2020 Year of Hell - Terri DelCampo's Bizarre-Ass Interview

 

 

Hello Reading Friends,

 

2020 was indeed the year from hell, including a big hullabaloo on the publishing platform Blaze and I had chosen to write for. We were both submitting at least one story a day, often more, and the individual publication we wrote for almost exclusively was temporarily suspended until the main platform could get a disagreement sorted out. The newly formed publication's writers had formed a community, and everyone was disconcerted by the events, which only lasted a couple of days, thank goodness. This article came out of it, and I got quite a few responses to the interview. It was a fun distraction, including for myself. (I included my own response to the interview below the original article.)

Terri DelCampo's Bizarre-Ass Interview

 

I promised AGH I would do my part in keeping all the publication's writers in touch and knowing that the vanishing act is only temporary, and things are being worked out as we speak.  I had no idea in hell how I was going to do that and continue writing my own articles – I have dozens in my "under construction" files in each of my niches.

I woke up this morning with a lightning bolt zapping my morning fogged brain: Interview them, dummy!

 

Only not with the conventional, 'when-did-you-know-you-wanted-to write?' or 'what-writer-inspires-you-the-most?' stuff that everybody asks. Uh, uh. No such luck for you guys. Heh, heh, heh.  I'm a horror writer. I live for making people squirm.

Here's how I plan to do that for the whole lot of you – and you will each get your own story to publish.

 

Do this:

Copy the questions below (only the questions, the names list in this article already tags everyone) and paste them into a "new story" of your own.

 

Change the title to:

 

"MY NAME Responds to Terri DelCampo's Bizarre-Ass Interview"

 

(That will ensure that we both get credit for our parts in the interview.) 

Plug in your answers and click publish!  Voila! We help each other get our names out there, establish our solidarity as our publication's writers, and have some laughs doing it!

 

One extra thing: If you know of a writer who isn't on the list below the interview questions in my original article, please tag them in your article.

 

Okay…one more extra thing: Add a question of your own to the interview – remember, it can't be anything conventional.  You're some of the best writers on the platform – dazzle me!

 

Okay everybody! Have at it if you dare! Muahaha! 

 

 

Bizarre-Ass Interview questions: 

 

1.                 What bizarre-ass guilty pleasure do you imbibe in way too often? 

2.                 What bizarre-ass book/movie scared the crap out of you so bad it changed your behavior (left lights on, made you look in the back seat of your car before getting in, make you look around your house to make sure you were alone, etc)? 

3.                 What bizarre-ass thing instantly pisses you off? 

4.                 What was your most bizarre-ass vacation/trip?

5.                 What's your most bizarre-ass writing spot? 

6.                 Ever do some bizarre-ass thing that almost got you arrested?

7.                 What's the most bizarre-ass thing you've ever eaten?

8.                 What bizarre-ass joke made you laugh so hard you almost peed your pants? 

9.                 What bizarre-ass thing have you written just for living-expenses money?

10.            What bizarre-ass thing have you fantasized about but would never, ever do? 

11.            What's the most bizarre-ass thing you ever did on a dare? Brag about it or regret it?

12.            What bizarre-ass experience changed your life forever?

13.            As a kid, what was the longest/worst punishment you ever got and what bizarre-ass thing did you do? 

14.            What's the most bizarre-ass haircut/hairdo you've ever had? Remember, a picture is worth a thousand words…heh, heh, heh.

Okay – I'm out of bizarre-ass questions for now. Feel free to fire up the bizarre-ass parts of your brains, add some of your own, and shoot them back to me!

 

Go for it and have some fun!!

 

[Originally published on Medium in 2020]

*****

 

Terri DelCampo Responds to Terri DelCampo's Bizarre-Ass Interview

 

1.                 What bizarre-ass guilty pleasure do you imbibe in way too often?

I "fake eat" chocolate. – I'm allergic to it, plus, I'm on the fringes of insulin resistance, so I put a piece in my mouth, let it melt, savor the hell out of it, then spit it in the trash so I avoid its harmful effects.

