Looking for somebody in particular? Are you a vampire hunter? Ripperologist? Ah, well, it hardly matters..this forum inspires me. It is so intimate, yet so impersonal. We are close, but there is no proximity. We exchange words but cannot touch. For me it is better this way. And no doubt safer for you.

Perhaps you've met me online (or elsewhere?). I can imagine you, (I imagine you a lot, you know) wondering what LeGrande, the pale blond dude in black, he of the silver bladed knife--what is he really about? Ha! I doubt that you REALLY expect to find the answer right here for God and everybody, do you?

The bald facts of my existence are these: I am a dhampir, a half-vampire. I was born of a White Sorcerer father and a vampire mother. Her name was Catherine. Maiden name: Dracul, Dracula, even Tepes, if that pleases you. I simply call her The Bitch. You are probably more familiar with my uncle....

So with aid from her brother's great mage, Catherine bore four sons, all by mortal fathers, White Sorcerers of the Time-Traveling Families. I understand there was a PLAN. Middleground domination? A Rennaissance of Midland arts? Social reform in urban English slums? No one ever bothered to explain it to us, her dhampir sons.

My brothers are Rip, Dwight, and Jean Jacques`. Only Jacques` and I are full brothers: we have 3 different fathers. (I suppose they just kept trying to get it right?)

A bit of my art, perhaps? A quick self-portrait?

The brother to whom I am closest is undoubtably Rip. Perhaps you find this strange since we basically despise one another, but the peculiar circumstances of our lives has proved to us that blood is thicker than water. (A thousand pardons, but I simply couldn't resist...)

I am the eldest, but Rip calls me "little brother". I prefer to address him as "You bastard", generally. Our author alter has fashioned us into the main subjects for a novel which details our early years here on Earth. That work nears completion, and I shudder to think what its possible publication could do to my privacy.

Rip adopted the western lifestyle of the outlaws of the Old West which is when (but not where) the Gateway deposited him after he was kidnaped from our childhood home. These scraggy outlaws and saddle bums became his friends once he escaped from the Zams' Institute in New York.

I followed a somewhat different path...from the ruins of Dracula's castle to England, then to these United States of the last century. I find it amusing to think that I am about to see another century flicker and die. Our tale, filled with magic, intrigue, guns, knives, blood and even a bit of vicarious sex, may make good reading, but what of my art, my poetry, my music? Am I to simply be portrayed as Rip's savior? Most days I feel the telling of this tale of our early years constitutes an invasion of privacy.

My brothers and I are a bit different from the run-of-the-mill mortal, but you might not realize that if you met one of us one the street--at least in the daylight.


Rip is closest to my own age, and I live with him when we are here on this plane. We run a 150+ acre horse farm in East Texas. My daughter, Rene` duTotoride (11) and Rip's daughter, Phoenix Snider-Zam (20), live with us here on the East Texas farm. (And, yes, Rene`'s other parent was indeed quite a bit darker in complexion than me.) The rest of our family remains back home in the Middleground.

Rip and I, as well as our brothers, were born on Earth and found our way to the Middleground as adults. The kids were born in the Middleground, but are learning to love good old Terra Firma.

The Middleground itself is a timeless compodium of mythos, a place where unicorns and Fey still dwell in the Wilderness, and Sorcerers and Delphites alternate battling on the field of honor with the philosophical battle for our souls.

Though I was born here, I find myself now thinking of the Middleground as my true home. While on Earth, I find myself longing for the vast open spaces, the ancient forests, the rolling plains, the myth and the magic of my adopted homeworld. I often find myself opening those Gateways which ferry me between this reality and that. Like the proverbial horse filled with longing for the grass across the fence, when I am in the Middleground, I miss Earth's gritty realities, and when I am here, I yearn for the magically charged atmosphere of that timeless space island. Here is a fall view from one of the hills of the Prince's Sanctuary Ranch. The girl is the Prince's adopted daughter, and the beast is the fabled Hinnycorn.

You may find me in the Crypt at the Globe or sometimes on ICQ. Feel free to e-mail me if you'd like to enchange pleasantries (or something...) I might even give you my ICQ # if you're interesting enough (or I'm desperate for company). I'm rarely online anywhere else--I do try to work at this writing and my art occasionally. Horses to ride; art to create; minds to blow! My love to all the ladies who liven up my life---I am SURE you all know who you are.

(Greetings, Empress! She usually ignores me until it it too late. The Empress is a Midlander, too, though these days she spends much of her time Offworld, jacking around with you people.)

My online friends have gotten me through many a sleepless night and dull day with stimulating conversation--and generally I am cheered that their judgement is not a damn bit better than my own. Perhaps I am more mortal than I like to consider?

Let's talk about anything except my mother, how I got ex-communicated--oh, yeah, and what happened in Whitechapel.

Here's a link to the Karma Farms homepage where you can visit the "real" people who occupy the farm on this plane as well as the historic horses and the wonderful polydactyl Karma Kats.

Always,

© January 1997 by Vickie Ives Speir. All Rights Reserved.
This Internet Writers' Guild site
is owned by Vickie Ives Speir.
COMPETITION!
to the Internet Writers' Guild homepage
 Previous
Random Site
Next
This page hosted by   Get your own Free Home Page
1