Nina: “I flippin’ hated selling makeup. Hated it. I answered Marty’s stupid ad out of desperation because I was broke and they were gonna turn off my cable. She made it sound like the road to Fort Knox was paved with Bobbie-Sue, and I fell for it. Which it was not, people. It sucked more ass than a good cleanse, and I sucked at it because I don’t give a ripe shit what’s in your color wheel.”
I snicker, because if you could see the picture in my mind of someone like Nina asking people about their color palettes, you’d bust a gut, too.
Dakota: “Ah, yes. A sure way to make my Nina cringe is to have someone ask ‘What’s In Your Color Wheel?’ one of the quirkier catchphrases from The Accidentals. But as much as Nina hates it, fans of the series turned it into a way to greet me at conventions and in emails. She also has a rather strange, intense loathing for the color yellow. This, too, is also something fans of the series have derived much pleasure in calling me to task about—all in good fun, of course.
“Anyway, if I’m honest, Nina despises most everything and everyone—or at least she pretends to.”
Nina glowers at me some more.
Nina: “Who said anything about pretending?”
I reach over my desk and pinch her cheeks because I know she hates it.
Dakota: “You totally know that’s not true. Just finish the story, Crabby Patty. Tell everyone where you are now in your life after nine books.”
Nina: “I’m mated to Greg now and have a baby girl named Charlie.”
Nina’s face is wreathed in smiles. It isn’t often she smiles, unless it’s when she’s leering maniacally at you, but if we’re talking about her baby and her husband, well, nothing makes her happier.
Dakota: “Oh, and as an aside, Charlie is a vampini—half genie, half vampire.”
Nina: “That she is. Thanks for that, Crazypants. Don’t get me wrong, I’d rip your intestines out through your belly button if you tried to hurt my kid, because I’m fekkin’ nuts about her. But not only is she perpetually teething because she’s half vampire and she ages slowly, she can also GD make things disappear. Any idea what it’s like trying to find that kid’s binky in a castle the size of mine?”
I snort right along with Marty and Wanda, who are trying to hide their snickers behind their hands. My only justification for Charlie is that it was a long night of writing and I couldn’t just give Nina a human baby, right?
Dakota: “Sorrysorrysorry. I’ll try to fix the teething thing in the next book. Carry on.”
Nina: “So, Greg, Charlie, and I live in a kooky castle on Staten Island. Yeah, I said castle. Cliché much, Writer? Anyway, it’s got a hedge maze. I don’t like to give you props, Boss, but that was definitely one of the cooler-ish additions to my story.”
Dakota: “Did you just give me my due, Nina? I feel faint.”
I blow her a kiss, one she snatches up with a fist and pretends to lob into the trash can in my office like it’s a basketball.
Nina: “Faint this. Anyway, we also have a zombie named Carl, who was living with a jacked-up witch doctor named Guido in a filthy shack when I found him. I saved my little buddy from a life of solitude and misery because Guido didn’t know what the hell to do with him.”
Dakota: “A sweet, sweet, non-Walking-Dead kind of zombie.”
Nina reaches into her hoodie pocket and pulls out a roll of duct-tape she always keeps on hand for Carl, in case he loses a body part, but she’s smiling again. Carl’s awesome. She knows it, and I know it.
But then she frowns, because how Carl came to be stems from one of my whims, and she thinks I spend entirely too much time being whimsical.
Nina: “Carl’s a product of another one of those moments Mark Twain here had. Somehow, in that head full of air of hers, she had another one of those stupid-ass ideas she’s always having. ‘Wouldn’t if be funny if I wrote a zombie named Carl who no one can keep track of and give him to Nina so she’s always freaking out and wondering where the hell he is? Ha. Ha.”
I sigh because it’s true. Much of what I write is born out of a “Wouldn’t it be funny if” factor.
Dakota: “I wrote him because often on my Facebook page, after watching The Walking Dead, I do updates, and we joked about our wish to have the character Carl turned into a zombie so the rest of the Walking Dead crew didn’t have to keep wondering, ‘Where’s Carl?’, or continually ask ‘Have you seen Carl?’
“He was my homage to all the fabulous people who participate in our discussions every Sunday night after the show airs, and you know that, Nina.”
I look out the window of my office, fighting a cringe because just the mention of Carl always makes me wonder exactly where he is…
Dakota: “Where is Carl, anyway?”
