The Devil Queen

How my wife and I sold our souls to the Queen Anne Victorian we tried to save.

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Location: Crow Mountain, Arkansas, United States

Synopsis: This is a cautionary tale. A seriously disturbed couple find the charming, old ruin of a Queen Anne Victorian in Russellville, Arkansas, and buy it for $1.00. They tore the roof off, cut it in half, and had it moved to some land they owned sixteen miles away because they didn't know any better. Since then, they have hired and fired contractors, had all of their tools stolen, re-wired, re-plumbed, insulated, and essentially rebuilt the entire house. Their only problem is that after four years it still isn't finished. Now they are tired, broke, and wonder what in the hell it is they've done to themselves. And, it's haunted.
(Last updated on April 3, 2008)

Press: Russellville Courier Article - December 2003, HGTV website article, AP story - October 2006, and Victorian Homes Magazine - February 2008 (link coming soon).
Art: From time to time, I receive requests for my art. If you would like to look at more of my art, go to The Failed Artist. If you would like to buy my art, email me. I am more than happy to answer any questions you might have. Thanks!

Friday, April 07, 2006

All Apologies

Over dinner the other night, my wife says, “I read the blog today.”


“You sound tense. It wasn’t nearly as amusing as it usually is.”

“It’s been a hell of week, hasn’t it,” I say.

“Yes, it has. We need a vacation.”

Yesterday and today have been the best days of the week so far.

Last night I had to work late (I’m loving these 11 hour days on salary) so I didn’t make it to the Queen for photos. I ran straight home so I could pay Kenny. Then, in the middle of the night, a severe thunderstorm came through and knocked the power out. I woke up an hour late and rushed to get out of the pitch-black house. Fortunately, I laid my clothes out the night before, but I skipped my shower (no hot water, no time, and no light).

I think I look pretty rough (unshaved, disheveled, no belt, blurry-eyed). Maybe I’m paranoid, but it seemed like everyone at the gas station was laughing at me (I don’t think they were, but you can never be sure). The thing that really bothers me is no one seems to notice. That means one of three things:

1) I don’t look as bad as I think I do.
2) The people I work with are very polite.
3) I actually look this bad all time and never noticed.

I’m hoping for number one, but I can’t be that lucky, can I?

Anyhow, sob stories and juvenile insecurities are no excuse for slaking off in such a shameless manner. I’m going to do better next week, I promise. There will be more house stuff, more how-to tips, more photos, and more suffering.

And, as part of effort to mend my slacker ways, I’ll try to get some sleep. I trashed an entire post this week because even I couldn’t figure out what I was saying. I just kept staring at the monitor thinking, “Is that English? What does that mean?”

I’ll stop while I’m ahead. Have a good weekend.


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