martykatewrites

[martykatewrites]

The Boy from the Band - Waiting--and Waiting (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/779499477-the-boy-from-the-band-waiting-and-waiting?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=martykate1 Dacy is pretty, intelligent, driven, and smart enough to know to avoid a complication with a married man--until she meets Rick. Rick is the bass player of The Band. When she hung outside the studio where he was rehearsing she didn't expect him to take an interest in her. But the handsome, funny, charming, and married Rick falls for the girl with brown hair and dreamy brown eyes. He seduces her without a thought then realizes that he wants to see her very badly. She doesn't want to be involved with a married man but there is something about Rick that draws her to him and she finds herself saying "yes" instead of "no" as she knows she should. Now, at his funeral, Dacy reflects on her past with him. Meeting him when she was only 23. How they looked at each other and just knew. She chose to navigate his alcoholism, his drug addiction, and the pressure of being in a relationship with a man who, though he is married, loved her to distraction and would not give her up...Warning Adultery, Sex, and Drug Use. Some of this is based on my personal experiences, but i won't name names!

#backstage #bassplayer #cocaine #concert #fame #forbiddenlove #funeral #heroin #love #moneylost #music #musicians #party #rehearsal #rickdanko #rockandroll #rockstar #romance #songwriting #stage #studio #theband #tour #unfaithful #woodstock #books #wattpad #amreading

[martykatewrites]

The Boy from the Band - Waiting--and Waiting (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/779499477-the-boy-from-the-band-waiting-and-waiting?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=martykate1 Dacy is pretty, intelligent, driven, and smart enough to know to avoid a complication with a married man--until she meets Rick. Rick is the bass player of The Band. When she hung outside the studio where he was rehearsing she didn't expect him to take an interest in her. But the handsome, funny, charming, and married Rick falls for the girl with brown hair and dreamy brown eyes. He seduces her without a thought then realizes that he wants to see her very badly. She doesn't want to be involved with a married man but there is something about Rick that draws her to him and she finds herself saying "yes" instead of "no" as she knows she should. Now, at his funeral, Dacy reflects on her past with him. Meeting him when she was only 23. How they looked at each other and just knew. She chose to navigate his alcoholism, his drug addiction, and the pressure of being in a relationship with a man who, though he is married, loved her to distraction and would not give her up...Warning Adultery, Sex, and Drug Use. Some of this is based on my personal experiences, but i won't name names!

#backstage #bassplayer #cocaine #concert #fame #forbiddenlove #funeral #heroin #love #moneylost #music #musicians #party #rehearsal #rickdanko #rockandroll #rockstar #romance #songwriting #stage #studio #theband #tour #unfaithful #woodstock #books #wattpad #amreading

[martykatewrites]

The Boy from The Band

Okay, hate me if you will, this is my Rick Danko fan fi

#Rick Danko #The Band #Last Waltz

[martykatewrites]

Yellowstone: Love and Cowboys - Back in the Saddle (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1445665076-yellowstone-love-and-cowboys-back-in-the-saddle?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=martykate1 Some people are born to be on the back of a horse, Coralee Dutton for one. She's the youngest daughter of John Dutton's older brother Benjamin. John inherited the ranch because he was a rancher while his brother wasn't. There are no hard feelings, Benjamin is happy with his life and the brothers have a deep love for each other. Coralee has been showing horses since she was young and has gotten quite good. She started as a barrel racer and is now into reining horses. She is at the ranch because John wants to buy her a top quality horse to show and he's asked Travis Wheatley to bring some to the ranch to show her. Beth Dutton has always hated Coralee. Coralee is younger and prettier and resembles the tragic Elsa Dutton. She hates Beth's drinking problem and tries to stay out of her way, drunk or sober. Travis has had his eye on Coralee for a long time. He wants to go out with her, hell, he wants to sleep with her but she means more to him. He's a playboy and a rogue and he knows it, but maybe he could change his ways if she just gave him a chance. He's older and feeling the need to settle down and Coralee could make him change his ways. For those of you who know my writing, I rarely try to include events in the original story, to me that's not creating it's copying. I noticed this when I wrote my Mummy story. To me that's kind of cheating. So, you can this story "based on" Yellowstone if you like. Travis is a character in the story and since Rip and Kayce are basically taken, I used him. Also, there are a lot of Rip or Kayce stories here, I wanted to write something else. Readers: I know ranching, I know horses, I studied equine science. Our instructor used to hire us out to his friends to drive their cattle for them. I participated in a cattle drive celebrating the San Antonio trail. This made this story more fun to write