Nina: “He’s plenty fine. He’s in the car with Darnell and Arch. They’re teaching him duct-tape origami. So relax and let’s get this over with, huh? I’ll let you tell the readers all about what an uncensored, straightforward bitch I can be, but on the inside I really have a soft, gooey center when it comes to animals and kids and anyone who’s in need of some muscle—which is a load of shite. But go for it.”
She rolls her hand, ordering me to carry on.
But I point to her lap, where she has not one, but two of my furbabies, Pebbles and Milo, cuddling with her while Tallulah, my longhaired Chi, snuggles between Marty and Wanda.
Dakota: “Uh, case in point, Marshmallow.”
Nina: “Oh, blow me, Hemingway. Milo’s my good, good boy, aren’t you, buddy? Don’t listen to your nutbag mom.”
Milo’s my one-eyed, runt-of-the-litter Shi Tzu. A rescue from a parking lot where some guy was selling puppies. He was the last little dude standing, and no one was going to pay eight hundred dollars to take him home because his one eye is defective. So they were going to…well, you know. I swung a deal with this man and snatched up Milo. But truth be told, he’s the orneriest, most ungrateful, defensive little Napoleon ever.
Yet, here he sits with Nina, docile and as complacent as a newborn kitten. Huh.
Nina: “And look at this face on Princess Pebbles. Who’s the prettiest girl ever-ever? Tell your nutjob mother to hurry her ass up so Auntie Nina can get away from her before she gives me a rhinoceros with hemorrhoids or something.”
I rest my case. But I wink at Nina and bat my eyelashes. I had to soften her edges somehow. She had to have some kind of kryptonite, right? With all her bad language and unfiltered jabs at anyone with a pulse, she had to have a weakness. Animals, kids, and anyone in need or in trouble are her breaking points.
Dakota: “Where was I? Oh, muscle, yes. Nina is indeed the muscle of the group, and has helped me out of many a skirmish. That’s not to say Marty and Wanda aren’t equally as strong, but Nina’s the one most willing to put her dukes up first. However, my Nina, as dreadful as she can be, is the first person to defend you—especially if you’re a child or an animal or even Marty, who, whether she’ll admit it or not, is one of her best friends ever. She’s loyal to the bitter end and gets the job done, and when you become a part of her life, she’s on your side forever.”
Nina grates out a sigh of exasperation because I’ve pulled off her wolf’s clothing to reveal a little lamb and it makes her stabby.
Nina: “Oh, whatever. Just get on with it.”
Marty grabs Nina’s chin and gives her a big smooch on the cheek while Nina squirms in discomfort. But Marty just laughs it off and tweaks the tip of Nina’s nose.
Marty: “She’s the most disagreeable pain in the ass I know, but I love my bloodsucker like a hooker loves a roomful of college frats.”
Nina: “Shut the fuck up, ass-sniffer, and stop slobbering all over me.”
Marty rustles in her chair and winces, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
Marty: “Nina! Your language, please! Don’t forget to mention her potty mouth, Dakota. The readers should know she’s a creative swearer with a horrifying penchant for using the foulest language.”
Oh, dear. And here we go
again, folks…
Nina throws up her middle finger at Marty in typical Nina fashion. But trust me, there’s a lot of love between these two. Swear it.
Nina: “Zip it, Marty Flaherty, or I’ll pluck you right out of those damn Spanx so fast your eyeballs will bang into each other on the way out of your head—”
I give Nina the eye from across my desk and shake a finger at her—for all the good it does me.
Dakota: “Nina…I’m warning you. We had an agreement. I promised to write you a long vacation on some snow-covered mountaintop sans Marty’s big, annoying yap—your words, not mine—and absolutely no paranormal crises in sight if you behaved during this very important introduction. And as I recall, via that crass email you sent me, where I think you called me the Un-Shakespeare, you agreed. Now, I’ll remind you again, I wrote you. I can and will un-write you. Capice?”
Nina grits her teeth, clearly calling upon her very minimal anger management skills in light of our bargain. And trust when I tell you, there’ve been plenty of readers who’ve suggested Nina needs a muzzle due to her outspokenness and lack of filter.
Nina: “Fine. I guess you hold all the GD cards, don’t you, Ms. Author?”
