NFL team cheerleader’s (or players if you swing that way)  locker room, or perform those experiments that would get you locked up if the universe wasn’t frozen. And if it’s frozen, how would you interact with it. Would water flow, electricity spark, the air itself move? Those things move through time. It takes time for a drop of water to move from the faucet into a glass so you can drink it. If all time is standing still, that can’t happen and you’d better have had a two liter bottle of Mountain Dew in your hand when you flipped the switch. And maybe a large SCUBA tank on your back, too. (See below for a possible solution)

If you touched somebody (hey, you there, mind out of the gutter) would they be hard like a statue or soft like a real person? Could you move them, say out of harm’s way? If you could move them, would they stay where you put them when time started again? Would saving them screw up the future, or fix it?

That all seems much to complicated, forget stopping time, how about going back in time to fix those six minutes. Being an obssesive TTman you go back a week to try to stop the Harlequin from his dasterly deed. So what’s it like when you jump back there? Do you appear like a ghost, moving about but not affecting anything, not noticed by anybody (remember, no locker rooms)

but able to see all? Or do you pop into existence, just another Joe or Jane Doe among the masses. Except now you’re in Paradox Land. There’s two of you where there should be one, breathing extra air, drinking extra water. What happens if your new twin sees you? What if you touch? Do you, the interloper explode, fade away, pass right through, get sent back to your own time (and stay there you evil doppelgänger)?

Whatever happens, just by being there, you’ve created a new time line, different from your original time line. Say you find your six minutes, reset the clock, realign your precious schedule and it’s time to go home. But, now you are in a separate time line, one that you’ve affected, one that would not exist except for you. So, if you flip the switch, push the button, click your heels to go home, where do you go?

Because you’ve been gone for two hours, your original time line (TL) has changed and is now a different TL. The TL you’re in is the one where all is right timewise, to you. Your original has moved on without you and is still missing six minutes. If you stay where you are, there’s the doppelgänger problem, and, being the obsessive power-hungry Ticktockman that you are, how is that going to play out with your twin TTman? And, if you flip, push, click and leave there you might go back to a third TL where you were gone, and came back – but would the six minutes be there when you got back?

Who knows? Who cares? It’s all too complicated so all you Ticktock men and women  -  take a toke or three, eat a pizza, eat the six minutes, and take a time out, man.

IDEAS

What if you went back in time and everything and body was frozen, except you and anything inside a ten foot diameter bubble around you? People inside with you could walk with you, after you answer their, “What the hell is going on and who the hell are you?” questions and they don’t punch you out.  This could be a pain in the ass, especially if you walked too close to moving car. But it would be good if you went back to save somebody from some nastiness. Or were planning on robbing a bank with an accomplice, assuming that accomplice was reliable.                                                                What would happen if you died in the bubble? Would it disappear – you’d be dead in the future so couldn’t come back to be killed in the past, so ….. ? Could it be hijacked? Would the hijacker be able to go back to  the future where he’s never been? Would he have to choose between staying in the bubble (a sort of weird existence) or stepping out and freezing with everyone else? Or would those outside be experiencing a regular life and only from inside the bubble do they seem to not move? Or… or… or…? Time out!

What if instead of going back in time you went back in place. I wrote a  screenplay called Time For Love where a woman invented a way to jump through space back to the position where the Earth was four years ago. She ended up going back 30 years where she met herself as a kid. They were afraid to touch fearing the adult would be zapped back to her time. But was that right? She went back in space, not time. She physically went back, in some beam me up metaphysical disassemble reassemble way. How would going back that way affect the future? You’re going from a fixed future to a fixed past, it shouldn’t affect the future that’s already happened. So, would there be two Earth’s? Or… or… or…?  Paradox time out!                                                   (if you’re interested in my screenplay, drop me a comment)

What if you were 40 and went 30 years back in time and suddenly you were you at 10 years old, knowing what you know now. Ah, the possibilities.

Whenever you go, no matter how you get there, time marches on so enjoy it while you got it. Be the Harlequin, not the Ticktockman.

Hey, Gaia, how hot is it?

Maybe it should be, how hot will it get? Whether you deny the reality or accept the fact – it’s getting hot outside. And I know why. Well, we all know why, hydrocarbons, human inventiveness, cow farts, all that. But why is all that and more making the Earth hotter every year? Because we have an enemy whose sole aim is to destroy humanity.

The enemy is not aliens bent on making Earth uninhabitable for humans so they can move in because they need a new planet and Earth looks pretty good except for the 7 or 8 billion pesky humans running around taking up valuable real estate.  And  they already made their own planet hot and uninhabitable, and know how to do it so what chance do we have? No, not them.

