Semi-Daily Scribbles

Thick stacks of onionskin were stashed throughout the ranch-style home and detached garage. The lines of 12 point type that bounced back and forth between the margins were 100-word sentences of varying degrees of grammatical correctness. Lorelei thought the accuracy was damn good for writing under the influence. Under the influence of a celestial spirit and not the 100 proof variety. ALODINA was the entity called forth after a scrying session with grandma Bertha's full-length mirror. Lorelei relaxed her shoulders, turned down the volume in her head, and gazed into the reflective surface with eyes slightly crossed. She observed her likeness until it turned pale pink and ruffled, like a carnation, and her limbs rhythmically undulated in the heavy air of the bedroom. A typewriter on the walnut finished vanity next to the mirror would begin click-clacking. The sound of struck keys was always loud, and Lorelei never knew how long ALODINA had its way with her. Bruises often bloomed on Lorelei's pale skin once 50 or 60 pages had fallen to the floor and writing time was over. Lorelei did her best to edit ALODINA's work, but most of the output was packed away in bulging and musty bankers boxes. As soon as Lorelei's schedule permitted, she'd need to leave ALODINA waiting at the junction between worlds while she hired an assistant with fresh eyes, an open mind, and a red pen to put all those words in order.