In which I drop vague hints, recount a trip to Aurohn Lake this past weekend, and discuss the appeasement of local gods.
The past few weeks have been extremely busy. I’ve had to set aside almost all other writing and editing projects (yes, The Spring Chap being one of them — all apologies to those of you who are waiting patiently) in order to finish up a number of things for a . . . well, I’m not sure what to call it, really. All I know at this point, all I can say is that one of my books has gotten some attention from an unexpected area. Conversations with very nice people are ongoing. At times it’s quite exciting. At other times I cannot help but think of il gatto e la volpe.
This is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night, pacing and talking to myself. Rest assured that when things solidify a bit, one way or another, I’ll have more to say about it here.
With all of that going on, it was nice to take some time out this past weekend for a visit to Aurohn Lake. I brought along the copy of Burrough’s A Princess of Mars that I’d gotten for Ken. I’ll be reading it at the same time he will be, although he’s read it before — the first time was back when he was a boy, sometime around the 1920′s. I’m hopeful that we’ll have some interesting conversations afterwards. And then it’ll be his turn to pick a book for us to read.
I’ve already got one of his (unpublished) novels waiting on my nightstand. Pinnacle is a fictionalized account of his work on the groundbreaking car commercial for Chevrolet that first put an automobile on top of a remote mountaintop in the middle of the desert. It’s a pretty commonplace image now in advertising, but Ken did it first back in 1964, and without computers. I’m interested to read the book . . . but I’m looking forward to exploring Mars with him as well.
While we were out there, Keeley, Jeff (her father), and I took a nice long walk around the lake, through the forest, across the meadow, and back again. It started with a liberation of the last few milkweed pods. Across the lake, we spied a trespassing ATV that took off at the first sight of us, which gave us all something to grumble about. But the trespasser was quickly forgotten as we saw a few deer early on — a brief flash of the tail, the bounding into the thicker trees — and a surprisingly non-nocturnal possum that trundled as fast as it could away from us through the underbrush.
Last time we came through the forest a few weeks back, it was bitter cold and the little ponds were frozen solid. This time, however, the warm weather had broken things down considerably and was performing the alchemy of spring that invariably turns everything into mud.
In the distance, perhaps outside the boundaries of the Aurohn conservancy, we could hear gunfire. Far off through the trees, we could just barely make out the edge of a lake on the neighboring property. About the time the gunshots started ringing out — it’s nowhere near hunting season, by the way — we watched a herd of eight or nine deer plunge into the frigid water and then scramble up onto the ice to make their escape — their hoofbeats breaking through here and there as they drummed across the surface.
One of the deer floundered for a while in the icy water and it was breathtaking, excruciating to be unable to do anything but watch. To our relief, they finally made it up and across the ice after their herd.
The gunshots continued. I don’t have a fond place in my heart for hunters, particularly not out of season poachers. Fortunately, my phone has excellent coverage out there in the middle of nowhere and I was able to put a call back to Ken’s and let them know.
This could also serve as my last communication, I thought to myself, before the tragedy struck.
There’s a hill just past Five Bar Gate where the forest ends and the back forty takes over. Just under the crown of the hill is a large hole leading down into a burrow. On top of the hill, the tall grass is matted down where the deer sleep. It’s the perfect spot: sheltered by trees on two sides, high enough to see predators coming, accessible enough to allow escape into deep cover.
Last time we were out, Keeley and I left apples there and I was happy to see that they were all gone. All through the forest and on the crown of the hill, we scattered the new batch of apples and carrots that we’d brought along this time. I’ve been reading A Field Guide to Demons — which isn’t really about demons so much, at least not in the pea soup sense — and I suppose some might say we were leaving offerings for the local gods. In truth, I just wanted to give the deer and the unseen burrow dweller (groundhog perhaps?) a nice treat after the long winter.
I like that little hill. I’d like to have a small, one room cabin up there with windows on all sides. All I need is a wood burning stove for warmth and tea, and a table and chair. I’d go there to write every day, if I could — and if it wouldn’t disturb the deer or the underhill god (groundhog, woodchuck . . . whoever it might be). That would be a good life. I’m surprised Ken never did something similar but, of course, he did. It’s why they moved there in the first place.
In the meadow beyond, the heavy snowfall and high winds of winter had flattened out most of the tall grass, so Jeff and I went down to the far edge of the lake to see what the ATV might have been up to. We also wanted to check and see if anyone had set out traps for the rumored-but-as-yet-unseen beavers (and, of course, spring them as a part of our subversive community service). No traps, fortunately. But no beavers either.
From there, it’s an easy walk back. When we got there, Ken’s wife Alice was on the phone checking on the provenance of the ATV and the gunfire. The collection of discarded beer cans we found along the way didn’t make them any more pleased about the trespassers.
But they were quite interested in the various books I’ve got on my iPhone. In addition to the excellent Classics application from the iTunes App store, I also had the Kindle application installed with my recent purchase of the Burrough’s book.
Scoffing at first, it didn’t take Ken long to get the hang of using the app to read. But he said what everybody else seems to say about the Kindle: “Well, it’ll never replace the pleasure of reading from a real book you’re holding in your hands.” I can’t say I disagree with them. Alice used to be a librarian and, watching her play with the iPhone, I had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn’t have minded having one of her own.