Nor is it some supernatural entity who wants to make the surface of the Earth available for all demon kind who are tired of living down under. (Not you Australia, farther down) Of course, even among the average Joes and Janes of the supernatural entity masses there will be some who resist change (meaning they would have to accept logic and facts) no matter how good it might be for the people as a whole, or their descendants. Though some might think differently if the Greenhouse Gas oven we are building cooks the humans to a delectably putrid state. Yum. No, not them, either.

No, it’s Gaia (that’s the Earth in case you missed that day in your mythological geology class because you had to spend half the night before figuring out how to update your Facebook status from straight and sober to a loosey goosey high, and back)  herself. I have it on no particular authority that long ago Gaia recognized that humans would be bad for her so she put together a short (in geological time) plan. She knew, with the prescience of 5 million years experience,  that in a few thousand years even though the new hairy beasts only used two feet instead of four, they’d leave a BIG messy footprint.

So she created oil (you do not want to know where that really came from - zooplankton,  algae, dinosaurs, leaves and twigs? Oh please.) figuring they’d figure out how to burn the stuff irresponsibly, causing the atmosphere to heat to uninhabitable levels. Then, in a short 5000 years or so, they’d all die off from flooding, famine, heat stroke, wars for the few remaining resources, or high temperature viruses and bacteria;  or figure out how to leave the planet altogether. Either way, what does she care, peace and quiet at last.

IDEAS

What if you were an astronaut and were sent to Mars with the idea of moving all the remaining humans to that cool red land? There, you meet the God of Mars, Gaia’s younger brother who she tormented endlessly when they were young just forming planets. Mars realizes what you are planning and wants nothing to do with an invasion of immigrants. He also knows some of Gaia’s secrets and sees a payback opportunity. So you make a deal; Mars will spill his secrets and help you return Earth to a habitable state, if humans stay away. You, being a shrewd wheeler-dealer, negotiate the rights to develop one crater as a resort. What a deal. Except we all know what happens when you let a few humans in the door.

What if Gaia has a brain? And you find it while lost deep in a cavern. But the brain is under attack by a virus that had mutated due to the excessive heat on the surface, and even Gaia can not control it. If the brain dies, the power of Gaia dies and the Earth will spin apart destroying all. But, you are a doctor and you cure Gaia’s brain fever. You also convince her that some humans respect the Earth and deserve to live. Grateful, Gaia agrees, but a limited number only,  one billion, the rest must go. She gives you the power to choose. You must mark the areas – cities, states, countries, islands, continents  – for destruction, or all will be destroyed. How do you choose?  Who do you choose? Do you choose? Will absolute power corrupt you absolutely? Will humanity, a billion of them, anyway, be saved? Will you be seen as villain or hero?

No matter how crispy it gets outside, keep your cool and think about why it’s so hot. Then do something about it.

I’m hot under the collar, (or would be if I wore shirts with collars)those people put another of my stories up in their little contest. This is my first and final plea – Please vote for An Accidental Vampire at www.voteformyebook.com. It’s hot!

And the loser is…

Me. The loser? Okay, last time I was working on being a winner, but I was a loser. Second place! Can you imagine my embarrassment? I begged and groveled for votes. I browbeat family, friends, and acquaintances new and old. I even had a meeting at a crossroads ready to make a deal with the big D, but I guess my soul wasn’t worth much because  he only sent a minor minion to negotiate. The kid  (he could have at least sent an adult minor minion don’t you think?) said I’d have to bring another soul with me to make the deal worth it. Now that’s embarrassment. Though I did run through a short list of  possibilities. Don’t bother asking if you were considered. I’m not .

www.voteformyebook.com You probably have this link memorized by now,  I put it up only for the newbies. Don’t be offended.

In any case, the brains(?) behind the contest took pity on me. They said I put up a good fight, though I lost by a sneaky last hour 8 votes. (My attorneys are consulting with the FBI about voter fraud infractions. I’ll keep you informed. You may be called as a witness.) So, in their infinite sadism, they put up another of my books, Fear Killer , a psychological thriller,  for the December contest. So, after I got through punching the computer screen while screaming, “No! No! Please, not again. How much humiliation do you expect me to take?” once again I’m searching, gently, with the utmost respect for your political, religious, and moral beliefs, computer expertise, the dark secret (that you actually read this blog)  you hide from your spouses, BFFs, and strangers who talk you up at the bar you hang out in at odd hours, (hmmm, another secret?) and oh, I almost forgot,  your time.  www.voteformyebook.com If I win, then I, and you, won’t have to go through this again and I can go back to shameless hucksterism of my books (did I mention a Hell Cop Bundle?) and you can go back to ignoring said hucksterism. Now that’s a deal!

