my passions, my loves, my interests, my thoughts, my ramblings - come inside and warm yourself on the heat of my muses!
Julie L. Hayes
Friday, October 5, 2012
Guest Blogger Winnie Krapski
Happy Friday and please welcome my friend and fellow author, Lorrie Struiff talking about her alter ego, Winnie Krapski, star of her series, Call On the Dead Club. Does the idea of being able to communicate with the afterlife intrigue you? Pull up a chair and join us! Lorrie is also going to tell us about Winnie-isms!
Hi Julie, my friend. I’m back again!
Thanks so much for
having me here. Today I want to write about my COD Club Series. (Call on the
I guess I have a morbid sense of humor. If people knew when
they were going to die, I’ve always wondered what would be their one last wish.
Then I thought, why not give it to them after they die. Ergo Winnie Krapski
became the character that could do just that.
Sometimes, she scares me. I think she is my alter ego. I
laugh at the dumb things I do, at some situations I get myself into, and I have
gotten into the habit of calling them Winnie-isms.
I know we all have them. True story here.
For instance, picture this Winnie-ism.
A hard rainy day and I had to run errands. My car dash lit
up with LRR tire low. Okay, my left rear tire was low. The rain stopped, but
the ground was still wet. I stopped at the gas station and pulled up to the air
hose. Now mind you, there was at least a quarter inch of water still covering
the concrete at the station. Knowing nothing about tire pressure blah, blah,
blah, a very nice man offered to help me. Wasn’t that sweet of him? I confessed
I didn’t know a thing about how to do this.
Anyway, it’s sprinkling a little now, and he drags the air
hose to my left rear tire and tells me to bend over so I can watch what he is
doing and how the gauge of the hose works.
I squatted near the left tire and watched while he
explained. Then, oh, oh, I couldn’t get up. Nothing to hold onto. The car was
too slippery wet for a handhold and nothing else was handy.
I fell flat on my fanny in the water. Yep, the back and legs
of my jeans got soaked. The man felt bad and reached a hand to pull me up.
Second big mistake.
He couldn’t pull me up and fell onto his knees. Ergo, the nice
man with wet pants. Now, I’m holding back laughing at the situation, biting my
tongue to keep in that belly laugh. Yep, odd sense of humor. Anyway, we both
got to our feet somehow, (I wonder if I gave him a hernia?) I thanked him, and
sloppy wet, I got into my car to go home and change. Once in the car the laugh
did explode until tears were in my eyes. I’m so bad.
The upshot of the whole thing was, sure LRR tire low turned
out to be LOW RIGHT TIRE as I found out later. It was not the low left tire at
all. How’s that for a fun day?
That was only one Winnie-ism of many in my life.
So, my character Winnie goes a bit further by getting into
all sorts of trouble by granting the dead one last reasonable request. She and
her cohort, Fat Phil Phillips of the COD Club, are a great team.
Who else could get arrested by the police, tip a body out of
a casket, get chased by bank robbers, get mixed up with the FBI, follow
cheating husbands ,and steal money? Only our spook-speaking Winnie. And all in
the first download. Get your copy soon and enjoy my quirky Winnie’s adventures.
At the podium, Phil ran his thick palm
across his comb-over, then pointed to the map tacked to the wall.
Various colors portrayed sections of
our fair town of Citiesville. In the purple, my name stood out in heavy black
lettering. “This will be Winnie’s target area. Everyone okay with that?”
A collective, “Yes,” too eagerly
shouted, sent a foreboding shiver up my spine.
We stood and repeated the pledge:
“I will faithfully read the daily obituary column.
I will visit the dead in my designated area, avoiding
visiting hours, and ask if they have one last request.
I will perform said request to the best of my ability and
vow to return with an honest report before the casket’s final closing, at which
time their spirit will forever leave this earthly plane.”
What had Fat Phil talked me into?
Maxwell sighed and sifted through the papers on his desk. He chose one
and handed it to me.
The thermostat felt as though it was set at ninety, an uncomfortable
contrast to the wind and snow whipping around outside the window. I pushed my
salt and pepper curls off my damp forehead. Sweat trickled beneath my
sweatshirt―or maybe I was havening a belated hot flash.
I read the notes. Jack Daniels, AKA Double Shot, and his two
unidentified buddies had pulled four bank robberies in the last couple of
months in two states. They’d stolen over a million bucks. Double Shot tripped
off a curb during the last heist and fell into the street. Then the getaway
driver made a pancake out of him in his hurry to flee the scene.
“Well,” I glanced up, “it’s not like I
can beat a confession out of his dead body, so what you do you need?”
I am a native of West Mifflin, Pa.,
twenty minutes by parkway to downtown Pittsburgh. I spoil my grandchildren, of
course. I am retired now. My former work and one of my favorites was teaching
ballroom dancing. I have a bent sense of humor and sway toward writing comedy.
My stories appear in various publications, and I take pen to many genres from
historical fiction to horror—depending on my mood.
I am the founder of the Waterfront
My hobbies include trying to find
ways to get out of cooking, cleaning, and all those silly household chores. My