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“Discovering Your Maine Heritage” –A Dark Shadows Story

by Barbara Lien-Cooper and Park Cooper

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Transcript: Discovering Your Maine Heritage (Episode 95 (S5 E15) now with added Update)

Findley (vocal over images of trees, the Portland skyline, waves breaking on rocks): …You’re watching Channel 10, Portland’s own public television station.

Findley (a thin, elderly man with silver hair and a white beard and glasses, wearing slacks and a sweater and a blazer and loafers) (outside a large mansion, with a slight breeze blowing): I’m James Findley, and as always, I’m your host… for Discovering Your Maine Heritage.

Findley (vocal over sitting at a large wooden library table near a large window with a man in his late 30s, with brown hair and haunted eyes): I’m here today with David Collins, of Collinsport, Maine. We’re exploring David’s family history.

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“I Hate Asparagus” –a story set in the SONG TO THE SIREN series

 “I Hate Asparagus,” by Barb Lien-Cooper

(based on a piece of writing advice by Shirley Jackson)

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“I hate asparagus,” Louise MacNamara said to the kitchen clock on the wall.

All the clock said in response was tick, tick, tick.

“10:03 already. The morning’s just slipped away from me… I simply must get to the grocery store. …Where is my list…?”

She found it by her purse. “Milk, eggs, bacon, bread…” she said out loud.

And asparagus.

“I hate asparagus,” Louise said.

Asparagus was always a difficult vegetable to get right, her mother had always told her. Cook it too little, it’s chewy. Cook it too much, and it’s bitter and slimy.

I’m bitter because my husband is slimy, Louise thought.

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DS Fiction: “Mysterious Circumstances”

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by Barbara Lien-Cooper

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“You look troubled,” I said to Roger. “And you’ve hardly eaten your food.  It seems silly to bring me to one of the most lovely restaurants in Bangor and then not touch a bite of your food…”

“Ah, well, you’re far lovelier than this place, my dear…” said Roger.

I smiled at him.  Roger might not have been other women’s romantic ideal; he was balding, and his countenance often seemed grim.  But he had a fine mind, and he’d always been every bit the gentleman, especially to me.  I’d known him for almost five years.  We’d met soon after his first wife, Laura, had died under mysterious circumstances; he’d come to Bangor on business.  He always seemed to have a lot of financial reasons to visit Bangor, something to do with his family’s business ties…  He wasn’t the owner of whatever company or companies his family owned—his sister Elizabeth seemed to have the lion’s share of the stock in the concern, and he just managed things.  I once asked Roger about the family’s financial arrangements… he told me quite honestly that he’d spent his money on having fun.  Since he didn’t like talking about it, I was never sure quite what the family business was—something to do with lumber, or canneries, or perhaps both… “I appreciate the comment, Roger, but it concerns me that you’re not eating.”

“Family troubles again,” said Roger.

“When is it anything else?  Is it David again?”

“No, not my son, not this time…”

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His Way

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by Barbara Lien-Cooper and Park Cooper

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For Randy M. Chertow

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1968 was a watershed year, people say. But it didn’t feel like it to me at the time, stuck behind my desk the way I was.

My career always consisted of being stuck behind a desk. During the halcyon days of the studio system, I’d been a big man. I’d worked with everyone from Errol Flynn to Jerry Lewis (I still don’t like thinking about working with Lewis). But TV killed the old studio system. I thought, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” and I got a programming job with NBC. Not the worst job, but I resented where I ended up.

“I know nothing about teenagers or their tastes,” I protested. “I’m an old white guy. I like Cole Porter and Frank Sinatra.”

“Believe me, Charlie, so do I,” my boss’d said to me. “But no one else around here knows what these crazy teenagers like either, so it might as well be you, so it’s either you do this job, or you retire.”

I couldn’t imagine retiring. Retirement meant death. I’d seen too many old executives retire and then fall over of a heart attack.  I liked living, so I took on the job like my life depended on it, which I felt like it did. 