2.                 What bizarre-ass book/movie scared the crap out of you so bad it changed your behavior (left lights on, made you look in the back seat of your car before getting in, make you look around your house to make sure you were alone, etc)? 

"Helter Skelter" had me sleeping with the lights on for weeks. The fact that the Manson killers got into Sharon Tate's home (with a wall and electrified fence) and slaughtered everyone there was bad enough, but Susan Atkin's description of the Manson Family members breaking into people's homes, crawling around their beds as they lay asleep, and leaving without being found out, completely freaked me out.

3.                 What bizarre-ass thing instantly pisses you off? 

The sight of Fake President Trump's orange face, especially if his mouth is open…so…constantly.

4.                 What was your most bizarre-ass vacation/trip?

Well, it wasn't a vacation, per se, but a mini-trip to a funeral home to see an embalming when I was 12. I was curious, my father was an undertaker. We bonded. 

5.                 What's your most bizarre-ass writing spot? 

Hmmm… I jot ideas down on the toilet sometimes, but I think every writer probably does that. I used to sit in cemeteries occasionally, choosing a particular stone, trying to build a character around the information I found there. (I'm a horror writer.) If I want a creepy vibe, I go at dusk and stay until after dark. 

6.                 Ever do some bizarre-ass thing that almost got you arrested?

Closest thing was I got caught in a speed trap on Marathon Key at about two in the morning. I was temporarily homeless and in a minivan stuffed with everything I owned, and the cop was a colossal prick. He saw my Delaware license plate and grilled me about what the hell I was doing. He gave me a ticket with a hefty fine (that was reduced – he jacked up the amount for the speed I was doing) and had to let me go because I really wasn't doing anything wrong. I just wanted to see the sun rise on Key West before I attended a Heritage Festival the following day where I planned to interview a Native American flutist for a book I was writing.

So much for my crime spree…heh, heh, heh. 

7.                 What's the most bizarre-ass thing you've ever eaten?

Chocolate covered ants. In the unusual but not bizarre-ass category, I have also had smoked rattlesnake (delish!), stewed alligator (also yum), frog legs, and snails.

8.                 What bizarre-ass joke made you laugh so hard you almost peed your pants? 

Well, it's not a joke per se, but the first time I saw Robin Williams stand up on HBO – the very first one before anyone really knew who the hell he was – I laughed so hard I couldn't get my breath.

Wait! I got pranked one time, and it was hilarious! My dentist at the time was a friend of the family, and I needed a bridge after having a tooth pulled. I came into the office to have the permanent bridge inserted, and Doc placed it in my mouth, and said he wasn't happy with the fit, that it would give me problems later. He put the temp bridge (I thought) back in my mouth, handed me lunch money, and said to go with my friend (his office manager), have lunch on him, that he would rush the bridge to the lab, have it fixed and ready by the time we got back. Out we went.

 

It was lunchtime mid-week, and we went to Pat's Pizzeria, which was hopping busy. I kept getting odd looks from people whenever I spoke. I turned to Andrea, and asked, "are my gums bleeding or something? People are looking at me funny." She assured me I was fine. 

 

Long story short we get back to the office and I'm in the chair, and Doc says he wants to take some photos of the bridge, because he wants to document the problem with it in case there were any questions later.  When he got through snapping pics, I noticed Andrea was standing in the doorway to the treatment room. Doc turned to her and said, "time to show her?" Andrea, as well as the rest of the staff, all of whom I was friends with, peeked over Andrea's shoulder. He handed me a mirror and I saw this: 

 

PIC of me with blue teeth/red dots. 

I congratulated him on the best prank ever.

9.                 What bizarre-ass thing have you written just for living-expenses money?

I worked on the correspondence team at a bank writing business letters to mutual fund customers for four years. It was writing…sort of. 

10.            What bizarre-ass thing have you fantasized about but would never, ever do? 

My first husband was a sky-diving instructor and it really looked like awesome fun, but the bum knee screamed, "No freaking way." 

