Wednesday, December 5, 2018

She Was Not Quite What You Would Call Unrefined

Coming Spring 2019


Introduction

They say dreams are metaphors for our lives. Could be. Certainly would explain how strange our dreams are. Although I can never understand why I keep losing my clothes in my dreams. While everyone else goes about their business mostly fully clothed.

Could be dreams are something else entirely. Something special. I have come to believe dreams are windows into parallel universes. Dreams are windows that give us glimpses into the lives of our alternate personas in any number of alternate realities. This would explain why the me in my dreams never seems to be me, exactly. Inevitably the me in my dreams is a variation on the theme of me. Older. Younger. Richer. Stupider. Better looking. Different. But still me. This interpretation of our dreams would be kinder to the world of our reality. Our alternates in the parallel universes of our dreams are typically dumber, slower, and denser. Or just more obtuse. Sometimes I have parrots. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have a car. Sometimes I don't. And when I do, invariably I can never remember where I parked my car. I seem to ride the bus a lot in my dreams. Or trains or boats or planes.

I believe there must be a way to take advantage of these windows into the multiverse. A way for us to manipulate our dreams to allow us to actually travel through the windows of our dreams into these alternate realities. If only our dreams weren't so fleeting, I could chase after the woman of my dreams.

She keeps appearing in my dreams. I always get jarred awake before I discover her name, or even where she lives. But she always returns. Like she's tempting me to follow her. And damn if I don't want to. I just need to figure out how. The same woman, or variations of her, spends quality time with my alternates, in various alternate realities. I think I would recognize her if I bumped into her on the streets of Seattle, but because I've never seen her in my reality I don't know who she is.

The woman of my dreams is invariably tall, athletic, vivacious, educated, and charming. She can be white or black, but I still recognize her when I see her in her various manifestations. She never chides me for losing my clothes or forgetting where I parked my car. On occasion, she even has a parrot. It's because I seem to know her in these alternate realities that I never think to ask her who she is, or even ask her name. We go on grand adventures in these dreams. Trips to Paris. Cross country ski trips. Cruises and camping. Sometimes we live in these huge mansions, so big I get lost in them. I cherish my time with her. I just need to figure out a way to bring her back here to my reality.

Saturday, December 1, 2018

Paperback Writer


Princess Tara is pleased to announce the Third Edition of Book One of the Princess Tara Chronicles, Part One of the Blue Tara Trilogy, Blue Tara; Or, How Is a Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Like a Tibetan Goddess? Bigger and Better Than Ever! Book One of the Princess Tara Chronicles opened a doorway to a mysterious world of parrots and witches, pterodactyls and zombies, magic and monsters, hiding in plain sight on the streets of Seattle. Now available in a dead tree edition from Amazon.

I originally got a parrot because an old black guy with parrots convinced me it would help me pick up chicks. And I don't mean the poultry kind. Picked out a parrot at this old black guy's bird store here in Seattle that was big, blue, and loud. And a princess. The loudness I didn't learn about until it was too late. But that was the least of my problems. First of all, turns out I didn't actually pick out the parrot. The parrot picked me. Not only was the parrot big, blue, and loud. And a princess. The parrot was a witch. Not a figurative or allegorical witch. A literal witch. A witch of the spell casting kind. The abracadabra kind. A witch with a coffee addiction, and a penchant for pizza and beer. Once I entered the bird store the parrot cast a spell. The kind of spell that caused me to clean out my bank account for a big, loud, blue-feathered witch. The kind of witch that did not abide with girlfriends. The kind of witch that did not abide with not getting her way. The kind of witch that turned out to be my guardian angel and the proverbial albatross around my neck at the same time. A witch named Princess Tara.


Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Blue Tara; Or, How Is a Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Like a Tibetan Goddess?

Our Hyacinth Macaw Parrot and Resident Witch Princess Tara is pleased to release the Third Edition of the book that started chronicling her adventures in the Princess Tara Chronicles. Bigger and Better Than Ever. And Still FREE!

What do you do when you discover your parrot is a witch? A witch with a coffee addiction. And she needs your help to save your world from a cannibal warlock and his zombie army of the dead:


Sunday, November 25, 2018

Putting the Pagan Back in Christmas

Put the Pagan Back in Christmas! You too can join our Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Princess Tara's War on Christmas. Every time you take a drink of your coffee, tea, or whatever, with her first ever Happy Holidays War on Christmas 15 ounce two-tone coffee mug.

Sunday, November 11, 2018

The War to End All Wars

The War to End all Wars that ended 100 years ago today did not end my grandfather's war. As Tsarist Russia collapsed into revolution and civil war, my grandfather, Vasilly, a Tsarist Cavalry Captain of Engineers, joined up with the anti-Bolshevik White Army to continue fighting for another two long years.


Grandfather is the dapper officer right front with the cavalry boots. The rather tall man in the center of the first photo is Baron Pyotr Wrangel, the last White Army general.


Grandfather right front again. Presumably these officers are Baron Wrangel's command staff.


Wounded in combat in the Crimea on the southern front grandfather found himself in a field hospital. There he met a charming White Army nurse named Maria. The rest, as they say, is history.

With the collapse of Baron Wrangel's army in 1920, Vasilly and Maria fled with their baby daughter Vera, my aunt, to Constantinople. As the War for Independence engulfed Turkey they fled again to Belgrade in the new Kingdom of Yugoslavia, where my dad, Vasilly Junior, was born in 1922.

Tuesday, November 6, 2018

GO VOTE!

GO VOTE GAWDDAMN IT! Just how many opportunities during your lifetime do you think you get to help save your country! Our Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Princess Tara wants to remind you to be sure to vote Blue! Just like Princess Tara. Deliver some karma. You going to argue with that beak!

Thursday, November 1, 2018

She Was Not Quite What You Would Call Unrefined


The Princess Tara Chronicles. The continuing saga of a coven of witches comprised of a pandemonium of parrots and one black cat who fall in with a couple of history professors to take down narcissistic megalomaniacal monsters determined to destroy our world. Available in eBook and dead tree editions from Smashwords and Amazon.

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

Romeo. Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene One

A Tale of Love. And Love Lost. Book Five of the Princess Tara Chronicles, Part Two of the Kālarātri or Black Night Trilogy.

Coming 2019!