ALEX CAVANAUGH PLAYS AT MEILORI'S

The crowd was even wilder and more undead than last night with Jeremy Hawkins. 

Luckily I thought to have Samuel McCord sitting at the table I reserved for Alex after he finished his gig with Nightwish and Elu ...

Or it finished him.  Meilori's is that kind of place.

Tarja had even agreed to once more sing with Nightwish.  Floor Jansen and Anette Olzon were not amused.  The two of them were whispering in the wings.

I sighed.  Nothing ever went right at Meilori's.  Marco Hietala was playing the bass guitar next to Alex, his face beaming with pleasure and excitement.

Elu, though Apache, was on center stage wailing the Lakota chant to CREEK MARY'S BLOOD.

Suddenly, Floor and Anette flung themselves on a startled Tarja.  A wavering figure leapt at Elu from the other side of the stage.

The ghost of George Armstrong Custer, roaring, "Take my scalp, will you?"

Elu made short work of Custer ... again. 

But with Tarja, Floor, and Anette there was such a flurry of corsets flying, legs flailing, and assorted bared flesh that Alice Wentworth covered my eyes with her cold, cold fingers.

I heard a crash.  Alex stood with Marco's shattered guitar in his hands, having snatched it to smash an attacking fan of Anette over the head.

Marco roared, "Why did you take my guitar to do that?"

Alex smiled, "I love MY guitar.  Yours not so much."

It took a bit from Sam McCord, Elu, and Father Renfield but things finally settled down ... a bit.

Alex sat down with a gush, "Roland, why do things turn into a furball with you?"

There was nothing to say to that as Alex groaned, " Life used to be so simple.  I worked.  I watched movies and played games.  I jammed on my guitar, played with my band.  I volunteered at church, and my wife even remembered what my face looked like."

He shook his head.  "My life wasn't adventurous, but I liked it."

He smiled wryly, "And then, I found that manuscript I wrote in my teens, and my life has never been the same." 

"How do you do it?" I asked. 

Alex made a face.  "It takes usually six hours a day to visit my quota of 100 blogs and comment.  I won't be able to keep up the pace forever.  But then, this is my last book."

Sam raised an eyebrow, and Alex smiled ruefully, "Yes, I have an outline for another Sci Fi book but right now my music is taking off."

Alex looked dubiously at the wreckage on stage.  "But tonight has given me second thoughts about that."

I asked, "Do you have any writing rituals or superstitions?"

"I’m not superstitious, but I do like everything just so before I write – water bottle in place, music playing, and my mood relaxed."

"Describe a typical writing day?" I smiled.

"I work full time and occasionally have time to write during the day. But the bulk of my work is done in the evenings, after I’ve chilled with a sports show and about 30 minutes of guitar playing."


"Where do you write?" asked Alice.

"I do most of my work in my office. It’s my comfort zone. Everything I need is nearby – my computer, TV, stereo, and of course, my guitar. Just needs a fridge!"

Sam cocked his head, "Do you wing it when you write?"

"I don’t do anything in life without a plan! I created detailed character profiles before writing any of the story. Since the main characters remained even when the story changed, their personalities and traits just fell into place."

From out of the shadows a battered Tarja, Floor, and Anette limped up to our table and as one asked, "Whose voice do you prefer?"

Behind them, the hulking Marco growled, "You owe me a guitar!"

Alex glared at me.  "Roland, you always do this to me!"

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{Elu you can spot easy -- can you spot Alex?}

THIS FRIDAY:
HER BONES ARE IN THE BADLANDS