by Sarah Fuller
Venice is the place to go to people watch.
Down the street, Santa Monica is always bursting with tourists and locals alike, seeking the ocean breeze. What I love most about it are the street performers who play for the strolling shoppers as they meander down the Third Street Promenade.
I still haven’t gotten up the nerve to go to the trapeze school located on the pier, but I’m going to. One day, I’m going to be a trapeze artist, even if the circus is a sadly dying artform.
Fun fact: one time, I ran away and joined the circus. Literally. I followed them around from city to city, staying close to the ringmaster, learning everything I could. It’s an obsession of mine.
When Eleanor later told me she wanted to grow up to be in the circus, I didn’t scoff at the dream, like some parents. Instead, I cheered and started making plans, figuring out which act we could do together. Some mother-daughter performance where we wore bright, sequined costumes with swooping necklines. Alas, I don’t think my dream will pan out, because I would absolutely loathe living in a fifth wheel.
If one takes the road from Santa Monica a bit farther, they’ll wind up in the weird world of Topanga Canyon.
My friend Zoe tells me I’m not allowed to drive through Topanga Canyon at night. Apparently, it’s a hotspot for all sorts of strange sightings, like UFOs. Most of the sightings happened between 1988 and 1992; people saw glowing, yellow objects fly between the mountains. Who knows why they don’t see things as much anymore. Maybe they are done spying on us. Or maybe we shot them all down.
I don’t know about recent alien sightings, but I will say that they’ve been doing strange construction on one of the nearby roads for ages. They are always digging for something. I’m sure it has to do with pipes, but a part of my science fiction brain firmly believes they are excavating an alien’s body.
The only things I’ve seen while going through the canyon are cyclists who apparently have a death wish and hippies who haven’t showered. Although the views are breathtaking, some of the most interesting aspects of the road from the 101 to the Pacific Coast Highway are the strange houses and artwork. There’s a large treehouse made almost entirely of windows. Although that limits privacy, hippies don’t really care about that. Believe me, they will bathe right out in the open on that day of the month called “Bath Day.” And having views of the cascading mountains is worth it to have to wash a glass house. Just don’t you throw a stone, you dirty hippie.
The Sloan Oak House is named for the giant oak tree that grows through the middle of the living room. It’s a landmark in Topanga and was built in the style of Frank Lloyd Wright. The house itself is modest on the outside, but the price for the two-thousand-square-foot home was almost two million dollars when it sold.
I had a tree house once. It also had great views and a rustic feel to it. We never outgrow the urge to be amongst the trees, I guess.
The oaks in LA are regarded like gods, making new construction a mess of red tape. I like the idea of building around the trees, rather than having our majestic oaks slaughtered for new real estate. In the town of Thousand Oaks, north of LA county, no one can cut, prune, or do any work impacting the protected oak trees or their soil without a permit.
Better tell that to Little Billy before he goes off nailing something into one of the trees to make his own fort.
Although I respect Zoe’s cautions regarding the strange and unexplained phenomena that happen in the canyon, that’s not why I don’t drive through there at night. It’s plainly because I don’t want to be shot. I used to hike around the canyon, but since dead bodies have been turning up all over the Santa Monica mountains, I’ve stayed indoors.
Sadly, there is a gunman loose who is responsible for many mysterious deaths. This person shoots at cars driving through the canyon at night. Unfortunately, there have been several fatalities seemingly related to this gunman hiding in places in the Santa Monica mountains. After more evidence came to light, the authorities were able to string together a series of shootings that happened over the years. Strange and unexplained things are always occurring in those hills, which is why I sit my ass at home on a Saturday night.
Also, if we’re honest, I can’t drive down the iconic Mulholland drive without pissing off the locals. Yes, I’m riding my brake all the way down the pass. That’s how I learned to take those curves.
When I first started driving in the city of Dallas, I suddenly found myself on a six-lane highway with everyone speeding past me. I did what most inexperienced drivers would do that in that situation, and halted. That sort of pissed everyone off, creating a clusterfuck of traffic.
Then I moved to Oregon, where the roads aren’t flat, and driving through mountain passes is a common occurrence. I turned down a job once because I was afraid of the commute through the steep hills.
In my defense, I was doomed from the beginning. Not because I’m truly a bad driver, but because I had been traumatized while taking driver’s education. One day, I was driving the old Driver’s Ed car, a beat-up Oldsmobile, with my instructor beside me. In the back seat was my friend Josh and some girl I was pretty sure was a hussy.
I was approaching a stoplight in the left lane. Wait, let me correct myself. I was approaching the stop light. There was only one in town. Some dumbass woman wanted to pull out of the convenience store after buying her lottery tickets and beef jerky, and another dumbass waved her across the lanes.
Later I was retaught how to drive by my mom’s friend Frank, a retired naval captain. He explained that you never trust another driver to tell you when to go. He also gave me a panic attack, teaching me how to be a defensive driver.
“That person is about to pull out in front of you!” he’d scream, even though the car was parked. “What if that person suddenly opens their car door?” Frank would yell as I drove down a crowded main street. “Always be on the lookout for the things that could happen. Constant vigilance.”