By the way, I’m not the only loser out there (whew, misery loves company.) There must be a hundred, maybe even (gasp) a thousand of us, and I think we should be shown a little appreciation by all those gloating winners swimming in their vaults full of cash like Scrooge McDuck. After all, without us losers there wouldn’t be any winners. So I think they should share some of their fraudulently (I mean, really, how could those shlubs have won all those millions, or cars, or a literary consultancy critique, over me without a little fakery going on)  gotten gains. 5% sounds fair, don’t you think?

IDEAS

I have no ideas for loser stories. I mean who wants to read about losers? Even about ones who are having a beer in a bar and meet another guy having a beer who was just dumped by his girlfriend who happens to work for the Lottery people. Before he was dumped, because she thought he’d never amount to anything, she showed him how it all worked, so he tells loser 1 who happens to know a genius loser girl who knows something about everything, and they have a few more beers and call loser 3, the girl, and pretty soon they have a plan involving magnetics, sex, stolen lottery balls and the like, which they actually attempt. What do have to lose they haven’t already? Hilarity, mayhem, sex and romance ensue. Of course the plan doesn’t quite go so smoothly, but of course they all end up amounting to a great deal. Who’d want to read that?

As necessary as losers are, I’d rather be a winner. It’s that Season. Won’t you help a poor starving writer who hustles his wares on a cold, blustery sidewalk just down from a Salvation Army Santa where he hopes snag a little of his generous HoHo Ho spirit instead of the spirit of indifference endemic of the general public?

Have pity, Sir. Have pity.

Poor me.

And the Winner is….

Me? The winner? Okay, I have  a quick favor to ask before you nod off or click to the next must see hot bit of social media gossip – OMG Justin Bieber was seen with who? My novel Ancient Mariners is in a small contest which I’d like to win. I need votes. If you have a minute – and who doesn’t have a minute to help out a poor starving writer – please go to www.voteformyebook.com and vote for Ancient Mariners, on the right side. I win a partial critique of the book from a literary consultant in the UK.  This could be my big break. If they say good things it might lead to a book deal, bestsellerdom, attending Hollywood premiers to my movies, looking down my nose at all the losers from my Mega Yacht, and best of all, hanging with Justin Bieber! I’ll be a winner,baby! Loved by all.

Although, I don’t think it’s true that everybody loves a winner. Why would I like those who win Publishers Clearing House millions, or the Mega-Lotto, or a $5000 shopping spree at Home Depot? They took my money, man. Of course one has to play to win. If you took all that money and time you blew on lottery tickets, the roulette wheel in Vegas, on the ponies, or entering the endless PCH sweepstakes, and saved it and used the time to actually work and make some money, you’d probably be better off. Unless you won. Somebody always wins big to balance out all those whose lose, big or small. But you have to play to win. Ya never know.

IDEAS

What If you were playing in a clandestine poker game and came out a little ahead so were feeling good and didn’t hate the one guy who won big on a couple hands. You leave ahead of him. You hear a fight behind you. Two guys, the big losers, are taking their money back with fists and a baseball bat. You’re a tough guy/gal and figure the guy won fair and square so you run off the sore losers. The guy is grateful. “You took a risk, pal,” he says. “Now I give you a reward. “

The reward is that at the same time every year, wherever you are at a certain time on a certain date, you can see into the future for one minute. Okay! Visions of stock market winnings dance in your head. And it works, you make a small fortune that first year. The next year you’re in Vegas standing between two no limit roulette tables, you see 3 on one, 28 on the other. Next year big bets, big winnings. You spend the next year taking an enhance-your- memory course. One minute at a news stand, 30 seconds power memorizing the Racing Form, 20 seconds  perusing  the stock market listings, 10 seconds checking the lotto numbers. And so it goes, you’re a winner, baby! Living large, mansions, cars, travel, beautiful women or men or both.

Then, your minute arrives and you see, nothing. All black. All quiet. You try to look around, shake your head, rub your eyes. You can’t. You can’t feel, hear, see, breathe. Oh shit. Minute over. What does it mean? Though it’s obvious, you search for other reasons. You got too drunk and passed out in a dark closet, you were kidnapped and buried alive until a ransom is paid, you’re having an operation and will soon wake up good as new in the recovery room. But you’re dead and you know it.  You have up to a year to figure something out. Maybe you die around the next corner, or tomorrow, or next month or in 364 days. Now what do you do?

Play the game, man, whether it’s life, work, love, blackjack or bingo. If you don’t, you might not lose, but you’ll never win.

Who you calling old?

