****10,000 VIEWS AND GROWING ****

Thanks so much to all who have helped make this milestone happen! I had hoped to hit this mark by the end of two years and here we are! I'm truly grateful

I started this blog with the sole purpose of introducing the idea of a science-fiction vampyre who was truly similiar to the traditional vampires of lore. Nathan tries to avoid sunlight (although he can step out on cloudy and rainy days, and can actually walk in the light but only if he's loaded up on blood in advance since sunlight can dry him out to the point of becoming dust). He sleeps in the ground (because certain nutrients his body needs can only be absorbed from there). And he can shape-shift becoming a horde of rats, bats, dogs, mist, grow wings... but is restricted to how big he can do these things. He cannot make more than what there is of his physical being (law of mass). And of course, he is extremely long-lived.

The blog has been chronicling short stories about his long life and some of the people he has met over the last 150 years such as Mae West

the Marx Brothers,

 

Silent film stars like Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle and Buster Keaton

Ballroom dancer turned heart-throb Rudolph Valentino

And many others he worked with in Vaudeville before they became movie stars, along with others whose lives he's touched such as victims of the Nazi Holocaust and simple everyday people. There are also entries from the supporting cast who allow you to see Nathan through their eyes. Their stories show many sides to him and why he has come to be a guardian angel who has watched over not only them but in some cases their parents, grandparents.

To date there are over 41 short and somewhat longer stories on the blog, with many more to come. I plan on bundling some of the stories next Christmas as an anthology, since there are so many entries on the blog for people to wade through these days.

In the meantime, please share the blog link with everyone you know and then help them to check out Nathan's first full-length novel story "The Vampyre Blogs - Coming Home" where he comes back to his hometown Pointer, West Virginia. He has come back many times but this time its to stay to save the manor he called home from the wrecking ball, as well as the 1000 acres of pristine land which would fall prey to ruthless lumber companies and coal mining corporations.

Its a lonely homecoming, as far as he knows, but someone has been waiting for him to come back. Someone who saw him leave to fight in the Civil War back in 1862 and a year later died in his arms shortly after his transformation which occurred in a Para-Earth where he encountered two strange lifeforms. One which kept him alive, while the other wanted him destroyed... and still does. In fact, the latter has found its way into this reality and is now closing in on Pointer to finish him off once and for all for he's the only force that can keep it from absorbing all the dead in this world, even if it has to make more people dead to complete the job.

You can find the novel both in e-book and trade paperback form at Amazon, Barnes and Noble:

Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Allan-Krummenacker/e/B00B1W8TEU/ref=dp_byline_cont_book_1

AmazonUK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss/254-1323646-2148415?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=allan+krummenacker

Barnes and Noble:

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/Allan+Krummenacker?_requestid=362722

For Apple and Kobo readers use Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/1383

Thanks again and stay tuned for more short stories to be posted soon, including some new holiday tales involving Nathan and his extended family. Until then, keep reading and writing my friends.

Nathan's Private Journal, October 12th,2011 "The Theater" - Part II...

Staring at the playbill in my hands, I couldn't believe my eyes.  It was a an old vaudeville poster, only the paper it was printed on was quite new.  Then I spotted the dates for the performance and blinked.  "December 2011!" I read out loud and then turned to Olivia and Gina, who were standing there trying to look innocent and hopeful at the same time.

"You want to put together a vaudeville show?" I said, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"More like a review of some of the more famous acts," Olivia told me.  "And no one knows them like you do."

"That's true," I admitted and looked at the floorboards of the stage.  They weren't the original boards of course.  I'd had those torn up and replaced when I bough the theater back in 1970, with an old friend who'd talked me into buying the place with her.

I remembered feeling a little melancholy about having the original floorboards torn up.  After all, I made my stage debut on them back in 1911 with the Marx Brothers.  It was only a small part, but the brothers had made sure my brief moment on the stage had been a hilarious one.  But after that night, a number of the other performers started asking me to help out in their acts.  Soon I was spending most of my time in front of the curtain instead of behind it, like it had for ten years.  Not that I had minded. 

From the day I'd started in 1910 until that night, I had worked and learned every aspect of what went on behind the scenes of every show.  From wardrobe, to sets, to actors having jitters or meltdowns, I'd seen it all and had helped out whenever I could.  By the time my friends had dragged me onto the stage with them, I'd even stood in for the stage manager a number of times.  Everyone seemed to turn to me, and so many asked time and again, "Why aren't you out there?"  This question came up more and more after I started helping some of the performers during rehearsal by standing in as they straight man or victim.

My old pal Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle was the first who started training me to be a stand-in for some of his acts, but he never got to use me, as much as he wanted to.  He wanted to see me get my moment to shine and did that night, when the Groucho and company finally got me out in front of the audience, and I loved every minute it of.  Roscoe had just started doing movies by then and had urged me to go with him to Hollywood and be part of his films.  But alas, film could not capture my image and I came back here, much to the delight of the brothers.  

