The purpose of the blessed is to walk into the darkness that the damaged cannot return to.

This was something I wrote on Facebook four years ago today. I still think it a fine measure.

I don’t know if there is such thing as a perfect day, but for me it would have to start with a spring day in Los Angeles.

Today was one of those days. Highs in the upper 60s, so not quite shorts-and-t-shirt weather (unless you’re working in the sun). but close enough. Also cool enough at night to wear a proper coat, which is an issue with LA and the warmer parts of the year. Often it is so hot that wearing any kind of jacket, even at 2:00 in the morning, is just too much.

Beyond the fashion limitations of my adopted home town, what I like about this time of year is the newness. The expectations. I saw people in their late 20s or early 30s moving into apartments today, and I enjoying seeing their hopes and aspirations made real. It’s not a dream any more when you pack up everything you own, stuff it into a moving van, and drive for hundreds of miles. Shit just got very real. And I deeply appreciated their realness manifested in my city. It didn’t hurt that it was the perfect day for it.

I have some wonderful memories from the time when I realized I was actually going to make it in LA. I could really do this thing. Moving to LA had not been easy for me emotionally, although physically it could not have been smoother. I literally moved in with my best friend. Still, there was a while where I wasn’t sure if my LA experiment was going to work, or if I would be forced to go back to Fresno, tail between my legs. In a very real sense, making it here was a sign of independence, as if I had unlocked some kind of adult achievement. I can’t recall a specific time that this happened, it was more like a slow realization, that likely took place over many years, but still I would like to associate this feeling with Spring anyway, and so I do.

There comes a moment in a person’s life when their future begins to eclipse their past. I don’t mean that in some kind of a motivational poster sense. This isn’t me trying to make you feel better. This is a thing that happens when your negative thoughts are eventually overcome, and then subsumed, by positive ones. Perhaps the negative thoughts are drowned, except (at least in my experience) the damn things don’t always stay dead. Still, it is a weird thing to wake up one day and realize you are happy. Not for any particular reason, just that you are not longer unhappy.

And I think this is one of the things that Spring does for me. I am suddenly warm, for no reason I can ascertain. It’s just that I wake up one morning and know that shorts will be a better fit for the day instead of pants. And at no point, while I’m running around doing errands–like going to the grocery store or the library, do I feel the chill of Winter. And it is this part that is important. I am no longer cold, which to my brain translates almost directly as “I am no longer unhappy.”

Not every Spring day is perfect for this. Some are too hot, some are too cold, but every once in a while one comes along–like that girl discovered in the story about the three bears–that is just right. Today was that day for me, and I am exceedingly happy.

For a little over 10 years now I’ve been working on being an overnight sensation. So far it’s been bupkis. Nothing. Zip. I have this feeling things are starting to change. Don’t know why, I just do. Mind you, I have zero evidence for this. People are not suddenly running to buy my shit. Still…we’ll have to see.

Time will tell, as they say.

In the mean time, I have a few stories I am working on, and they are by far the best I have ever written. My novel, which I broke into a trilogy, has just completed a minor rewrite. There are a few areas that needs some finessing, and I don’t quite know how to fix them yet, but I can feel the solutions to them coming along, like ghosts whispering in my dreams. Hopefully they will arrive soon.

In any case, I remain busy. Something will eventually break.

Spring is here.

We have a neighbor who was old when we moved here 21 years ago. She is 99 now, and on the last part of her journey. I got to visit with her today. It was very strange, and a little sad. I swear the clock ticking on the wall sounded like it was counting out her last moments. Still, it was nice to hold her hand, and listen to her wisdom. She worried many times what to do about her pigs that she left behind when her family had to follow the retreating Germans out of Ukraine in 1944. She had 3-4 cows, two nice horses, and two pigs. All of them they had to give away. It greaves her still. She had to leave the house when they slaughtered the pigs. The sound was too much for her. She also had to leave her 6 month old baby son behind when the left because as he was very sick. They were afraid he would not make it. Rightly so. After the war she told me some days she and her husband would work hard all day for a slice of bread. She didn’t see her son again until the 90s.

Sonya is now bed-ridden, with round the clock care. One of her caretakers was happy to be upbeat about God and her purpose in life; nattering on about stupid bullshit. “Oh, but there is a plan. God is not through you with yet.” That kind of thing.

After the caretake left, and Sonya told me the same thing she had said to the caretaker, “Life is not fair,” I didn’t argue with her, but agreed, whole-heartedly. Life is unfair, there is struggle at every turn. That’s how it is.

Sonya’s face is now puffy, her body is shriveled, and every breath a damp sounding wheeze. Just drinking a sip of water through a straw was exhausting for her. Her memory is not so good either. I had to tell her four times how Teri (my wife) is doing, and three times how our son is doing. I don’t mind. I gave a slightly different answer each time. She liked the longer ones. Sonya didn’t want to hear that Teri was fine, what she wanted was to hear all the stupid little things that we are filling our life with at this current moment. When you are near the end of your time, hearing about other peoples minor dramas is apparently calming.