One of the characters in the novel I’m working on, Blood on the Water, (the sequel to Blood Justice) had herself turned into a vampire to seek revenge. That got me thinking…

If there are such things as vampires, I hope before one changes me into a ravaging blood-thirsty beast I have time to get hair plugs, a face lift, a tummy tuck, a bit-o-liposuction, and a little tightening of the neck. My nose is good. Even though I’ll be lurking in back alleys and dark parks looking for cute, blonde teenage girls (I didn’t add smart because a smart girl wouldn’t be in those places) to slake my maddening thirst for fresh young blood, I want to look good for the rest of my immortal life.

I just celebrated (?) one of those milestone birthdays no one looks forward to. If I’m destined to be changed into an immortal beast monster gentelman this isn’t the one I’d have chosen to be changed at.

What  would be the best age to be upgraded to immortal? “Go Young” you might say. But how young? Certainly not less than 18. It might sound fun to be a teenager for ever, but after 30 or 40 years you might want to go into a bar and have more than a Shirley Temple. They card vampires too, you know. Not to mention that as a teenager you might think you know it all, but you don’t. Unlike Rodney Dangerfield, if you want some respect, you should wait until at least 21 before allowing that charming bad boy/girl vamp to give you the bite that lasts. Even at 21 you’ll still get carded everywhere, and after 20 or 30 years nobody is going to look at your ID and believe you’re 40 or 50 years old. You don’t want people looking into your birth records then bugging you for the secret of how you’ve stayed so young looking, do you?

If you want to flow through the centuries with a certain level of gravitas, you might wait until 50, or even 60. Maybe 62 if you’re big on Senior Discounts. Who knows, if us mortals continue to live longer on our own 60 might be the perfect time to get that sporty convertible to scratch that mid-life crises itch. However, if you’re going to choose that option I suggest you go vegan and to the gym, starting now.

30ish would seem to be the ideal age to receive the gift, or curse, of immortality. Old enough to leave some, not all, of that youthful wildness behind you and still have your body, good looks, and hair.  If male pattern baldness is already creeping up on you, you might consider going younger, or learn how to shave your head. Bald is beautiful, Baby! You’ll also be young enough to be envied by all those old folks over 40. A plus for sure.  At 30, with experience and youthful indiscretions behind you, you’ll be ready to start building the fortune that will sustain you for the coming millennium or two; houses, cars, boats, travel, spouses.

Speaking of hair, make sure you have your hair cut in a classic style for the ages that you like. Because I’m not sure the hair of vampiric immortals will grow out to fix a bad haircut.

IDEAS

What if you were young and down on your luck, maybe living in your car, with few prospects, and a stranger, say 65-70 years old, offers you $100,000 dollars for your youth.  You would still be you, just 65-70 years old. Maybe some grey hair and some sagging here and there, but still you with the same mind as now, just older. You agree. Abra Cadabra you’re old, but not without some intelligence. You look into this age swap thing, find out the stranger’s secret, reverse engineer it, offer some not too bright drunk 25-year-old $5000 for his youth. “Sure. Why not?” he says. You swap, and then you find someone else with $100,000 and make them an offer. And you do this swap again and a again, a nice lucrative business. Except there are some bad guys who want a piece (all of it) of your action. And then there’s the father of a woman whose youth you sort of stole. And a cop who knows more about youth stealing than he should and he’s looking for you.

What if some kids are telling their Grandpa how proud they are of him that he’s such a hero, and he says, “Ain’t nothin’ to be proud of here.” And the kids say, “But everybody says you saved the town, village, city, country, world, galaxy.” “Humph,” he says. “Maybe at the end I did somethin’ good. But that ain’t how it started. They don’t tell ya that, do they?” “What do you mean, Grandpa?” He sips his whiskey and tells them, “Once upon a time….”

What if  you were a retired criminal well into your 60s, but still vital, living nicely with your wife on your ill-gotten gains. Then you had a visit from a some of your old crew. One of the old crew is dying of cancer, because a particular doctor misdiagnosed him, possibly on purpose. He has a family that depends on him. So you agree to look into it and find a criminal enterprise way beyond what you used to do. So you all decide to go against the doctor and all the other white collars who are letting people die for their own gain. The old street-smart tough guys against  the new ruthless, boardroom smart guys.

What if there was a planet where the sentient inhabitants grew old in the usual way, but at a certain time they grew younger, Benjamin Button style. As the unaged they brought all their experience of growing and being old to their government, business and culture. How would that make said government, business and culture different from ours?

What ever your age, be nice to the oldsters. Because sooner than you think you’ll be one of them bitchin that them youngsters don’t give any respect, just like you.

Happy Birthday, Again?