#bethdutton #brand #brothers #buffalo #cattle #corporation #dutton #eroticspanking #family #familyfarm #herds #horses #jamiedutton #johndutton #kaycedutton #landgrab #mountains #pioneers #ranch #ripwheler #river #showhorses #travis #yellowstone #fanfiction #books #wattpad #amreading

[martykatewrites]

This is how I like to picture Rick Danko, tall, dark sculpted cheekbones, so soulful. something about him changed when he got rid of his facial hair, he just never seemed the same afterward.

[martykatewrites]

Let our heroes have feet of clay

Don't romanticize a musician just because you love or admire them. Gram Parsons had a severe alcohol problem along with a heroin addiction. Rick Danko died, a bloated, unrecognizable version of his self due to alcohol, drugs, and his lifestyle. Richard Manuel literally drank himself into a depression so deep that he committed suicide after actually sobering up for a while. It's not that we don't love them because we do, but these were self destructive people.

Remember them because we loved them, but don't put them on a pedestal and deny it happened. It's something we can learn from their talent, but at the same time realize they left sooner than they should have because of the choices they made.

#Gram Parsons #Rick Danko #Richard Manuel #The Band #alcoholic #heroin addiction #The Band #rock and roll #music #choices #heroin #alcohol #cocaine #drugs #lifestyle

[martykatewrites]

The Band, man, The Band

Reblog if a band has somehow changed your life for the better

People don’t usually understand this 

[martykatewrites]

Leelah Alcorn redux

Once again we have a gay/trans teen with ultra religious parents. Sent to a religious school and resented it, parents not accepting their sexuality. What was a 28 year old doing living at home? Leelah took her anger out on herself and committed suicide. Audrey/Aidan took her anger out on others. How long will it take people to wise up. What they did was wrong, but an unbalanced personality plus anger is a deadly combination. Those people and kids didn't have to die

[martykatewrites]

On February 1, 2023 my beloved Nacho crossed the rainbow bridge. He was only 10, well one day then sick the next. I held out for about six days then bit the bullet and had him put down. Bye bye baby boy

[martykatewrites]

Nacho, my very beautiful, very sick boy, will cross the rainbow bridge tomorrow. I don't want to see him suffer or go through a lot of procedures or have to stay in a cage at a vet hospital. He feels terrible, isn't eating or drinking. I'm crying but it's time to let go

[martykatewrites]

Straight up soft Seattle (washington). People from LA sound like they're from NY

rb this and tell me what ur accent is. this has no purpose except the fact i just realized i could have like... mutuals with cockney accents or newfoundland accents or something and thats just wild

[martykatewrites]

#may have kicked gram out of the band but that didn't stop them from doing his songs #Youtube

[martykatewrites]

I haven't really made online friends. I used to meet people at the hotsprings

reblog and put in the tags what website you met your best online friend on and how many years it’s been

[martykatewrites]