When you think about it, this makes total sense. Sonya is stuck in a bed, with a mind that she cannot rely upon any more, and a body that is so reduced that getting a shower, or sitting in a wheel chair outside in the sun so your hair can dry is the highlight of your week. Otherwise, life is just sitting in a room, with four walls that have got to feel like they are closing in, and a clock that keeps ticking, and ticking. The rest of the world now carries on without you. You can only live it vicariously, via briefs glimpses through your bedroom window, or the short visits of neighbors and friends. This is remarkably similar to how we treat prisoners.

If I was in her shoes, OF COURSE, I would be saying life is unfair. It is unfair. That doesn’t mean we can stop and cry like children, we still have to keep moving, but I’m not going to lie to a woman who has faced far more dangers than I ever will, and I certainly am not going to deny her experience because it is uncomfortable, or goes against my religion.

Let me tell you, old people can be very real. Shut up and pay attention. Your turn will come along soon enough, if you are lucky to live that long.

March is here, and with it is spring. Spring has always been my favorite season. I should probably specify, Spring in general. The March version of Spring I find by-and-large a little too cold and wet for my tastes. Late March, as in after the equinox, offers a much nicer version of Spring. The days will be warmer and longer, and the nights not as cold.

March is also the month my sister Laura was born. For a long time she was the only person I knew born in this month, so naturally every time the month rolls around I am reminded of her. That doesn’t mean I’ll get a present to her in time this year, let’s not got too carried away. Even though it’s still many weeks away, a big happy birthday to her.

My goal when I started 2023 was to have my novel Mind The Slice out in Beta by the time I turned 60 at the end of January. I missed that date by about a week, so not bad. Already I’ve received notes from quite a few people. If you’re following along, then please keep reading. I’m still several weeks to a month our from starting those edits. Maybe even longer. The suggestions have been super helpful.

Beyond tuning up MTSl, I’ve been speedily working on its follow up, MTS2. That’s what has been taking up most of my writing time each morning. So far I really like how it’s developing. I have much to learn before MTS2 can be finished, so I’m already getting books for my research. Topic include: Why humanity is so fucked up; the basics of the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy process; and a few shortcuts into the history and culture in some random places on the planet. So far it look like I have one character from Lagos, and another from some undetermined part of China. Germany and France are also on the list, but that might change. Only the first two places are somewhat set. The rest will probably be laid down as needed.

I know how many humans I’m dealing with for the first third of the novel, but until I have all the issues laid down I’m not sure about all of their origins. I often have to write a chapter to find out about them. Oh, I know in a general sense, but its not until I sit down and write about a person that I learn all the small details that makes them come alive.

For me the process is a bit like driving across the country. If you were going from Los Angeles to Texas, you don’t need to know the specific address of your hotel when you first start off. Heading east is good enough. It’s only as you get closer that you need to know things more specifically; what part of state is the town in, which off-ramp do you take, which street is it on? It’s only when you are within blocks of your hotel that you need to looks at street numbers. In much this way, I write a story, starting from general to specific, letting the story and characters play out, and then going back and adding detail as necessary.

So far I know that MTS2 starts with 6 people, plus an extra (our girl Lilah), all packed on a space ship going to somewhere. Various robots are also along for the ride. I knew roughly where they were headed, but didn’t realize they were accelerating well over 40gs until I needed to stop and find a website for calculating distance, time, and speed. In the final novel this will feel natural, because it will come up in a natural way, but at the time I was writing it was an entire surprise, which meant I had to go back and edit a few previous sentences to make the unknown suddenly become cannon. Basically my job is to come up with problems and then walk my characters though them (or around them, or under them).

Speaking of problems, I’m also going back though some old stories, as I hinted at last week, with the idea of cleaning them up or otherwise making them useful. Little Miss Free Market is one of them, but there are a few more that I will go over in the next couple of months. If MTS2 starts to slow I’ll just jump on those. I’ve got lots of idea, far more than I have time to write, but good ideas that will make an excellent story are rare and need to be cultivated.

That’s it for now. There is much going on behind the scenes, and my work life is going though some big changes. Nothing scary, just a slight change up of clients, which is a constant for me. As an accountant once told us, “The freelance lifestyle is not for those who cannot handle a little chaos in their finances.” After 30 years of this I’m well acquainted with the ups and downs. Thanks to my wife (who manages the money for our circus) things remain nice and smooth.

Until next time.

Lots of chore-like things going on over here. I’ve gotten feedback from a few readers already on the Mind The Slice beta. One of them from a young woman who is like 12, and already an author herself. If you’re still reading along, keep going. This is not a race. I’m not going to touch revisions for a while, I’m too busy with other projects. Please send in your thoughts and ideas. All of it is helpful.

As I mentioned in the previous post, Book 2 for the Mind The Slice trilogy has been started. It’s going at a good pace right now. Don’t know how long that will last. Before I started it I finished up another story I had dug deep into and stopped. The story was like 2/3 done. It didn’t have a clear ending, but I really liked the main character. Little Miss Free Market. She is very punky. So while I was finishing up MTS I had a few ideas. Going back to that story turned out to be easy, and suddenly I knew how to bring it home. It’s still not quite done. I need to give it to a few people to read over. There are things that I’m not sure about yet, but all the parts are there.

