Dave Krieg Talks about Russell Wilson

My adventures in freelancing continue.  I've been throwing myself at tons of opportunities and seeing a few things stick, including The Penalty Flag looking for NFL writers for specific teams.  I said, hell yes I'll write about the Seahawks, if you'll have me.

So I got to work on a piece on whether my new favorite quarterback can equal my old favorite quarterback.  I was talking to some fans via Twitter when one said: "I'm friends with Dave.  Would you like to talk with him?"

Um, well, hell yes.

So I found myself on the phone recording a conversation with one of my childhood heroes.  I put together a pretty good article on it.

They accepted it and here it is:

http://thepenaltyflagblog.com/blog/can-russell-wilson-be-the-next-dave-krieg/

So read it.  Pass it on.  Clown it if you want to.  All attention is good attention.

I'll be doing this a lot.  One for next week before the Seahawks playoff game.

And coming soon: 86 resolutions for 2013.

A Cigar for the End of the World

Cigars are among the many new things I'm learning at my new job.  Sure, I've smoked 'em.  Lots of cheap.  A few nice.  I've even replaced the filling with my own.  Never learned much about them until now.

But like wine, whiskey and oysters, they're just another thing with flavor, aroma and geography to consider.

We're hosting an "End of the World" black-tie cigar party just before the Mayan calendar expires.  I know a guy who writes about the apocalypse, I say.  I proposed reading from the CA series.  Also, I got to thinking about a piece specifically for the event.

Just after finishing the Sonnet Writing article for Bright Hub and just after finishing a Diamond Crown from the Dominican Republic, I wrote this:


 One More for the End of the World
Friends, could be the end. Let’s do it our way:
Pop the finest corks. Wake old barley malt.
Filet the fat calf. Rub pepper and salt.
Send us heaven or hell? Now who's to say?

They’ll look down upon us, speak of our smiles,
Our glasses, our plates, our smokes and our brew.
Surrounded with chums: some old and some new.
Boldly declare: “Man, they did it with style.”

Dead with a dollar or a million bucks?
Let’s toast the fellow. He's just one of us.
Unknown or famous? Stretch limo or bus?
What’s it matter now? Don't ruffle my tux.

We might die today? Always been the case.
Bug me none with it. I've smoke in my face.

New stuff by me at Yahoo and Bright Hub.

Halloween Flash Fiction

Four o'clock on Halloween and my bath-tub clogs. I wasn't using it. Don't know who clogged it, but I have to fix it.

By bedtime my three-year-old will be covered in caramel and bubble gum. I'll need that tub.

With the sun dipping into a pumpkin-colored sky, we park at the hardware store. The lot is deserted.

“The witch is there,” Nikolas is saying. “The scary, scary witch.”

“If you already know she's there, she can't scare you,” I reply.

Last time we were here, the motion-activated cackling witch came to life and terrified him.

I see no one with vests and name-tags as we enter the store. Someone should be lubricating the sliding doors. They open with a horrible screech.

They close with a clank.

“See, Nikolas. The witch isn't even here.” Unusual that they'd take down all the Halloween decorations already.

We walk from sign to sign: Lumber, Tools, Gravestones, Hardware, Torture, Electrical, Plumbing. Some bats flap about the rafters.

I find a rack of pipe snakes hanging between formaldehyde jars and shrunken heads. I reach for one. It hisses and snaps at me. Nikolas hands me a length of copper pipe and I whap the serpent on the head.

“Can someone help me?” I call. My voice echoes. I hear shuffling steps. “I need something for cleaning drains.”

Around the corner, dragging one foot, shambles a figure in a vest. An eye-ball dangles from a rotting socket. He lifts a jug of Drano in a gangrenous hand.

“Drains!” he moans. I scoop up Nikolas and back away, wielding my pipe.

With a whoosh, my weapon is snatched from my grip by the witch on a broom.

“I knew you'd come back,” she shrieks. “That boy will make a fine stew.”

I unscrew the cap from a can of PVC cement and hand it to Nikolas. He pitches it like a grenade at the zombie's feet. “Drains!” he shouts, trapped in a sticky blue puddle.

The witch circles, followed by a swarm of bats. Nikolas trots to the fire hose. I grab the nozzle while he opens the valve.

“I'm melting!” she screams as I blast her with water. She dissolves into a greasy curl of smoke. Her broom harpoons an ogre inspecting the axes.

The bats chase us across the store, whirling in Nikolas' hair and battering my ears. Nikolas rolls a shop-vac to me. I switch it on and inhale every flapping rodent I see.

Nikolas snaps a tube of liquid nails into a caulking gun and takes aim at a giant spider crawling over bales of insulation. She leaps at me, fangs bared, and he covers her in glue. I sidestep as she splats wriggling on the floor.

We hop up into a fork-lift. A horde of goblins masses between us and the front door.

“Should we lie down the law, Daddy?”

“Lay down the law. Let's lay down the law, Nikolas.”