I mock a curtsy and smile.
Dakota: “I do. And you have a trip you want to go on. So can it. Now, where was I? Oh, yes…brash, absolutely no filter, creative swearer blah, blah, blah. Wait! I forgot impatient as a toddler, and she totally shuns all things girlie even though she’s absolutely gorgeous. In a word, she’s polarizing. Either you love her or hate her.
“Thankfully, enough people loved her so much, she’s become an integral part of the books (you can read all about the people who hated her and her swearing in reviews—believe that). But please note: She’s also been working on her swearing, now that she has an impressionable little girl.”
Nina grumbles at me and makes a face.
Nina: “Eff you and your stupid bullshit threats, Dakota Cassidy. I’m sick and damn well tired of you holding shit over my head. How the fuck did you get a book published anyway, you tiara-wearin’ hack? What were you, like, Miss Mesozoic BC? It’s a miracle someone hasn’t stolen that keyboard right out from under your manicured fingertips and beat the shit out of you with it.”
Okay, so she’s a work in progress…
A loud gasp resonates in my office. Obviously, Wanda’s level of patience for all things decorum-less has reached its limit. Enter my gentle, kind, always-a-lady-but-will-kick-your-ass-if-need-be Wanda.
Wanda: “Nina! How dare you be so ungrateful! If not for Dakota, you wouldn’t have a husband who’s a bloody saint for putting up with you, or our precious Charlie. Now you sit back, hush your endlessly flapping gums, and like it!”
I snicker and clear my throat. You can always count on Wanda to rein in Nina. Wanda’s like Nina’s Beast Whisperer. She rarely argues with Wanda, and I attribute that to the mother figure Wanda has grown into since the series began. Both Marty and Nina are motherless, and Wanda fills a need in them no one else quite can.
Anyway…
Dakota: “This, lovely readers, is Wanda Schwartz-Jefferson. Also, at one point, a Bobbie-Sue rep along with Nina and Marty, and she’s what the girls fondly call a halfsie.”
Nina snorts.
Nina: “Sometimes you gotta laugh at the shit I come up with, huh, Dakota?”
Marty: “You didn’t come up with it, Mistress of the Dark. Dakota did.”
Nina gears up to rise from her chair and loom threateningly over Marty. She does this a lot. You’ll get used to it. I know I keep saying this, but really, to know her is to love her.
I stop her by tapping my desk impatiently with a stray bottle of nail polish and giving everyone a scowl—which means shut it and knock off the arguing.
Dakota: “Wanda from book three, The Accidental Human, is a halfsie because she’s half vampire, half werewolf thanks to her mate, Heath. Tell everyone how you ended up where you are today, Wanda.”
Wanda smiles at me as she strokes my dog Tallulah’s head, tucking her cute purse under her chair with her conservatively heeled shoe.
Wanda: “First, hellllooooo, lovely readers! I hope you’ll join us on our adventures. Now, here’s my story. I continued my career with Bobbie-Sue even after Marty moved to Buffalo and married Keegan, and Nina left the company to marry Greg. I met my mate, Heath Jefferson, and his ever-faithful manservant Archibald, when Heath was down on his luck after losing his vampire sire and was forcibly returned to human form.
“He answered my ad in the newspaper to sell Bobbie-Sue Cosmetics because he was broke after all his money disappeared, much like his vampirism. And he was an amazing salesperson. The women he sold to loved him, much to my dismay. But when we met, I was dying of ovarian cancer. However, Heath saved the day—”
Wanda throws a ladylike hand in the air and shakes her head.
Wanda: “Oops. Sorry, Dakota, I almost over-explained it. Stick to the plan. Just the facts, please, right? We’ve already had enough outbursts for one day. Really, Nina, the Un-Shakespeare? Could you be any ruder? There’s just no teaching you, is there?”
Wanda shoots Nina a look of utter disapproval.
But I just laugh and nod. While Nina is censor-less, Wanda is incredibly sensitive and calm.
Dakota: “My bad. I was so grateful for an easier introduction than you-know-whose, I almost let you. So tell us a little about your life now, Wanda. Are you happy?”
Wanda: “I’m sick with joy. As I said, I’m now mated to Heath, we live with Archibald, who’s still human and handles our household matters, has a penchant for the Food Network, loves a good mystery, and is very British.”
I clap my hands in delight.