The Mummy: The Tomb Robbers' Secret - By Torchlight (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1014783089-the-mummy-the-tomb-robbers%27-secret-by-torchlight?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=martykate1&wp_originator=AHHLLPkBFy6Q1W66xcR1UJHu5PMEHmPCA%2Br23j1It7HB1kpqWcxcC0Ew4JN2EqN7Swuo19G1FFJ7Xyxca2tSlAeTAxcV532oNM2U2r4uDDrlFJ6OQYomQla8ZiUbx%2FZa For many years rumors have persisted that there are caches of gold, precious stones, and unguents that tomb robbers had dropped or hidden in their haste to escape the guards that watched over the Valley of the Kings. Roma Wilkes-Emberly thinks her father believes these rumors are true and is determined to find them. Ardeth-Bey is the son of a sheikh of a Bedouin tribe who are descended from the Med-Jai who guarded the Valley of the Kings. He is friends with Wilkes-Emberly and his daughter Roma. Roma does not like Ardeth Bey, though she grew up with him, she finds him overconfident and arrogant. The fact that he is handsome only makes it worse. Wilkes-Emberly has asked Ardeth for his help. He wishes him to accompany his daughter through the desert on a secret errand. Neither Ardeth nor Roma is eager to do this, but her father is both evasive and persistent. Ardeth agrees, but on the condition that they will catch the boat at Minya for the remainder of the journey to Cairo. Roma knows that something is wrong and she suspects that they will be transporting something valuable and will be a target for thieves--or worse. I am proud to announce that based on my writing of this story I have received a commission from an internet jewelry site to write an Egyptian/Atlantis-themed story about Howard Carter and his discovery of the "Atlantis Ring". And I am being paid well for it--eat your hearts out!!!! This story has been appearing in Top Picks! Also has been appearing in "We'll Think You Enjoy"

#adventure #archaeologist #ardeth #ardeth-bey #desert #egyptiangods #egyptianmuseum #evelyn #evelynoconnell #gold #highpriest #karnak #luxor #medjai #nileriver #pharaoh #rick #rickoconnell #stolengold #temples #themummy #tomb #tombrobbers #unexpectedlove #valleyofthekings #fanfiction #books #wattpad #amreading

[martykatewrites]

An interesting bit of "Band" lore for fellow Band-fans

#The Band #Rick Danko #Levon Helm #jealous boyfriend #Cathy Smith #Ed Sullivan Show #`

[martykatewrites]

Outlander: The Spell of the Fairy Stones

How did it start? I'd come on a trip to Scotland to visit some friends of my recently-deceased mother. I was an Egyptologist who taught at the University of Chicago. I consider Egyptology the most interesting and fertile in the ancient history field, but I try to be open-minded. I've helped excavate in South America, and in Europe. Ancient Britain was not civilized like Rome or Egypt, but there's a lot to see and explore.

I'm this crazy mixture of Russian and Belgian, tall like my mother, blond with weird grey-green eyes like my father. Wolf's eyes he called them. I'm broad-hipped like a good babushka, but it's in proportion to everything else. I also have a broad Slavic face and high cheekbones. I guess you could say I'm attractive but I don't pay attention to it.

I decided to drive around England, and visit as many Neolithic monuments like Stonehenge that I could. Included in this were trips to old castles and Roman baths, camps, and of course, Hadrian's Wall. When I'd finished gorging myself on ancient history, I headed up to Scotland, to Inverness, which really is a lovely town-my cousins recommended that I stop there on the way.

I rented a room in a bed and breakfast run by an old Scottish woman who spoke with a burr so thick that often I could not understand her. The beds were excellent, though, and the food very good though not what an American like me is used to. The old hag, as I unkindly refer to her, would pack me a huge lunch every day, and send me out with a thermos of tea as I went sightseeing. Despite the fact that she looked like an old crone, she was very sweet, fretted about how thin I was-which I'm not-and kept mentioning various sons and nephews and neighborhood boys that she wanted to introduce me to.

The canny Mrs. Struan did manage one, Malcolm MacDonald, tall, brown-haired, brown eyes, and very good looking I must confess. He was also very sweet, referred to my hostess as Mrs. Struan, and fascinated me with his knowledge of the history of the area. I'd sworn off men after my breakup with Robbie, I was in no mood to plunge into another disastrous relationship. Mac, as he called himself, seemed to sense this, but I also got the feeling he wasn't going to be deterred. I rather liked the feeling I was being pursued by a tall, handsome stranger.