But I was most interested to hear, a week or so ago, that the Kindle store had opened up to direct submissions from authors. Having spent some time playing with the formatting and preparation of a document for that platform, I’m fairly confident that it’ll be one of many avenues by which I put my work out there in the next few months. Unless, of course, the cat and the fox come through.
The evening ended up with a stop off with Keeley’s parents for a nice big barbeque dinner on the way home, washed down with tose overgrown “tall” über pints of beer that everyone seems to be serving these days. All of which only made it that much easier to go home, snuggle up with my wife, and fall asleep well before 10 o’clock.
I woke at 3AM, wide awake and had some difficulty convincing my mind that we didn’t need to go downstairs and have one-sided debates about titles and audience age demographics. Eventually, I won out and fell back asleep in time to be completely late getting up for work the next morning.
A cot would be nice in that cabin too, now that I think of it.
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I have about fifty different tabs open in Firefox, seriously straining the patience and functionality of that application. Here’s my attempt to close a few of them…
It was the twittered birth of Roadhacker and Dirty Snowflake’s baby Maeve that led to the discovery that I am, according to the Mayan astrological system, a White Magnetic Dog. So that’s all right, then.
If I ever get a little cabin somewhere, I’ll almost certainly need a shelf for this. At least, unless I win one of these someday. If so, then I’ll pick up the idol from the HPLHS’s excellent adaptation of Call of Cthulhu instead.
And while we’re on the subject of Things I Want Someday, a few of these plushie skulls from Lana Crooks would look good on that shelf too. And they might also be great decor for a baby’s room as well. Or maybe we can just hire this fellow. Excellent stuff, but I do have to admit that these pillows might be taking it a little bit too far — at least, in a baby’s room.
And in case you missed it the first time, two of my online friends had a baby and twittered the whole thing. When I told my wife about it, she said “No electronic device of any kind will be anywhere near a birthing room, right?”
As with my vague non-news report above, I thought it best to adopt a neutral position in response. For now.
This is at the top of the list, hands down. It’s a hard show to describe to people, but it’s somewhat accurate to say it’s a superb melding of the sensibilities of This American Life with content from that Science class you never went to in college. Outstanding stuff. The hosts/producers Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich have a lot of fun with the material and it’s hard not to get caught up in it all. I’ve been listening to this one for over a year and every time there’s a new episode, my little geeky heart just leaps for joy. And, unlike other shows, this one has a considerable shelf life; the reruns are just as good the second and third time around.
This show drives me to work every Monday morning. The classic panel show format is a lot of fun and host Peter Sagal has a quick, clever mind. His rotating panel of guests always seems to be having way too much fun taking apart the newsmakers of the week. My personal favorite is Paul Provenza but they’re all lots of fun chasing after jokes together.
This is the only terminal podcast in the list. For twelve episodes back in 2006, writer Ken Hollings unpacked the period of time running from 1947 through 1959. It’s a fascinating tour of the emergence of UFO culture, conspiracy theory, B-movies, and the psychedelic generation. Great, great stuff and lots of fun listening to Hollings make subtle little connections underlying seemingly unrelated facets of what he calls the “American Half-Century”.
I only recently ran across the storytelling collective called The Moth but it’s rapidly become a favorite. The premise is pretty simple: Each week they publish a new episode in which someone tells a true story (without notes) in front of a live audience. The stories run the gamut of emotion, from the hilarious to the heartbreaking. And there’s nary a sour note in the bunch. 
If I had a talk show, I’d interview all my heroes — writers and comics artists and comedians and musicians and magicians and directors — no matter how obscure. And, during every interview, I’d be a quivering mass of fanboy joy.
Kurt Anderson’s got a great show on Public Radio and I was a very happy man when they made it available as a weekly podcast. As a free-form exploration of the Arts and Culture, you can’t do much better than this. He brings in great guests to chat — musicians and writers and artists from across the spectrum — but the backup segments are always interesting and compelling. This is a show that invariably sends me to the Web so I can look up some book or album they mentioned and add it to 
The title says it all, really. I ran across Mur Lafferty on Twitter one day last year. Her longstanding podcast is a staple for aspiring writers. She does great interviews and isn’t afraid to spend time discussing her own career ups and downs as well. She’s the purple-haired Queen of Podcasting, a real capital-w Writer, and a true trailblazer for writers exploring audiobooks as a channel to publishing.
One of the best things about this show is the format. The host — known only as FNH — usually starts things off with a historical exploration from the 20′s and 30′s, before treating everyone to a piece of music or popular song from the period. Each episode ends with the main feature, typically a story from Lovecraft or a related author. Best of all, the podcast is open to submissions — listeners are encouraged to send in stories of their own, or their own productions of a Lovecraft classic.
This is the gold standard. Ira Glass and his team put out great stories consistently, week in and week out. Even though it’s completely free (as are all of the ‘casts I’ve mentioned here), I was happy to make a donation last year to help keep the podcast version going. And I’ll do the same again, whenever they ask.
I used to work on a shipping/receiving dock. My day consisted of opening cardboard boxes. My coworkers were, with a few exceptions, a completely different form of life than anything I’d experienced before. They spent their nights out drinking, smoking, doing all sorts of recreational pharmaceuticals and (to hear them tell it) going home with whatever female was willing enough (or inebriated enough) to let them into their bed. They staggered into work and spent the day doing as little as possible while recounting their escapades, before heading out to do it all over again.