Then this morning I looked at another story of mine, called Burning the Forest and decided it was ready to send. So off it went to Beneath Ceaseless Skies. We’ll see what they say.

Part of why I like Burning The Forest comes from scratching a long itch. I’d been trying to envision what the First Nations would have been like without the disastrous effects of colonialism. I’m not comfortable writing a modern day First Nations story as I really don’t know anything about the First People, except in a very casual way. I mean I’ve read some histories, but I am not of those people. The same holds for a history about them as well. Again, not my culture. However, if you were to take all of the people from today, and cast them far into future, with a culture that is much more sensitive to nature, now that I could take swing at. Thus were born the Kalata with their twin gods Raven and Ou-Ha.

But there’s more to it that that. I started this story right when a very large fire began burning through a part of the state I am fond of. I had grown up in those hills, learned to race sailboats on those lakes, backpacked on many of the same trails, tore my ACL skiing on the nearby slopes. In a very real sense I had a connection to that land, and it was burning.

For like a week my facebook feed was photo after photo of the damage as friends from back home described the destruction. I grieved along with them. Their loss felt like mine. There was this great swelling of collective grief, and I didn’t know what do to with it.

Except, I did know. I am a writer, and what I do is write. So I took those same forests that played such a large part of my growing up, and I envisioned them managed by a people who were such bad-asses when to came to fire that not a single tree would be harmed unless they allowed it.

Thus Raven became a fire god, and the people, the Kalata became fierce protectors of the forest. But also fierce burners. The Katala purify everything with fire. They keep their forest healthy because they routinely burn it. And not just the forest, the Kalata burn everything.

So I had a bunch of fire starters, and I had a bunch of communal grief. Now all I needed was someone to experience it. Thus was born, Brin, a young man who is an outsider and an orphan, and is right on the cusp of manhood. But most importantly, he is an artist. I brought Brin right up to the edge of understanding himself, but not quite. Then I pushed him over.

This is his opening:

There are four faces you will wear when you enter the house of the dead.

First you will put on disbelief. This is the face of searching for your loved ones and not finding them. Those who have been to the house of the dead will look on with sad acceptance, but you will not have that face. You will search with false belief, long after it is time to give up.

The second face you will put on is anger. When your loved one cannot be found you will feel cheated, something of yours has been taken. Wearing this face you will lash out at others, at anything that might have kept you from your love. This is not a pleasant face, but the people around you will take comfort in knowing that the things which burn fierce, burn short.

The third face you will put on is the face of the merchant. You will weigh all your possessions and attempt to exchange them for the return of your love. We all know the path to death goes in only one direction, still we attempt to trade the better parts of our life for theirs. Please, we beg, I will give all my trophies, my fine furs, my house made to burn with the others, all for one moment with them in my arms again. Always this will fail.

The forth face you will put on is hopelessness. This is the face of the fire that cannot be started, the spark that cannot grow. All that you have done to return your love will have failed. Your hope for their return will slowly fade until it drops to a tiny spark, and finally by Raven’s mercy, it will be sucked down to darkness, stillborn and cold. This is the the last step on the path of grief; the thin stream of smoke that comes from an ember after it has died.

From this point forward you will wear your own face, but it is also the face of sad acceptance. You will have fought, and screamed, and demanded, and cried, until finally there is no other face for you to wear. It is your own face, but now it is lined with sadness, like the wrinkles around the eyes of an elder.

This is how we age. Our faces collect the scars of those we have loved and have passed from us, until finally our faces have no more room for scars. Then Ou-Ha in her mercy pulls us down from the fires of this world, and into the stream of forgetfulness. There in her memoryless waters we will twist and turn deeper and deeper until we come back again to the spring called rebirth, and are born once more, our faces unlined and round.

This is why we forget the fire and the pain of our birth, for we are still wet with forgetfulness, and why each birth lines the face of every mother with the knowledge of their child’s coming death. We are born from sadness to sadness, for this is the path of fire, the path of Raven. It is the foreknowledge that Raven will consume everything with his hot breath except for the grey ash of regret.

From the funeral rites at the Ou-Ha temple in Kalata.

After much mulling I started working on the second book in this series. My working title is Fight From The Inside. Don’t know if that will stick or not. Don’t care. Yesterday I spent my writing time roughing an outline, and getting some of the ideas from my head to the paper. I do this a lot on a novel. Writing ideas down seems to make them more real, and causes me to think through all of the ramifications. Like how fast do the IFB’s ships travel? Where do they meet? Etc.

So today, after having a rough idea how and where to start, I decided to let Lilah lose again and see what she had to say. 1,400 words later I ran out of time, but not ideas. Lilah has opinions, and she doesn’t have issues with expressing them. Normally I average maybe 1000 words/day, so this was an unexpected gush. It was also a lot of fun. What I wrote will need a lot of editing, there’s all kinds of junk in there and repartition, and so forth, but honestly I’m very happy to dive in.

All that to say, Book 2 has begun.