"Mac" was turning into a frequent guest for dinner, I did not yet know if I minded. Mrs. Struan would delicately suggest that we might want to adjourn to the parlor and have a drink or two to help us digest our food. I would ask him about any menhir or dolmen around that were within walking distance. I told him about my interest in ancient history. I'd already visited Stonehenge and Hadrian's Wall. I'd planned to visit the Orkneys before I headed back to England. I must admit, I'd been prepared to be bored and uninterested in Scotland, but it was proving fascinating and I wished I'd allowed myself more time.

It turned out there was an interesting dolmen and even a menhir within walking distance. Being a gentleman, Malcolm offered to take me, but I wanted to experience this on my own. My theory is that unless you need to have questions answered at that moment, it's best to see something you really want to see alone. I want to take it in, explore it on my terms, without someone hovering over me. And not everyone shares my interest in ancient monuments.

So I politely turned him down and got very detailed directions instead. I'd have Mrs. Struan pack a lunch for me, and bring the cameras I carry when I take pictures. People generally stare when they see me take snapshots with one camera, then go in for detailed photos with another. If they think I'm crazy, it works to my advantage-they leave me alone. That's another reason why I don't want Malcolm with me, I was afraid he'd get bored, and maybe try to hurry me to convince me to return to Mrs. Struan's.

I made my goodnights to Malcolm and Mrs. S. When I'd been in England, I hadn't had much time to explore the area around Stonehenge, but tomorrow I would get to see a sample of what I'd missed. I looked at the map Malcolm had drawn for me. Trust a fellow archaeologist to include everything available to see in the area. Kent Weeks would be impressed, and he only mapped the Valley of the Kings.

It looks like the dolmen once was the entrance to a tomb mound. The menhir is some distance off. Malcolm's drawn a sketch of the menhir, and it resembles one of the stones of Stenness, as opposed to the rectangular shape of the outer stone circle at Stone Henge. I examine the map more closely and discover another tomb, with the lintels missing, but some of the structure is intact. I hope I'm going to find more, maybe a cyst grave, or perhaps post holes of a "wood henge."

I didn't sleep as much as I should have, considering how much walking I would do, Mac had told me that the menhir and dolmen had only been briefly explored and recorded. Amateur archaeologists discover things all the time. I was trained and had the basic equipment for measuring if someone had been there with me, I could have set up a plumb line and taken measurements. It didn't matter what I did or didn't find, I would probably be alone, have the whole site to myself. I was as excited as I used to be when I went to bed on Christmas Eve-and slept about as well.

Towards the morning I started having strange dreams. The air had become filled with a mist, as if in a fairy tale. I heard the sound of hoofbeats and saw the shadowy figures of men on horseback. I heard voices speaking English, but I couldn't understand the words. All I knew was that I did not want them to discover me, because if they did, my golden day would be spoiled, and I'd never have the chance to explore the site again.

And then, one of them got off his horse and started walking towards me. I wanted to run, but it was as if the earth had swallowed my feet, and I couldn't move. I was trapped, and I could only wait helplessly as he began to approach.

I woke up to the dim light of the early dawn. I pulled on my wool robe and checked my backpack one more time to see if there was something I missed. Satisfied that I could survive for a week if I could only add food to the contents, I took a quick shower, then went to the dining room to eat breakfast.

The Blessed Mrs. Struan had fixed me a large plate of eggs, with kippers, which I can't stand. I settled for the eggs and bannocks, washed down with her strong tea. My hostess had even come up with some orange juice, which, by its taste must have come from a can, but I was grateful for it all the same. I had a long day ahead of me, and except for the kippers, I was going to put whatever nutrition in my body that I could get my hands on.

She presented me with a fat lunch bag, and a thermos full of tea, reminding me that I should be back for supper.  Mr. Malcolm would surely be present, and wouldn't I like a ride to the stone circle, instead of making the long walk?