“Charlie, we think we have a winner here,” my boss said to me one day. “It’s Elvis Presley—he’s interested in doing a TV special. Or at least that’s what his manager, Colonel Tom Parker, says. So read through this script and tell us what you think.”

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“A Little Witch in Every Woman” — A Dark Shadows Story

In the great house of Collinwood, in the study, Julia Hoffman sat reading a book. It was a psychiatric book about new techniques in group therapy for which she’d promised to write a review for a scholarly journal.

She had trouble keeping her mind on it, though. Its language was no more dry and academic than any other book of its type—perhaps a little better, really—but even though there was a pleasant fire burning in the study’s fireplace, the wind was blowing just enough that the sound of the phenomenon called “The Widows” was occasionally happening.

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“Toujours” — A Dark Shadows Story

by Barb Lien-Cooper

FOREWORD:

Like a lot of Dark Shadows fans, I was not a fan of the character of Roxanne Drew. I eventually realized that the reason I had no emotional connection to her was that she had just sort of showed up one day in Parallel Time. Usually, when the DS writers introduced a new character, the new character either had a major tie to the Collins family, or a tie to a character on the show that wasn’t a Collins, or the new character would be a major player in the plot that was going to be introduced. None of this seemed to properly apply to Roxanne. The writers had Barnabas say he was falling in love with her, and we, the viewers, were just supposed to accept that idea.

I said to my husband once that I had an idea for a story concerning how Roxanne could’ve been introduced to the audience in a way that might have worked better, which is how this story came to be.

However, much later, as I was writing this story, the idea I had turned into something else: the story of a very unusual friendship.

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“Guidance Counseling” — A Dark Shadows Story

Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes stared into the fire of the drawing room.

My father is dead, she thought. My husband is dead. But no one cares but me. My mother has gone on with her life, which isn’t surprising, since she and Father separated years ago. My uncle doesn’t care, because he never liked my father nor my husband. Cousin David doesn’t care, because he’s so young—at that age, everything is about him. Cousin Barnabas is too busy spending time with Dr. Hoffman to care, whatever it is that those two do together… Cousin Quentin is too busy dating whoever he’s dating right now to care… Isn’t family supposed to care when someone’s grieving?

She barely noticed when her uncle Roger came into the room and poured himself a brandy.

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A Dark Shadows Story: “Barnabas Collins and the Queen of Swords”

In a room in the basement of the Old House, Barnabas Collins pushed open the lid of his coffin.

To his surprise, he found, cleverly tied to the side of the lid with twine, a tarot card.

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A Dark Shadows Story: “Go Back To Your Grave”

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(Author’s Note: Technically, Jeremiah Collins is arguably some sort of zombie/ghost hybrid on Dark Shadows.

However, I decided to make him more specifically a ghost, because if the characters saw a zombie, they’d probably try to do something about it, like—at the very least—calling Professor Stokes. Since the show gave me enough wiggle room concerning Jeremiah’s corporeality, I chose to make him a wandering spirit who can no longer be seen by the living.)

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Jeremiah was in the drawing room, sitting dejectedly by the fire.

Roger Collins and Elizabeth Collins Stoddard were arguing about some business decision Roger wished to make. “Roger,” said Elizabeth, “I am the head of this household, as well as the head of the Collins business empire, so what I say goes. This discussion is at an end.”

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A Dark Shadows Story: The Stuff Nightmares Are Made Of

Tony Peterson sat in his law office in Bangor, Maine, thinking about how far he’d come in such a short period of time. I went from trying to sue the Collins family for a worker’s injury—and lost— he thought, to moving to Bangor and starting over again with this practice. The clients kept pouring in, as if by magic…

Tony shuddered a bit at the word magic. He did not want to think about Cassandra Collins, and the love spell she’d put on him to bend him to her will…

He was shaken out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. “It’s open,” he called.

Tony’s secretary Effie came in with a package. “Today’s post had something unusual in it,” she said. “There’s no return address, but the name on the package just says ‘Cassandra…’”