And that’s why I can’t sleep at night.
Anyway, the dumbass woman took the advice of the other driver and pulled out, ramming straight into me as I approached the stoplight.
The instructor threw his foot down on the brake stationed on his side of the car. I did the same on my side. It did no good. The cars careened into one another, buckling the front of the old Driver’s Ed car that had been around for twenty years.
After checking that we were okay, the instructor got out of the car to check on the dumbass woman. She was fine. I could see that as she threw her beef jerky into the passenger’s seat.
I turned around to my friend Josh, totally livid. This was going to be all around the school, and it was going to look like my fault. Who wrecks the Driver’s Ed car? Of course, it had to be me.
“Can you believe that dumb bitch?” I yelled to him. “What an awful person.”
The hussy next to him gripped her stomach, looking uncomfortable. I was about to ask if she was all right when the woman ran up to the car, yelling.
“Oh, my God! I hit the Driver’s Ed car with my son in it!”
Josh’s eyes widened as he recognized his mother. Then he looked at me. “I can’t believe you called my mother a bitch.”
I was not sorry at all. I was mortified, though. That was certain.
Hussy held her stomach, turning pale. She gripped the seat and bent over.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m pregnant, and I don’t feel so good.”
Of course, she was pregnant. We were all fifteen, and that’s the customary age in small towns to start a family.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered under my breath.
This couldn’t get any worse. I’d crashed the Driver’s Ed car with a pregnant woman in it and insulted my friend’s mother. Fucking wonderful. I couldn’t wait to turn sixteen and drive around that godforsaken town.
Hussy, we later learned, was fine and would go on to have a slew of children. However, I was not fine. When I was finally allowed t
o get out of the car, I was blinded by a flash. I thought I’d been in another car wreck. Turns out what actually happened was worse: the school newspaper, having been alerted of the incident, had shown up to document the event.
Fucking delightful.
Thankfully, because I have mad debater skills that make me excellent at negotiations, I was able to convince the reporter not to print the photo in the newspaper.
The Driver’s Ed instructor passed me a few weeks later, but told my mother I wouldn’t be ready to drive for a while—too shaken from the events that happened.
That was true. However, what made it worse was that the dumb bitch who hit me didn’t have insurance, so the Driver’s Ed car was never fixed. For two more years, I had to watch that car drive around town, all the while being reminded that I had been behind the wheel when it was wrecked.
And that’s why I can’t drive.
The neighborhoods of LA are as unique as their people. Everyone has their favorite. And we guard our areas like we do our oak trees. I like to think that we are also fiercely protective of each other. I may talk some shit, but everyone knows where my loyalties lie.
These assholes from Santa Barbara once scoffed at me when I said that LA was my favorite city in the world.
The guy, who wore dumb prints of anchors on his button-up shirt because that’s the uniform in Santa Barbara, shook his head at me. “Why LA? It’s congested and dirty. It’s outrageously expensive and covered in smog.”
I didn’t feel like pointing out that properties in Santa Barbara were even more expensive. Or that the traffic passing through Santa Barbara on the weekends always fucks up my schedule.
I shrugged. Everyone has their own ideas about LA. Some think it’s overpopulated with rich assholes and wannabes. Others think it’s full of beach bums who listen to Jason Mraz with the windows down. I realize that many consider the fakest people to be residents of the City of Angels. And it’s all true. There are a bazillion different types of assholes here. And there’s so much more. The mysteries in the Topanga mountains mixed with the history of Hollywood is one of the many reasons I love this place. There’s always something new to discover. There’s always another adventure around the corner. And these stories I’ve told have barely scratched the surface of all that I love about LA.
“The city of LA is filled with fake wannabe assholes,” the Santa Barbara guy said, to which his girlfriend agreed.
“Yeah, everyone thinks they are celebrities, and the real celebrities are the worst,” she stated.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said, not wanting to argue with two assholes who didn’t see that they were calling the kettle black. But in truth, I knew that celebrities were people too, and should be treated as such.
Hollywood and LA might be full of a lot of pretentiousness. It’s been described as a “loose, sprawling mess with no grid to hold anyone responsible.” The people of LA might be viewed as desperate, always seeking a better appearance, placement, and position. Does all this obsession with fame create a lot of disconnected relationships? Probably. I know it’s fucking difficult to date in a place where everyone has so many options. And how are we ourselves if we’re constantly obsessing over image or enthralled by the images of others? But is that to say that we shouldn’t respect each other for who we are, even if who we are is a bit fake?
When we think about all the strange and ostentatious things LA people do, it’s because everyone is looking to this place for the next trend. In LA, we keep having to push the line, find the next new food and fashion design. Not all of them are wins, but the West Coast is one of the epicenters for showing the world what’s to come. That’s part of the reason that some of the behavior of its residents comes off in a way that makes us seem like such assholes, me included.
And keep this in mind: LA people could be worse. They could be from Orange County.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to all the readers out there who have supported my books. I wouldn’t be here writing this book if it wasn’t for you. It still shocks me that you all like to read my books. I waiting to wake up and realize this was all a dream.