I smiled, shook my head, and thanked her. I went back to my room and placed my bundle into my overstuffed backpack. Fortunately, as I consumed food and tea the weight would lessen somewhat. I put on my fleece-lined denim jacket and wrapped my new red scarf around my neck-the morning was cold but the day might warm up a little later. I hoisted my pack onto my shoulders and went quietly out the door to prevent someone from offering me a ride. I felt like walking in solitary bliss this morning.

My bliss did not last long. An elderly couple pulled up next to me and rolling down their window, inquired as to whether or not I needed a ride. It was only a couple of miles to the turnoff, but I gave in graciously and answered questions as patiently as I could.

I was from Chicago. I was an archaeologist by profession. No, I wasn't married, nor was I engaged. (I don't know why people always ask this question) Yes, I liked being an archeologist. I worked mainly in Egypt, but was on vacation and exploring Neolithic stone monuments while I was here. I was staying at "The Thistle", yes Mrs. Struan set an excellent table. Oh, my name? I'm half Russian and half Belgian, but I was raised in Seattle. They let me off at the turnoff, wishing me a lovely day. I wished the same to them and watched them drive away.

The path bore few marks from the most recent excavation. It must have been wide enough for a narrow vehicle once, and I tried to remember how long it was, but I didn't really care. I was getting that crazy high that I always got on the way to an excavation. The hair was prickling on the back of my neck and I could feel the electricity on the surface of my skin.

Something was going to happen.

The path was taking me slowly uphill. Nothing I saw around me hinted at my being a couple of miles away from an important archaeological site. The path looked as if it had not been disturbed for years, no trace remained that a four-wheel vehicle had once been here. The path was no bigger than a footpath, the evergreen trees were tall and had not been cut in centuries, it seemed. The air was fragrant and clean and had an almost unearthly stillness. Not even the sound of birds pervaded the stillness, and I felt like the first line of "Evangeline" by Longfellow:

"This is the forest primeval"

At last, I passed through a small stand of trees and set foot into the clearing, and what I saw took my breath away. The first thing that caught my eye was the menhir, it was taller than I had imagined it, standing at least 16 feet high. It looked like it had been sheared off at an angle at the top, while it was cut straight at the sides, and did not owe its shape to nature's whim or the weather.

I looked more closely at its surface, trying to see if it was smoothed on one side, while left rough on the other like the Sarsen stones at Stone Henge. I was too superstitious, no, too respectful to touch it, but to my delight, I found that one side had carvings of spirals on it, not the first time I'd seen this on stones and monuments in both Britain and France.

I pulled out my Nikon and began to take pictures. When I had some shots that I was happy with, I started wandering, trying to determine what might have been here originally. A Menhir is a standing stone, or group of stones, like Stonehenge, while a dolmen is a doorway, usually consisting of two vertical stones with a stone across them. These were the doorways of tombs, and a few mounds and barrows have remained, though most of them are gone, leaving only the lintels, or the dolmen. It's exciting if any of the tomb is left, and here I got lucky because there was a noticeable dip in the ground and I could make out a shape.

I took pictures, kept the best and deleted the others, and then I began to walk around. It was an odd place for the dolmen and menhir, usually (though not always) these things were located on a relatively flat plain, probably so they'd be visible for miles. But the size of the dolmen was impressive, and whoever had been buried there had been important. The tomb itself had been destroyed by looters and time, but I wonder if anyone ever came up here and had a look around. Malcolm had been knowledgeable, but decidedly uncurious. He'd made no effort to warn me away, not even any warning looks, so I wondered if he just considered it unimportant.

On a whim, I decided to have a closer look, I don't know what I was hoping to find, maybe some more holes where more stones had stood, or maybe something else. There was an energy here that was spurring me on, and the day was young, and I had plenty of time to look around. But for what?

This place was at least four thousand years old, maybe more, and the geology could have been changed considerably in that time. Cleopatra's palace complex and the lighthouse at Alexandria had been struck down by earthquakes. Maybe this hill was once flatter than it is now and an earthquake had changed the landscape so drastically that the hill had been raised up. I'd forgotten a lot of my geology, so I couldn't remember if such a thing could be possible. I know they did have earthquakes in the British Isles, but they were not as frequent as they would have been, say, in Seattle. I'd have to find a library, or preferably, a seismologist to find out if it was possible.