So next month is the event you’ve been waiting for. I know you’ve been checking your New Word a Day calendar every day, ripping off  the page with that new word you’ve either known since you were three, or know you’ll never use at any time for the rest of your life even if you’re immortal, with great glee, knowing you are one day closer to my __ birthday. I know, it gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling just thinking about it.

It doesn’t really matter what number is assigned to this event. You’re only as old as you feel, you’re not getter older you’re getting better, blah, blah, blah. Just remember  that 65 is the new 60, maybe even the new 57. I’ll have to check with my doctor on that one.

Now I know you’ve been planning for months what to get me for my birthday present. Well, I’m here to set your worried mind at ease. Although, I do realize that some of you feel you aren’t really living unless you have something to worry about. Even when all is cool, all is fine, the bills are paid, you still have a job, you’re pretty sure your kids aren’t on drugs and if they are everybody’s kids ought to be on whatever they’re on,  your spouse isn’t cheating on you, or doesn’t know you’re cheating on them, and there is no logical reason to worry about anything, you worry that everything is going too well and that OH MY GOD something terrible is going to happen and I need to be PREPARED! This is how survivalists are made.

So don’t worry about the two-week cruise, or that little bungalow on the beach, or that very fast red car, or that motorcycle that was in that movie, or the high-end computer/entertainment system, or unlimited movie or book store gift certificates that you were thinking of giving me as a small token of celebration. I have something else I you can give me, though I wouldn’t turn down a 35 foot bluewater cruising sailboat.  All I want for my birthday is for you to read my latest e-book, Ancient Mariners, and write a review of it to post on Amazon, Smashwords, KOBO, Goodreads or any place else that prospective readers might stumble on it and shout “Eureka!” and fall on the floor in a fit of expectant literary extacy. Cheap and simple. Why worry? And, as a bonus, you’ll be able to answer the question way below.

Speaking of birthdays, what I’m wondering is – How does somebody who believes in reincarnation number their birthdays? Instead of a mundane, “Oh, I’m 46 today,”  do they say, “All told I’m 378 today, plus those two weeks I spent as a mosquito in Africa. I wasn’t carrying any diseases so I got a small bump up  to a banker in my next life. Or, do they only count the number of past lives? And if so, how do they know when to start counting?

As far as I know, most people who believe don’t remember their past lives. Which brings up the question - if you don’t remember your past lives, what good is it? What does it matter? If you don’t remember, how can you learn from your mistakes and better yourself so that next life you will be the next Warren Buffet, Michael Jordan, Elizabeth Taylor, or, OMG, Justin Bieber.

Of course when have humans as a whole ever learned from their mistakes? Wars still happen, politics still happen, religious extremism still happens, hate and evil and intolerance and greed and selfishness and plain old stupidity still happen. So whether you’ve only had two lives or a hundred,  put your memory cap on and learn something to help us poor one-lifers.

IDEAS

What if you could remember your past lives, really remember, and throughout them you knew you would remember everything going into future lives.  How long would it take for you to own the world if throughout those lives you stashed away money, gold, jewels, art, made long-term investments relying on compound interest and the like? And what would all those lives be like, knowing what you knew? If nothing else you’d be a hell of a history teacher.

What if you remembered from birth? What would your life be like being fully aware of hundreds of  years of history at birth. Talk about your child prodigies. Who knows, maybe that’s where they come from.

What If you were from a family of wizards and witches. On your birthday you were allowed one wish for yourself. The thing is on this particular birthday you are afflicted with a debilitating disease that will leave you incapacitated for the rest of your life, which may not last until your next birthday. Wish yourself cured, a no-brainer. But the other thing is the one you love most in the world has suffered an accident and is dying. So do you save her/him with your wish, knowing you may not live until your next birthday wish, or cure yourself? How much do you love them? How much do they love you? Is there a way around the decision?

What if you were immortal and enjoying it, living large, not giving death a thought. Then you find out they forgot to tell you your immortality only lasts 1000 years. However, there is a way, exactly on your 1000th birthday, to extend your life another 1000 years. The thing is, after 990 plus years, you’ve lost track of your birthdays so now you have to figure out when it is, exactly, or the immortality you have become used to, and like, will end and you will be a mortal, living out your short life to the end. Of course there is that person you’ve fallen in love with. And the niggling question of is she/he immortal, too?

In any case, whether it’s today or a 1000 years from now, Happy Birthday wishes to you. And a light blue hull on my sailboat would be perfect.

The question – Is Beth Portman the new Lisbeth Salander, Katniss Everdeen, or Vanessa Michael Munroe?
http://davidburtonwriting.wordpress.com/ancient-mariners