I mash the pedal and lurch forward. Nikolas fiddles with all the levers until the fork raises to goblin-nostril-level. We plow our way through the crowd, shatter the glass and crush a couple lawn tractors on our way to the parking lot.

“I don't want to take a bath today.”

“That's okay, Niko,” I say. “Maybe tomorrow.”

New Direction

First of all, you might notice my real name at the top of the blog.  I've started contributing to Yahoo, specializing in writing, food, cocktails, sports and parenting.  They encouraged me to use my real picture and name.  (I considered A D Six but it looked stooopid.)

Already I've published two articles and a baseball haiku.  I have some recipes I want to publish.  Now I find I can't cook anything without photographing it.

Second, of course my erotica piece for Penny-a-Page is nearly done.  It will be on time by Halloween as promised.

But third,  I'm breaking my promise on Cathartes Aura Three.  Not only was I overly ambitious regarding a Halloween deadline, but I've been rethinking the project.  The ten-by-ten verse style worked well for Apocalypse Zoo, which was very visual.  Road from Nowhere, however, is a character and dialogue based piece.  Writing it in verse was quite challenging.  Reviews of both works substantiate this.

CA3, which is half done, is much like CA2 but with even more people and things to be said.  I'm afraid it's just not working.  So, I'm rebuilding it more in the mode of CA1: our vulture narrator soaring around disaster and dipping in to watch the humans on rare occasions.

Good news, though: I'm putting the whole 500 line rough draft on the blog before I edit the thing beyond recognition.

Fourth, My Gorgeous Illustrator responsible for all my cover art (visible on the top left) is painting.  Two pieces are available at etsy.com.  You can get to know her better on her blog, which is in its infant stages but growing.  She has a great eye and touch for putting abstract patterns across multiple canvases.  She lacks confidence.  Give her some encouragement for me if you can.

Fifth, I lost my job.  My fault.  I screwed up and was only following the rules I wanted to follow.  I'm 2500 words into getting that story out, but it doesn't make me happy to write.  When it's done, I'll put it on squidoo.com, with whom I'm also working.

Don't worry.  I'm on the verge of starting a new job.  Won't pay like the old one, so I've been looking into supplemental, from-home sources of work (hence the Yahoo and Squidoo).  Also I'm looking into tutoring with wyzant.com plus some blog-for-pay companies.  So don't be surprised if on day you see some advertising here.  Just being a bit less of a starving artist.

In conclusion, Yahoo's training told me people's eyes are attracted to bold headings.  I might be using more bulleted lists, too.  So, I'll be more active freelance writing and blogging.  I'll keep it fun.

Coming soon: Barbecue Prep and Planning

Don't be running around at the last minute trying to cook slow-and-low as fast as you can.

Haiku on Yahoo

Sorry I've been scarce, but I've been digging high and low for work-at-home opportunities.  I'm at step number two.

Step one is stumbling over myriad scams and swindles, hopefully not dropping my wallet in them.

Step two is finding some real people who know real stuff you can use.  So far, my hero is Stephanie Foster who runs a very honest and informative website:  Home with the Kids.

The most useful stuff for me has been about blogging and freelance writing.

Already I've posted my 10x10 How-To on Squidoo.com.  Much more to come there, including stuff on cooking, cocktails and uhhh getting fired.

But minutes ago I posted my first contribution on Yahoo.  The assignment was a haiku on baseball.  The formatting, I must admit, is disappointing but not often are they posting three line articles.  Oh well.  Still have to say it's exciting.

Be a fan and a friend.  Check it out and pass it on.  Seventeen syllables of personal history.

Cathartes Aura 3: Chapter One Sneak Peek

Just like I did with Cathartes Aura on the Road from Nowhere, I'm leaking one stanza a week until it's done.

That means, this boulder is rolling downhill.

Less than ten weeks, most likely.  I'm shooting for Halloween.  I know I said "end of summer" but I spent August with Terri Giuliano-Long's BlogFlash2012.  I gained a lot of exposure and attention, but didn't get much other writing done.

I'm also working on Pavarti K. Tyler's Penny-A-Page Erotica Anthology, also due end of October.

So it's hard-hat time.  Grindstone time.  Typing with my work-gloves on time.

Still need a title.  Not sure if I like Cathartes Aura at the Last Call Mall.  Suggestions welcome.

Here you go: one my favorite characters to write dialog for, Father James.

Hands clasped on his worn leather book, James breathes,

Lifts his voice to the trees. “I see Satan

On your shoulders, hissing doom in your ears:

'You will die quick deaths, live meaningless lives,

Accomplish naught but fertilize the ground.'”

Three farm women weep together, arms hooked

And faces stern. The old woman wails, hangs

On the round man in overalls. “Forked tongues

Caress your skin, tempt you to sin. Who cares?

Live loose. This world is gone. But I see God.”

Blog Flash 2012, August 30: Winning

I won.

I got everything I wanted out of this.

More blog hits in August than any other three months combined.

Considerably more comments and feedback.

Tripled my Twitter followers.