11.            What's the most bizarre-ass thing you ever did on a dare? Brag about it or regret it?

Ate the chocolate-covered ants.

12.            What bizarre-ass experience changed your life forever?

Reading "The Telltale Heart" at age 13. I'd just finished writing a romance novel. Reading Poe started a lifelong fascination with the macabre, and I began writing horror stories, screenplays, and novels.

13.             As a kid, what was the longest/worst punishment you ever got and what bizarre-ass thing did you do? 

My mother was one to lecture if I did something wrong – mostly stupid kid stuff, like I swiped dimes out of her jar to get penny candy for my friends and me a couple times. She noticed. I could swear the lecture lasted for hours…maybe it just seemed that way. I didn't get into much trouble.  I was a serious kid – somewhat introverted and a writer by the time I was eleven. 

14.            What's the most bizarre-ass hair cut/do you've ever had? Remember, a picture is worth a thousand words…heh, heh, heh.

Remember the cartoon "The Hair Bear Bunch"?

 

 

[Originally published on Medium in 2020]

 

 

 

 

Struggle to Write - Flashback to 1995

 [Originally published as a Write Now blog, this was written on 5/21/95, just before massive changes in my life.]

Struggle to Write

Thirty-seven years on shaky ground

Writing always sidetracked.  Marriage, kids, jobs, housework, procrastination.

Family transitional stages, depressions. 

            I’m responsible for my own dreams coming true, even if others stand back waiting for me to fall on my face. 

            As I made notes to myself concerning things to do during the course of next week, I realized I was doing it again.  'It' being, allowing my To Do list to overshadow my To Write list.

            The one constant in my life since I was a small child has been my love for writing.  My love for putting words together on a blank page until they tell a story. 

            And though this passion for the written word has consumed me for well over two decades, my efforts to get my material published has been half-hearted to say the least. 

            There was always something more important than going after what I wanted.

            First of course, there were homework assignments.  Math problems, French vocabulary, science projects.  God forbid I should get a C in French because I spent too much time on an essay for English. (My favorite class by far.)

            Then along came Bill, my husband.  Going through serious teen-aged angst, bombarded daily by problems with his parents, I felt compelled to be there for him.  To encourage him, listen to him, and finally, drop out of college and marry him at the age of nineteen. 

            Bill has always worked hard to support us.  When we were first wed, he held a day job at McDonalds, and a night job at Howard Johnson’s, just to make ends meet.  Naturally I got a job, not wanting to be a lazy, stereotypical lady of leisure.  It never occurred to me to try writing a magazine piece.  Of course, I was only nineteen, what experience did I have to speak of?

            Then our first child came along.  We were struggling financially, but Bill and I came to the conclusion that any job I might land would probably not cover the cost of a decent daycare, so I stayed home with the baby.

            Within six months of our son’s birth, we took in Bill’s grandmother who'd had a falling out with family members she’s been living with.  There I was in a one-bedroom apartment with a 6-month-old infant, a husband who was working himself senseless to support us already, and a grandmother sleeping on our sofa.  I’d written a couple of short stories by then and had submitted them to magazines.  I got them back.  Bill’s grandmother said: “Well, I guess that’s the end of that nonsense.”

            I looked around at the pile of laundry, my child snoozing in his playpen, Bill’s grandmother dusting the bookshelves, and nodded in agreement as I headed into the kitchen to begin preparing a less than modest dinner for us all.  Not only was my time at bare minimum, but I couldn’t afford the postage to keep sending manuscripts to editors just to have them sent back.

            Finally, we moved into a small house in the city of Wilmington.  Bill had gotten a job with a more generous employer and was working hard to pass night school so he could go on to earn his plumbing license.  There were times when he’d worked all day then had to go to class and then go on overtime calls.  I watched the toll mount.  His lunches were Spam or egg sandwiches with a Maalox chaser.  I always tried to make him feel special, while burying my dreams deep inside so my disappointment with getting nowhere wouldn’t show. 

