THREE THINGS: WARMTH, WRITING AND CARNIEPUNK

Travel (Warmth)

Last week the family took a quick trip down to Arizona. When we left Anchorage it was 8 degrees and snowing, and the forecast was for more of the same. When we arrived in Arizona, we were told it was cold (haahaahaaa - 75 degrees), but it felt amazing.

It's hard to describe to someone who doesn't live here how draining six months of not being able to bare your skin to the outside air or walk a block without fear of falling - if you can find a sidewalk that's been plowed well enough to walk on.

We had an excellent few days. Played in the pool. Walked everywhere we could. Hung out with writer friends Kevin Hearne (and family) and Tiffany Allee (and husband - sorry if we gave you the plague, dude). Ate tacos by the bushel. The kid got a ball at the Diamondbacks game (thanks, Nieves!).

Writing

A few weeks ago I finished the rough first draft of a near-future sci fi mystery thingie. After a few weeks of crawling through major clean-up, I've sent it off to my wonderful beta readers. Here's hoping they are kind in their scathing critiques. :-)

CARNIEPUNK!

From what I've seen around the Interwebs, Carniepunk ARCs (advanced reader copies) have landed in the hands of reviewers and bloggers. I should be receiving a couple of copies soon, so watch this space because I'll probably need to do some kind of giveaway.

CUISINE AT THE END OF THE WORLD

When I was growing up, in a small town in Alaska during the early 1980's, my parents didn't buy milk in a carton. Nor did they grow milk plants and harvest/drain the pods (ten points to whoever names the origin on that reference - I'm certain I can't remember). They bought powder, added it to water, and mixed it...often with poor results. Want to know what a dry lump of partially-reconstituted milk feels like in your mouth? Like a spore of Hell has landed on your tongue, that's what.

Why would parents subject their children to such a thing? Because it was less expensive than liquid milk, and had a long shelf-life. Those were the sorts of things we had to pay attention to in a place where almost all food stuffs were imported, and the import schedule was erratic. At the time, I thought the manufacturers of the stuff (Nestle, I think) were sadists. Now, in light of the (probably) impending zombie apocalypse, I think they might be geniuses.

For all the changes in the world and Alaska during my lifetime, we still can't grow much food here. Sure, there are animals and delicious fish, but the growing season is short and cool. We can grow 100 pound cabbages, but grains are tricky, and don't get me started on fruit. Also, some of those animals kill people on occasion. 

So, in the event of the end of the world, what would we have? I'm presuming here that the final curtain call will be preceded by a period of energy scarcity on such a scale that manufacturing ceases, etc. etc. We'd have massive Brassicacaeae, moose steaks (here's a how-to if you want to make your own), salmon, and tart berries. I sense scurvy in my future, unless a couple of Jamba Juices survive and start delivering. Which would be awesome btw, a perky little badass Jamba juicer hellbent on delivery in a Mad Max world. Quick - somebody go write that.

So, for all you authors of apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic prose, where's the food coming from? Are all your characters hoarding Twinkies and raiding the 7-11 at the end of the world, or are they growing and harvesting? And what are you planning to live on, should the end times come a-callin'?

The Great SSSS of 2010

Just went on a spree...a submission spree. A short story submission spree, to be precise (and because I can now refer to this throughout the remainder of this post as The Great SSSS of 2010). Two short stories got a spit polish, pep talk and a little checkered kerchief filled with pemmican and cans of beans to tie to a stick and carry over their shoulder, before being rudely thrust back into the world. (FYI, if you google "hobo children" under images, you get some really weird pictures, including a movie poster for "Hobo with a Shotgun" and whatever this is.) They are, respectively, one-time and two-time rejects.

A third short is going out for the first time, all wide-eyed and nervous about its new outfit. It's an odd one, written to a high-context anthology prompt, and I had a big, red devil of a time writing it. It's set in the 1920s, and I wanted a contemporary sound in the prose, especially the dialog. I think I might have captured that. At least, it moves to a different rhythm in my head when I read it. I also wanted modern urban fantasy events portrayed with a noir fiction sensibility that didn't feel too dark. The anthology asked for "fun" stories, and while I consider dark noir fun, I don't think that's the universal consensus.

I think one of the reasons I love reading noir is that it's not intuitive to me. I don't have an innate talent for writing it well (I know, I know - we could say that I don't have an innate talent for writing anything well, but we won't, because that would be colossally rude.) which makes me appreciate it that much more.

So, off my three little pups go. I hoped I packed enough beans to get them through the journey.