Welcome to CrystalCharee.com ! Click around and see what sick, twisted stuff she’s been up to. (Mostly watching cat videos on Facebook, so don’t be alarmed if you find nothing here.)
Crystal Charee has no idea what she’s doing. Writer, drawer, even, briefly, a stand-up comedian (everyone makes mistakes), Crystal Charee, like everyone on the planet, is figuring stuff out.
Born in Ohio, to drug-addicted, and insane parents, Crystal Charee is relatively functional. When she was three, Crystal moved her mother and her brothers to California, and raised them in a small, meth-centric town in the San Fernando Valley.
She’s not great at taking care of people, so the younger brother was hit by a car almost immediately and the older mother got cancer a few years ago. Both are dead, but Crystal is assured by well-meaning morons that the spirits of her lost loved ones are alive and with her. Crystal is NOT considering adopting a puppy.
Some say that Crystal’s way of expressing herself is inappropriate. In junior high, she was once assured by a close friend that, “Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor.” Crystal was glad that her hero, David Spade, was not around to hear that.
After graduating from high school, Crystal took a short (10-year long) break from society to became an agoraphobe. It’s good that she was always home, however, otherwise, she never would have gained the strength that a woman can only get from consuming a decade’s worth of Oprah episodes.
10 years later, Crystal got tired of waiting to be okay and went out and got a job. It was just as bad as she’d expected, but she persevered, went back to school, and after 5 years, graduated from Glendale Community College with an AA in English (and with a 4.0 GPA, she likes to point out).
Crystal lives in the San Fernando Valley, with her closest-living (for now) relative. She is currently working on a fantasy novel about a teenage girl and her best friend, a shapeshifting unicorn. Let’s see where that goes.
I hadn’t spoken to my mother in forever, but this morning, I whispered, “I miss you”. Words formed a cool mist, drifting toward the ceiling. Rather than dissipating, vapor permeated the pores in the paint and the wood above that, and then moved up, into the sky. They floated through the atmosphere and out into …
I’ve been working lately on not needing to explain myself. There’s a scene in the 10th Kingdom, where Virginia is having a meltdown and she says, “I still have this uncontrollable urge to just go up to people and say “My mother left me when I was seven!” You know, as if that would explain …
“Hey, who are you?” “I’m an owl. My name is Henry. Who are you?” “Samantha. You can call me Sam. Are you magical? There was a burst of light in the sky and then there you were. Where did you come from?” “Nice to meet you, Sam. I’m from a faraway planet. I’ve been flying …