Like Roscoe, Groucho and his siblings had learned of my true condition and found new ways to exploit some of my abilities as well as teaching me all about comedic timing, patter, musical instruments and other gifts.   We were able to pull off certain tricks that defied all explanation and even had more than one professional magician wondering how we'd pulled them off.  (But that's a story for another entry)

But they weren't the only ones who were glad to have me back.  The other performers had missed my easygoing manner and how I handled things both on and behind the stage.  And I soon found that even the crowds had missed me, as well.   Even though I never headlined an act of my own, the audience always greeted me warmly. But soon my time at this theater came to an end, as I moved on with  Groucho and company to tour other bigger venues in the vaudeville circuit.  But every so often, we'd come back to this theater and it was on one of those return engagements that I found myself being asked to help out one of the newer performers, who needed a silent straight man to react to her singing.

Naturally I was only too glad to help out and that was when I was introduced to a petite fourteen year old girl, who would become one of my dearest and most cherished friends.  And in 1970, she would be the one who called me back to this theater, which had by then had been abandoned and practically falling down, and talk me into buying it with her so we could restore it to its former glory.  

But, on the day we met, neither of us knew what the future was going to bring us.  Or that we'd become so close that we'd fall deeply in love.  She only gave me her stage name the first time we met, "Baby Mae" she called herself.  But down the road the world would know her by a slightly different name.  And she would become not only a star but a legend...

  

To be continued...

Nathaniel's E-Journal, August 2005... Beginning A New Chapter Part-II

Another night and I stand once more in my artist's studio located on the top floor of the building that houses my club "The Crypt".  No one's allowed up here unless I say so, and tonight I wish to be alone with my thoughts.  For two days now I've been wrestling with the idea of trying my hand at writing novels.    

In some ways the idea seems ridiculous.  Me? An author?  

Then another question comes to mind in the form of one word, why?

That's the sticking point for me.  Why would I take up writing?  Because I'm bored and want to try something new that I've never done before?   It wouldn't be the first time.  When I joined vaudeville, it was simply to keep myself busy and working behind the scenes as a stagehand at night seemed ideal.  But then I started to get to know the performers like Julius, Arthur, Herbert and Leonard... better known as the Marx Brothers.  Their range of talents fascinated me.  The number of instruments they could play, or the snappy patter they should spout on a moments notice never ceased to amaze me.  Plus, they seemed to sense the feeling of being 'lost' and 'adrift' in me, which made them reach out so I could be a part of their comeraderie.  But it didn't stop there.  Others in the troupe welcomed me as well, like "Fatty" (Roscoe Arbuckle), the Keatons, Harry and Bess Houdini, the lovely and sweet Mae West and so many others...

Before I knew what was happening they'd be teaching me all kinds of skills and even dragging me out on stage to help out in their acts.  I could write endless stories about those days and the ones that came before.  

My days on the battlefield while serving in the Union Army.  So many stories were lost there that only I know about.  The hopes and fears of my brothers in blue, as well as some of those who wore the rebel gray.  In 167 years of walking this world, I've not forgotten a single person who I've met, good or bad, I remember them.  I also remember the stories they shared, the sweethearts they pursued and the outcomes.  

So many stories to choose from, but where would I begin?  

I brought up the idea of my taking up writing to Brian and his family last night at dinner.  Much to my surprise no one laughed.  Instead they eagerly supported the venture.  Brian in particular urged me to take a couple of creative writing courses at the college where he teaches history.  "We've got some really good instructors there and they could really help you hone your skills?" Brian pointed out.  "I've taken a couple of them and they were really helpful.  Of course, you'll need to decide on a genre to write in.  Agents and publishers like to represent someone who has a specific kind of novel."

"You should write romance," his daughter Lisa suggested with a twinkle in her eye as she looked at me.  Even though she's only a child I have a feeling she's developing a crush on me.  I've seen that look before in girls her age and even younger, over the decades.  But only one ever managed to land me, but she was extremely persistent.  

Even now I can feel her eyes on me after seven decades.  Looking up I find myself staring into a pair of dark eyes, forever captured in oil.  Dark hair frames those eyes along with the lovely face and strong chin.  "Magda," I whisper and smile.

Our time together was not nearly as long as either of us had hoped, but it was magical.  Our first meeting and her prolonged pursuit for my love could fill several volumes.  Her persistence paid off and after three years she became my wife at the young age of sixteen.  

As I stand there lost in thought, the sounds of music reaches my ears from several floors below.  The Crypt is now open and is already filling up with the usual crowd.  Even from here I can sense the whirl of emotions and life down there.  Laughter, sorrow, broken hearts, lust, hopes for love...  

A flash of light through the window catches my eye.  After several nights of gathering clouds it looks as rain is finally drawing near.  I make my way up the stairs and onto the roof of the building to watch the approaching storm.

I see lightning in the distance over my hometown, it's going to be a good one.  But instead of retreating back inside, I stay where I am and feel the breeze on my face and close my eyes.  I can feel the storm's energy on the wind and without thinking, several lines of words describing the feeling come to mind.  Some of the words are trite, but they still help paint a picture within my head.

