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Lyle Hopwood Below are the 6 most recent journal entries recorded in the "lyle_hopwood" journal:
October 28th, 2015
03:17 pm

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The Nereid
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Prologue: 1973 – Pete's Birthday Party.

It was a perfect Laurel Canyon day. The sky was an unbroken blue and the sun gave off the Golden Hour glow of a Hollywood movie. Pete was the drummer for the stadium-filling, platinum-selling hard rock band The Auchtermuchty, and his twenty-fifth birthday party was going well, at least for Pete. He was covered in the remains of the top tier of his cake and had crashed the second tier around the head and shoulders of his assailant, the band's singer Arthur. The guests were nervously dividing into two groups; the group that didn't mind being soaked by the inebriated birthday boy, and the group that was looking for somewhere to hide while still appearing to remain cool. The first group had abandoned their drinks – the ability to keep broken glass out of the swimming pool is etched into the DNA of rich Californians – but remained nervous about their expensive stashes, since the white powder that bought them entry to these rock star bashes wasn't waterproof.

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Current Mood: contentcontent
Current Music: Karen Elson The Ghost Who Walks

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October 12th, 2015
11:27 am

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Sleep paralysis
This is an account of a dream from 1998 I first shared with the Jose Chung Literary Society. I'm only posting it here so I can point to it from a Facebook post on sleep paralysis.
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October 29th, 2014
09:01 am

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The Burn Out (SF, 6000 words)
The Burn Out



by Lyle Hopwood



May 15 2015

I tried to win over my brother, who knows about computers and stuff. I could learn a lot from him. I did my best today but I was wearing my t-shirt with Pitlochry's logo, all glitter and pink. The t-shirt said 'Lolita' in a lavender flowery font that matched the sweetheart ribbon I was wearing on my wrist like all the girls do. And, of course, he hated the whole idea of the band.

"'Lolita'," Noah said, raising an eyebrow, "that must be the new song from Pitlochry, right?" He didn't sound won over yet.

I nodded. "Have you seen the video yet? Hughie is so cool in it."

Noah waved his arms, meaning no way, so I grabbed him and half-dragged him into my room. I tapped the mouse to wake my computer up, opened the 'favorites' folder and selected the first bookmark. A blank screen opened up and a progress bar showed the video buffering. After about three seconds I blurted, "I hate waiting for them to load!"

"You don't know how to download them to disk?"

"They're protected."

"Well, not so much. I'll show you how to do it."

I told him to shut up. "It's starting to play."

He watched politely. He didn't like Hugh Noone (Pitlochry's singer/guitarist, if you don't know). His friends had told him Hugh was a druggie. The video opened with a shot of Hugh sitting on the red tile roof of a giant dolls' house full of CGI puppets, chopping power chords from a broom-shaped guitar.

"That singer has a nose like a ski jump. If I looked like that I'd stay well away from the cameras. What is he singing about? 'Napalm and Nabokov'?"

I nodded.

He stared at the screen. "Dad is going to kill you," he said. "Can't you have a crush on one of the floppy-haired boy bands instead of this greasy freak?"

I punched him on the arm. The dolls inside of the silver and pink house danced while Hugh lounged in his all-black peacoat.

"Isn't he hot?" I said. "One day I'm going to marry Hugh Noone."
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Current Mood: awake
Current Music: Led Zeppelin remasters

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December 23rd, 2013
07:13 pm

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Christmas Story: Hotel Aperio

Time to repost my 2009 Christmas story Hotel Aperio, I think.

The short story is mostly about food, chiefly British food. It's based on real life, too. My parents, who often did not want to "do" Christmas, would book the Christmas week at seaside hotels, which offered to provide sufficient food, drink, companionship and fun to make the season go by with minimal effort on the part of the 'rents. My parents would be able to drink without driving, eat without spending hours undercooking the turkey, dance without buying any K-Tel Christmas Hit albums and so forth.

This was all true, but there was a darker side to the endeavor. You had to drive through half-frozen brown slush a hundred miles to a semi-deserted 70's seaside resort (think of a sort of English ocean-side Detroit) in the middle of winter. A desperate hotelier, soon to be immortalized by John Cleese in the far-too-close-to-reality Fawlty Towers, has thrown open his failing hotel to people who can't be bothered to "do" their own Christmas, which means he and his staff have to schlep all through the holidays without a minute for themselves and their own families.

Sometimes the resulting holiday was fine, and sometimes it was ludicrously bad. At this remove I can't even remember which towns, never mind which hotels, but I assume Whitby featured - I can remember the steep hills - and Scarborough, and Bridlington. One (the one with the reconstituted instant potatoes) was so bad that I vaguely recall my parents left, or got their money back, or somesuch. And then there was the one with the famous cricketer's daughter, hogging the dim limelight provided by being booked into a two or three star hotel for Christmas.

So, here's the story.


There were lions lying incongruously at the foot of the stairs. The staircase, fifty feet broad at the base, arched and narrowed at the top like the train of a lady's gown reproduced in local rock. The steps were of blackened sandstone which had weathered to expose a robust oval grain, and the same acid rain had etched the concrete lions, but these having no inner texture, the lions had merely weathered into grinning doglike caricatures. At the top of the stairs there were red-painted doors, glossy and chipped, inset with windows frosted with leaves and berries. It seemed rather a small entrance for such a magnificent red-brick Victorian edifice, five storeys tall and – I determined later when I could get far enough back to see the extent of it – almost ten windows long and four deep. I estimated that Hotel Aperio was larger than 150 rooms.

As an alternative to the stairs, one could go up the wheelchair access ramp, cheaply and latterly introduced at the side of the stairs and far too steep, which made the hotel's formerly grand entrance look like a that of a crazy municipal hospital. I went up the ramp, dragging sullen luggage behind me and almost toppling backwards as my high heels met the unnatural pitch. Inside the double doors, the lobby was the size of a generous Punch and Judy Show, and a man sat behind a tinseled hatch, watching television on a portable about the size of a toaster, which despite its diminutive size loomed large on the cluttered counter. I rang his bell, a classic desktop bell, silver and with a commanding ding. Although he had seen me, he ignored me until he heard the ding, acting out his own part perfectly. One assumed he had plenty of chance to practice over the years.

"Can I help you?"

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December 25th, 2009
08:18 pm

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Fic: Hotel Aperio

Hotel Aperio
2,600 words

There were lions lying incongruously at the foot of the stairs. The staircase, fifty feet broad at the base, arched and narrowed at the top like the train of a lady's gown reproduced in local rock. The steps were of blackened sandstone which had weathered to expose a robust oval grain, and the same acid rain had etched the concrete lions, but these having no inner texture, the lions had merely weathered into grinning doglike caricatures. At the top of the stairs there were red-painted doors, glossy and chipped, inset with windows frosted with leaves and berries. It seemed rather a small entrance for such a magnificent red-brick Victorian edifice, five storeys tall and – I determined later when I could get far enough back to see the extent of it – almost ten windows long and four deep. I estimated that Hotel Aperio was larger than 150 rooms.

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Current Music: The Kills: Fried My Little Brains
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March 20th, 2007
12:20 am

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First post
I got an LJ account to chat with my friends who say this is the groovin' thing. I'm not sure that I'll do much actual journalling, but this gives me a place to store those cute icons. 

I usually blog at http://www.peromyscus.blogspot.com/ so there'll be up to date stuff there.

Current Mood: giddygiddy

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