When I had my first professional job, there was this older man named Bob and we got along great. Shocking right? I was twenty-two and hanging out with a sixty-year old mathematician. Anyway, Bob used to call me “Weird Girl.” I want to thank Michael Anderle for thinking that my weird girl tendencies are entertaining. If it wasn’t for your encouragement, I never would have written this book. Really, you’ve done so much to foster my career and I never, ever take it for granted.
Thank you to everyone at LMBPN for all you do to get the books to the readers. Steve, I couldn’t do this without your shepherding. Thank you to the editorial team and Jen for making me sound better. Thank you to the JIT team for always swooping in at the last minute.
Thank you to Jess and Jurgen for being my first readers. Your feedback is so helpful. And more than anything, I appreciate your friendship.
Jess, thanks for letting me steal your material. You will get a penny every time someone laughs at your jokes. No, I don’t know how to track that, but I’ll figure it out later. Actually, you’re the accountant. You do it.
Thank you to my amazing support network of friends and family. I have been blessed with so many wonderful friends who nurture me and also supply awesome fodder.
Thank you to so many out there who have been sending me tips and ideas for the book. The LMBPN Ladies group on Facebook has been amazing. I heart you all.
And lastly, thank you to my daughter. This is my thirty-eighth book and as with all of them, you have been my muse. You are my love.
Books By Sarah Noffke
Sarah Noffke, an Amazon Best Seller, writes YA and NA sci-fi fantasy, paranormal and urban fantasy. She is the author of the Lucidites, Reverians, Ren, Vagabond Circus, Olento Research, Soul Stone Mage, Ghost Squadron and Precious Galaxy series. Noffke holds a Masters of Management and teaches college business courses. Most of her students have no idea that she toils away her hours crafting fictional characters. Noffke's books are top rated and best-sellers on Kindle. Currently, she has thirty-three novels published. Her books are available in paperback, audio and in Spanish, Portuguese and Italian. http://www.sarahnoffke.com
Check out other work by Sarah here.
Ghost Squadron:
Formation #1:
Kill the bad guys. Save the Galaxy. All in a hard day’s work.
After ten years of wandering the outer rim of the galaxy, Eddie Teach is a man without a purpose. He was one of the toughest pilots in the Federation, but now he’s just a regular guy, getting into bar fights and making a difference wherever he can. It’s not the same as flying a ship and saving colonies, but it’ll have to do.
That is, until General Lance Reynolds tracks Eddie down and offers him a job. There are bad people out there, plotting terrible things, killing innocent people, and destroying entire colonies. Someone has to stop them.
Eddie, along with the genetically-enhanced combat pilot Julianna Fregin and her trusty E.I. named Pip, must recruit a diverse team of specialists, both human and alien. They’ll need to master their new Q-Ship, one of the most powerful strike ships ever constructed. And finally, they’ll have to stop a faceless enemy so powerful, it threatens to destroy the entire Federation.
All in a day’s work, right?
Experience this exciting military sci-fi saga and the latest addition to the expanded Kurtherian Gambit Universe. If you’re a fan of Mass Effect, Firefly, or Star Wars, you’ll love this riveting new space opera.
*NOTE: If cursing is a problem, then this might not be for you.
Check out the entire series here.
The Precious Galaxy Series:
Corruption #1
A new evil lurks in the darkness.
After an explosion, the crew of a battlecruiser mysteriously disappears.
Bailey and Lewis, complete strangers, find themselves suddenly onboard the damaged ship.
Lewis hasn’t worked a case in years, not since the final one broke his spirit and his bank account. The last thing Bailey remembers is preparing to take down a fugitive on Onyx Station.
Mysteries are harder to solve when there’s no evidence left behind.
Bailey and Lewis don’t know how they got onboard Ricky Bobby or why. However, they quickly learn that whatever was responsible for the explosion and disappearance of the crew is still on the ship.
Monsters are real and what this one can do changes everything.
The new team bands together to discover what happened and how to fight the monster lurking in the bottom of the battlecruiser.
Will they find the missing crew? Or will the monster end them all?
The Soul Stone Mage Series:
House of Enchanted #1:
The Kingdom of Virgo has lived in peace for thousands of years…until now.
The humans from Terran have always been real assholes to the witches of Virgo. Now a silent war is brewing, and the timing couldn’t be worse. Princess Azure will soon be crowned queen of the Kingdom of Virgo.
In the Dark Forest a powerful potion-maker has been murdered.
Charmsgood was the only wizard who could stop a deadly virus plaguing Virgo. He also knew about the devastation the people from Terran had done to the forest.
Azure must protect her people. Mend the Dark Forest. Create alliances with savage beasts. No biggie, right?
But on coronation day everything changes. Princess Azure isn’t who she thought she was and that’s a big freaking problem.
Welcome to The Revelations of Oriceran. Check out the entire series here.
The Lucidites Series:
Awoken, #1:
Around the world humans are hallucinating after sleepless nights.
