Caveat

Hello, readers!

It’s late at night tonight and I am really looking forward to a calm Thanksgiving with family this coming weekend (in Canada, Thanksgiving is this coming Monday).

The news from the USA is just insane and it’s so hard to keep up with it all.

That being said, some of it just keeps reminding me of calls past, though I have not spoken to anyone recently. To explain, in years past I received many strange anonymous calls and those have, thankfully, stopped- including ones from a man only identifying himself as “Donny” (here and here and possibly in other posts) who sounded, in hindsight, a lot like Trump, though I did not recognize it at the time. I’ve speculated at length about what it all means. I have been wondering who called and why, and since I seem to have been asked to do various things which are impossible (psychic magic stuff, editing documents, handling correspondence and “the media”, contacting lawyers or finding new lawyers), well, I wonder exactly what has been going on. And how am I involved?

The easiest and simplest explanation is that I’ve dreamt up all these phone conversations (and the ample coverage of Trump scandals in the past 3 years has given most people aware of US news plenty to think about). I do keep thinking, though, that I will be “thrown under the bus” as it were, and blamed for some kind of bad conduct or a bad decision on the part of the Trump White House (like their abandonment of the Kurds, which is absolutely shameful). So just in the very, very slight chance that my name is tossed out in the maelstrom of Trump impeachment news, and people find my blog because of this, I thought I would say: I’m not an operative of any government, and if Trump has been calling me in times long past, I would like to know (a) how he got my number, and (b) why me?

I’m not a politician, I don’t know any politicians other than my husband’s uncle who is retired, I’m not a lawyer, I’m not a “fixer”- I’m a Canadian scientist who has been spending a lot of time visiting her husband in Dayton and writing fiction. If you want to know more about me, my consulting site is here, and my personal science project page is here. I also have published stories on Smashwords and I have written articles for The Conversation, and one is currently in progress.

In the past 3 years I have been debilitated by what are possibly simply dreams, delusions brought about perhaps by poor sleep or some kind of stress (though I take great care to manage stress adequately), from my being bipolar, or actual fragments (distorted, or not) of real memories relating to real traumas. I have hinted at or described some of these in my writing on this blog and am currently working on a number of short stories and novels that pull from these dreams/ideas/memories. I have so many story ideas, in fact, that I stopped being able to afford to register them all with WGA West and I have been keeping them to myself (there are now about 60).

As far as I remember, I lost my temper a number of times and resorted to pranking and/or sarcastic “advice” while on the phone with “Donny”, but as far as I can tell this happened a while ago- before the 2016 election. I’ve often joked that I’m a part of the Deep State, so deeply in the Deep State that I am not even aware of it, but as I type this, I wonder- who was “Donny”, why did he call me multiple times, and since I can’t clearly recall much of our conversations (see the above links about conversations with a possible Trump for details of what I do recall), well…. what happened, exactly?

I had another memory, a very clear one, that in 2017 someone played me a part of a recording from one of these calls- it was very memorable- so I’m sure that somewhere in the world, someone was listening in and recording the conversations I had had with “Donny”, and I for one am agog to find out- is this real? Was there someone in the room with me, or someone listening in on the call, or both- and is there audio? Video? How long before that person releases it? Who was this person, exactly?

Aside from Cloak, which is a fantasy story about spies, and its planned sequel, I have thought up a quasi-autobiographical work which I’m calling The Accidental Spy, which basically will untangle the many ideas I’ve had about who has been calling me, why I was selected for calls in particular, how I might have been put in contact with Trump, and essentially, my side of this whole weird (and possibly delusional) story. I would absolutely love empirical evidence of any real-world actual connections, conversations, or financial transactions linking me to Trump (for the record, I have never received money- but I believe in the late 1990s, when I lived in Vancouver, BC, someone in a hotel was trying to “buy” me from a woman I didn’t know, and I had no idea what was going on). I would love to, as has been said, “turn this log over and see what crawls out”.

I realize that the most likely explanation for all my dreams is illness, in which case The Accidental Spy will simply be a fantasy story, like Cloak.

However, journalists and government agents of the USA, if Trump releases my name or claims I am his representative, agent, or subordinate, or that I have influenced him in any way, well… start digging, please. I would like to know the truth.

October 6th

This is [Edit: the beginning of] a rough draft of a short story which I plan to turn into a novella. I liked the bones of this story enough to share it, though I admit the writing is a little sparse. I hope you enjoy it. [I am taking out everything but the very beginning because I want to work on this a little more before sharing, but I am having a lot of fun with this one. It is based on true events.]

Liz

Every October 6th, starting when I was about twenty or so, something odd would happen to me. Let me give you an example.

On the Santa Monica pier, October 6th, 2005. A woman walked up to me and said she wanted to take my photograph. I demurred, she insisted. She snapped a photograph with me saying she wanted me to wave to her family, and feeling put upon, I did so.

“I’m done with you now,” she said, and pushed me, hard, toward an oncoming couple.

I stumbled but did not lose my footing, nor hit the couple. They stared at me. I turned around.

“What the fuck, lady?” I yelled, and the strange woman looked at me, smirked, then her face crumpled theatrically and she went to her family, pointing at me, clearly aggrieved.

For about a week afterward, everywhere I went, different women would follow me, walk up to me, tell me that restaurants or parking lots were closed, tell me that I had to go with them (I never did), tell me they needed my signature on petitions, they needed my address, they needed to see my ID.

Another October 6th, I was attempting to see a pageant in Laguna Beach, a display of tableaux of old masterwork paintings put on by live models. A woman claiming to represent the play gave me a free glass of lemonade. I drank it, sat down on my picnic blanket, prepared to enjoy the pageant. I woke up on my picnic blanket, the pageant finished, I had a headache, I was groggy, people were leaving or had left. The woman was there and said she would see me to my car, then when we were alone, she took my things, put them next to a trash bin, and said I needed to take off my clothes.

I objected. I was weak, I pushed her away but she was stronger, and my cries for help were weakened. I blacked out and woke up with my pants removed by the entrance to the men’s bathroom in a local bar.

Sometimes it was a woman. Sometimes it was a man. Sometimes it was someone I thought I knew asking me “Do you know who I am? Who am I to you?” who did not seem to know basic facts about our relationship. Sometimes it was merely a phone call. But it happened, like clockwork, on or around October 6th, each year, and each year toward the end of September I’d wonder what would happen this time.

They took me about a year ago, last October 6th. I thought I’d be returned home within a week or two, but I’ve been here almost a full year, here on this Campus, and I have no clear idea of where I am or why they took me.

[What’s been happening to our protagonist? Where are they? What is the purpose of the Campus? Answers to these questions and more in the finished version, expected in November if writing goes as planned. Depending on length I may make the work available on Smashwords instead of here.]

Uncorked

Never trust a genie, especially if it’s angry about having been kept as a slave in a bottle.

Some news: I am currently working on a novella about psychological manipulation, and also am unearthing a couple of novels, one partially written. I may have mentioned Diamond and Cloak before. I’m replotting Diamond to add in some scenes analogous to what happened to me in Vancouver in the late 1990s (these are difficult scenes to write, since they involve rape by powerful people and being trafficked by someone I trusted, a woman I am calling Evelyn), and to fix a few plot holes. Diamond, in case I didn’t already mention it, is the story of how an abused woman survives and then thrives with the help of both human allies and goddess figures.

Cloak is much different: a fantasy spy novel about the fall of a corrupt White House administration. I’m actually watching current news with great interest, as this will inform the ending of Cloak.

Both of these stories are fantasy, but draw from events in my life.