            Then there were the months that I was consumed with potty training and ridding my house of mice and ants.  During that time, I did little writing.  Household chores and baby-rearing seemed all I could handle.

            When Bill was finally through with night school became an official journeyman his employer gave him a raise and we were doing all right financially. We decided it was time for a second child since little Billy was three.  

            Joey was born, and by the time he was a week old he was sleeping through the night.  I, on the other hand, must have been geared to rise for wee-hour feedings because I found myself lying in bed awake by four-thirty every day.  I decided on one of those sleepless mornings to make the most of my insomnia.  I got up and began writing a screenplay.  As I worked on it, I realized I needed answers to questions that books weren’t giving me.  I attended a screenwriting seminar in Philadelphia one weekend.  I sponged up everything Michael Hague had to say, and applied it to my screenplay work. 

            Writing from four to seven each day I completed two screenplays in as many years.  Only to find out as I began contacting production companies that screenplays are a penny a dozen and virtually impossible to sell. 

            I thought though, that perhaps it was my subject matter, and wrote yet another three screenplays while raising my boys, encouraging my husband to study for his mechanic's license and take the test. I knew if he struck out on his own, he could have a successful plumbing business and call his own shots. And I was right.

            I was awarded a job answering the business phone.

            This was a mixed blessing.  On the one hand, I hate talking on the phone.  Even as a teen-ager I hated talking on the phone (imagine!), and I cringe whenever I hear that nerve-grating electronic warble.  On the other hand, the phone tied me to the house and since my children were both in school, (Joey was in nursery school for a couple of hours a day), the job gave me time to write. 

            Several months after starting the business we moved to a new house with an extra bedroom we converted into an office.  (And no mice or ants to chase!)

            I expanded my best two screenplays into novels, gathered and polished up my several short stories, printed up my material and decided to go agent shopping. 

            I’ve sent out synopses packets to dozens of agencies and have come to the conclusion that agents are like everyone else.  They will pick an author with a book deal in the works before they’d pick an author who needs them to field one.     

            Two weeks ago, I decided to quit the phone work.  Aside from some personal reasons for quitting the job, I wanted to see if I could actually make money doing what I genuinely love, instead of pasting a smile on my face while answering that annoying warble. 

            I’ve put myself in a do or die position, financially.  I told Bill that I was giving myself a couple of months to make money writing, or I’d get a part time job.

            Though Bill is supportive on the surface I think in some ways he knows me better than I know myself and is waiting to see if I’ll fall on my face. 

            In the past two weeks (I did say I was going to take a little time for myself) I’ve sent off a magazine article and some greeting card sentiments.  Period.

            I’ve taken care of all the out-of-the-house chores I couldn’t do while tied to the phones during the days of the past six years. 

            I’ve splurged and visited relatives I haven’t been to see for the same reason. 

            I’ve been taking 1-1/2 hour walks each morning (I’m trying to lose 85 pounds that have accumulated during my 17-year marriage), and my laundry is even all caught up.

            It’s time already!  I woke up with an allergy attack three hours ago, and as I sat in my rec-room, draining, I couldn’t help trying to sort through my hang-ups.

            It’s easy to me to see why I’ve yet to achieve my dreams, and even easier to blame it on everything and everyone else in my life.  What it all boils down to is responsibility.

            My responsibility to myself.

            I remember nudging Bill when his confidence in himself waned.  “You’re wonderful at what you do!  You practically run your boss’ business!  Run your own!  Just take the step and do it!”

            He must have been so scared, then, with the whole family’s welfare riding on his success or failure.

            But my instincts about Bill were right.

            Just as I think my instincts about my writing are right.

            Well, my sinuses are just about drained and I’m getting a little sleepy.  Funny how a little thing likes an allergy attack can become a turning point in your life.

            I need to encourage myself just like I encourage my husband and sons; not to mention my mother, and my friends.

            I think I’ve earned my turn to work on my own dreams and make them come true.

            And sooner or later I’ll convince an editor of that.