While I was busy meditating on the possibility of earthquakes in the British Isles, my foot suddenly sank in some soft leaves and I tripped. I ran through most of my profanity vocabulary, then pulled my foot out of the depression it had become trapped in.

Something was curious about this. I carefully began to pull leaves and debris from the hole. Soon hole was deeper than the length of my arm and I still had not reached the bottom. I cleared as much as I could and noticed that the size was regular and smooth as if it had once held something-but I did not know what.

"Discovery Fever", as I call it, was taking hold of me. I began to look around for possible postholes and discovered another two. My excitement grew, there was evidence here of a wooden circle, just like at Stone Henge, that had rotted centuries ago, but no doubt pre-dated the standing stones. I carefully cleared the holes and took pictures. I could not wait to get back to my computer and start recording my findings for the day. If I looked more closely I might find the site of more post holes, or possibly where stones had stood-or even a buried stone.

I looked up at the sun, then down at my watch. Noon! I had lost all track of time. I could spend hours here, and still have more to find, but right now I felt a raging hunger. I went to the menhir and sat at its foot, well away from its shadow. I took my camera and took pictures of each of the little carved spirals, wishing, as so many others, that whoever erected these circles had had some kind of written language. We know so little and so much of what we know is educated guesswork.

I devoured my lunch, as opposed to eating it. Rationally, I knew that I should be tired, but there was an energy level here, almost a hum, like machinery running, that fed into me and I could not remain still. I searched for more post holes, and found two possibilities, and looked carefully at the grass to see if there were a difference anywhere in color that might indicate where a stone might have stood.

I turned back to the dolmen, and looking around could see where a body might have been placed. The pit where the barrow may have been had smooth sides, and much care had been put into its preparation.

I don't know how much time had passed, but when I looked again at my watch it said three o'clock. How did so much time pass by? I could easily have prolonged my trip here by a week and contemplated the possibility. I'd taken this quarter off to do some traveling, and if I brought back enough notes and images, I might be able to persuade someone to give me a month to dig here. It probably wouldn't be that hard to convince local officials. I had no intention of destroying the site, but clearing the postholes, looking for evidence of more stones, and excavating the tomb under the dolmen would only benefit the village, not harm it.

In the meantime, I had better get ready to leave. Darkness was not falling so terribly early, not yet, but this was an area I didn't know, and it would be best to hike back in full daylight. Once I got to the main road I would surely find myself sufficiently tired enough to graciously accept an offer of a ride back to the bed and breakfast.

I walked over to the menhir to check my pack and make sure I'd left nothing behind-something I'm notorious for. I looked at it again, the smoothed surface decorated with the spirals, and reached out my hand to touch one, but pulled my finger back at the last minute.

Uncharacteristically, I was feeling suddenly very sleepy. I felt so drowsy, in fact, that against my better judgment I stretched out before the stone, my backpack providing a lumpy pillow. "Okay, just a short rest," I promised myself. I had no intention of sleep, only to rest a minute before I began the long hike back to the road. The very long hike back to the road I mused.

I swear, I didn't plan to fall asleep, I don't nap, as a rule, but I woke suddenly realizing that I had been asleep. I looked at my watch, it read three o'clock. Now that couldn't be, there was a new battery in it and it had read three o'clock the last time I looked at it. I looked around, nothing really looked different. The clearing and its dolmen and menhir had a creepy feeling to it, but that's true of a lot of ancient sites-you feel that you are an intruder; that something was there before you that belongs to it, not you. Maybe the battery was faulty.

Suddenly a mist started to descend while the sky grew curiously darker. Like in my dream, the mist slowly grew thicker as the air darkened. From a distance, I heard coming the sound of muffled hoofbeats and the jingling of bridles. Horses whickered and men were talking, speaking a language I knew but could not understand the words.

I ducked behind the stone and prayed they would not see me.

[martykatewrites]

#The Band