Suddenly my eyes shoot open as realization sinks in.  Painting a picture, but with words instead of oils or acrylics!   No pencils, no paintbrushes, just words that form an image or a scene within the readers mind.  That's what an author does. But they don't just paint one picture, they paint a whole series of images, coupled with emotions and thoughts.  Yet, I can still use my skills as a painter as well.  Illustrations and book covers... yes.  

And I have so much material to draw upon.  My own experiences as well as those of people who's memories lives I keep alive within me.  I've shared their stories countless times with descendants so they are never forgotten.  

But what kind of stories to write? 

From down in the alley I hear the sound of raised voices.  Looking over the edge I see a young couple having a heated argument.  The boy is obviously breaking up with the girl and leaves her in the alley alone.  But she does not remain that way for long.  Three others, friends of hers arrive and comfort her.  One of them is a young man who obviously has feelings of his own for her.  But instead of being foolish and declaring his affections, he merely gives her the support and comfort of the friend she needs right now.  

But I can sense a change in her.  It's not big, but her gratitude to him and the two girls with him is obvious.  I hear her say she wishes more guys were like him as they step inside.  Perhaps something will come of it eventually.  

However the thing that gets me most is the image that forms in my mind.  Just like the other night down in the club, I could see other figures, superimposed over the trio.  Their outfits changed several times within the span of a few seconds.  I saw flappers, soldiers, suits, gowns, hippies, but their actions were all the same and leading towards one thing... romance.

"Love Across Time..." I murmur as the first drops of rain start hitting my head.  

Why not?  I've seen and experienced it so many times in the last fifteen decades.  Oh, the settings and ways one behaved have changed over time, but the feelings never do.  

Feeling elated at the idea, I spread my arms wide and let the rain and story ideas pour over me.  

Brian's E-Journal January 7th, 2005

I'm beginning to think I may have made a mistake in getting Uncle Nathan to transcribe all those letters and journals.  He hasn't been himself since he started.  I'm guessing that even after a hundred and fifty years some wounds just don't heal enough.  Though he already told me he's determined to finish the task.  He really laments all the journals, pictures, and personal mementos  that were lost to him over the last century and a half.  At least in cyberspace they can never be lost.  Plus he really wants those of us who know him to really be able to understand all he's seen and done throughout his long life. 

I still find it hard to believe that he's been around for almost a century and a half.  I don't mean just the fact that he's existed all that time, but what he's seen and done over the decades.  He didn't just sit around brooding and despairing about outliving all the friends and family he knew.   The man keeps looking ahead, eager to see new things will come.   

I mean think about it.  Here is a man who has witnessed the birth of movies, television, computers, and so many other inventions that have changed the world.  Plus, he's witnessed or even been part of historic events, both good and bad.  But that's just the start.  

He's attended night classes at a number college and universities.  I know for a fact that he has at least two doctorates, three masters and I don't know how many A. A. and B. A. Degrees.  He's learned to play several musical instruments and is a master of ballroom and modern dance styles.  

There are photos and posters from the stage and theater.  The man was actually part of Vaudeville, for crying out loud.  He knew some of Hollywood's biggest names before the movie industry ever even existed.  God knows he's made so many of us laugh performing some of his old skits, recreating some performances by other legendary figures like Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Harry Houdini, Rudolph Valentino (before the movies when he was mostly known for ballroom dance) The Marx Brothers and Mae West to name a few.

  

The Marx Brothers had a huge influence on him.  He learned to play the piano from Chico and later the harp from Harpo.  Right now, we're in 'The Crypt' and Uncle Nate's tearing up the piano in Chico's style.  

*Author's Note: click here to see Chico in action:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bfIVnzpj1vM

While his teacher was well known for polka and classical, Uncle Nate likes to let loose with a mixture of Jazz, Hip-Hop, and others while still using the same finger movements and comedy.   Even the youngest of the Hip-Hop crowd love to watch him in action.  Especially when he uses some of those comedic skills up at the turntables when he sits in for the club's DJ.

He never has to worry about the owner of the place being bothered by his antics, he is the owner.  He acquired the building back during the Great Depression.  "The Crypt" is in the basement and is always open most of the night.  Alcohol is never served.  That came to an end back in Prohibition and he never lifted the ban.  He just wanted a place for everyday people to enjoy themselves.  

Right now he's up there getting his and everyone else's groove going.  I could go on and on about him, but I think it's better when these things come from him.  Which I'm going to try and encourage.  Transcribing the letters and journals are still important, but so is existing in the present.  This is something he's taught me and so many others over the years.  I guess that's why we love him so much and help keep his secret.  At least half of the club's visitors know and keep quiet.  They also donate regularly so there's always a supply for him in the refrigerators.  He only takes from people directly on rare occasions.  But that's an entry for another day.  Right now, he's stepping over to the piano and cutting loose there, and my feet are itching to get on the dance floor with my wife and children.  Even at forty we know how bust moves with the best of them.  Uncle Nate taught us the importance of always moving with the times and living our lives to the fullest.