Dakota: “Well done, Wanda! But because she’s so modest and selfless, she forgot to mention she’s just as elegant and coiffed as beautifully as Grace Kelly, and possesses amazing manners. Sometimes she can be a little uptight, but who wouldn’t be uptight when they’re the only thing standing between Marty and Nina chewing each other’s faces off? She’s the peacemaker and the nurturer of the group.”
Wanda nods and graces me with a beaming smile.
Wanda: “Thank you, Dakota, and thank you for being so fair with me when you write me in times of utter distress. Oh, and for my Heath. I can’t thank you enough for my Heath.”
Nina: “Oh, please, suck up. Could you be any more kissy-ass? Jesus, Wanda—”
Dakota: “Remember mountains, Nina, and no Marty. Tread lightly, Vampire.”
Nina makes a face at me, but begrudgingly as always, zips her lip.
Dakota: “So, I think it’s fair to say the girls have been through a lot together in nine books. Add in Darnell the demon, Archibald the manservant who’s now, nine books later, like a grandfather to all the paranormal offspring born since the series began, and Carl the zombie, and that about rounds out the cast of the most frequent visitors to The Accidentals. Right, ladies?”
Marty, Nina, and Wanda nod as I blow out a long-overdue breath and prepare to wrap up this batch of crazy while I still have all my hair.
Dakota: “So we’re good here, yes, girls? Because I need a drink. Wait, maybe I need a vat full of booze after dealing with my crabby vampire.”
Marty leans forward and tugs the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
Marty: “You’re forgetting OOPS.”
Nina rolls her eyes in typical exasperation.
Nina: “If only it was that damn easy to forget.”
I’m choosing to ignore Nina because for all the complaining she does about OOPS, she truly loves working with her friends and helping other folks who’ve had an accidental paranormal crisis make their way in their crazy new worlds.
Dakota: “Oh, yes! OOPS. OOPS is an acronym for Out in the Open Paranormal Support. My husband Rob thought that up—you know, as sort of a snark on ‘Oops, I turned you into a vampire? My supreme bad?’ He’s sooo clever.”
Nina rolls her dark eyes even harder, making sure I see her disconten
t. Because if Nina’s unhappy, ain’t nobody supposed to be happy, and as you’ve witnessed, you can count on her sharing that with you.
Nina: “Yeah, he’s a real dreamboat. Get on with this shit, would you? My Marty-less mountain retreat awaits.”
I smile and wink at Nina because I know it makes her crazy. I’d pinch her cheeks again, too, but it’s probably the surest way to lose a finger at this stage of the game.
Dakota: “Okay so, OOPS is the group the girls founded after book four (I think), when they realized they might not be the only accidental paranormals out there. They wanted to offer support to folks who might have encountered the same kind of terror they each experienced when they were turned. They figured not only could they utilize and share their experiences, having each suffered a supernatural trauma, but possibly help with any adjustments a new paranormal might encounter.
“They started up a fancy website and social media accounts on both Twitter and Facebook, and they’ve handled many paranormal crises since. And that’s where they are as of today—running OOPS in a small basement Marty rented in the middle of Manhattan. Which is also what they’re doing when Accidentally Aphrodite opens.”
Nina: “You forgot the part about how we’re always handling all those stupid crank calls you think up, Writer.”
I know Nina hates the crank calls, but here’s the thing, it’s realistic, I tell you!
Dakota: “Well, it wouldn’t be at least a little realistic if I didn’t shoot a crank call or two at you, now would it, Nina? I mean, c’mon. A hotline for people who’ve been accidentally turned into a demon screams ‘crank calls’ for days.”
Nina snorts and makes yet another face.
Nina: “Right. How could I forget your artsy-farsty desire to steep vampires and werewolves in realism? What the eff was I thinking?”
Marty gasps, something both she and Wanda do often when Nina’s frank take on life spews from her pretty mouth.
Marty: “What is wrong with you lately, Elvira? I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve been snappish and crabbier than usual. Is it because you’ve toned down all that swearing? Are you frustrated? Spit out the problem so we can get on with this story. Oh, and Dakota? Can you please write me a little taller this next book? You know, so when Nina looms over me like Frankenvamp, I can pop her in the mouth and not get a crick in my neck?”
accidental 09.5 - interview with an accidental Page 2