But that and $3 will get me a parking spot at work.

Time to get back to the grindstone.  Cathartes Aura 3 has stalled, but I needed a break from that.  And I have two months to finish my submission for Pavarti K. Tyler's Penny-A-Page Erotica.

Will be a busy next sixty days for this boy.

But I need deadlines.  This whole thing got started when my wife said: "You've been talking about this long enough.  Finish it this year and I'll illustrate the cover for you."

What I really need to finish is the David Priest novel.  Thousand line poems are the sort of things most appreciated when the author's been dead a century.  People buy novels from living people.

It's been a blast.  I'll be posting weekly preview stanzas of CA3, so stay tuned.

I'll leave you with my favorite 10x10:

Fake Flowers

I like flowers fake, sewn and glued, nylon
And polyester. Woven frayed petals,
With coarse grain, plastic stems, acrylic dew.
Never lie nor wilt. Won’t curl or change face.
Sunlight or dark, will be with you always.
In a dollar vase, give me fake flowers.
Unscented, no pollen or honeybees.
Not hungry, always growing at the sun.
Fabricate me twelve bomb-proof pseudo-silk
Injection-molded polymer flowers.

Blog Flash 2012, August 29: Masquerade

I wondered how this prompt would lead to my own project.  Then I thought: "Masque of the Red Death" by Edgar Allen Poe.

An apocalyptic classic.  A plague rages through the country, so a wealthy and eccentric prince gathers a thousand friends together in one of his castles with much food, wine and entertainment.

A few of my favorite themes come up, which I either got from reading Poe or from reading writers who learned it from Poe.

In the face of disaster, the wealthy will try to hide away and ignore the agony of the masses.

Those who can will party hard for tomorrow they may die.

Poe completely builds his own vibrant setting: a suite of seven rooms each decorated with a color theme with matching windows.

I don't remember the quote exactly, but Poe said that every element of a short story should work to create a mood and theme.

And though you may weld shut the doors with "furnaces and massy hammers" death will find us all.

A great resource for all things apocalyptic, my man Megaton:

The Masque of the Red Death

Blog Flash 2012, August 28: Frog

Not even sure what to say about this, but frogs eat each other all the time.  When dozens of frogs hatch simultaneously, the largest and strongest eat the others.

I always look into the human equivalent of animal behavior.  And the animal equivalent of human behavior.  We're only a little more advanced than they, scarcely more civilized and often more brutal.

I'm fascinated by chimpanzee society.  When a female chimp goes into estrus, every mature male mates with her.  When she gives birth, no one knows which male is the father, so all children are loved and protected equally.

The opposite is true of lion society.  When a young male overpowers an older male and takes over his harem, he kills every cub.  The females immediately go into estrus.  The new alpha male mates with every female and knows each new cub is his.  The old line is snuffed out.

I think both of these behaviors play out in post-apocalyptic human society.

What's to be done with this idea of frog cannibalism?  Will the strongest people consume the weak to maintain their strength?

Blog Flash 2012, August 27: History

Destroying the world is hard.

Even fictitiously.

Plague.  Nuclear war.  Mayan calendar.  Global warming.  Aliens.  Zombies.

Once you've picked that, you must lay out a world history so it all makes sense.

Then some brainiac says: "That's not plausible for this reason!"

The whole thing falls apart because you're not a real cultural anthropologist and physicist and historian.

But you know what works?  Use a narrator who doesn't know any better and just reports without bias the bits and pieces of shared stories from the survivors.  Still need a plausible disaster, but you let the reader fill in the blanks his or her own way.

Oh, I know what happened, but I'm only leaking it in little drips and splatters.

I use lots of campfire chat.  I also believe when a global cataclysm strikes, no one will know the whole story.  Most people will apply their limited knowledge and experience to lots of paranoia and fear, ending up with a mostly false but very satisfying story.

Back to my feelings on omniscient third-person narration: novels that begin with an in-depth explanation of everything that happened across the world that lead us to this cataclysm strike me as unnatural.

Plus, it's hard.

“Always ecstatic or angered. One day

Gives lobster and champagne to everyone

Saying: ‘This is the end. Lets go out strong.’

Next day sells K rations, antivirals,

And wind-up radios out the back door.

Meanwhile, I try to run a restaurant.

Crazy don’t make good hospitality.

Needed some mountain air, get fat on trout.

Changed my voicemail greeting to: ‘I quit, Tweak.’

Took my ass and his best whiskey hiking.”

From Cathartes Aura on the Road from Nowhere, Chapter Seven, Verse Ten.

Blog Flash 2012, August 26: Seeing

Point of view is a humongous decision for writers.

I've never been a fan of the third-person omniscient, where the reader observes every thought of every character.  It's unnatural.

I prefer an observant first-person or a detached third-person.  I like to see emotion and motivation through the movements of characters.  The little things they do or don't do.  How they react.  Show me, don't tell me, what they think.

I'm a people watcher, professionally and personally.

I love to sit on a park bench, watch the world go by and take guesses at what people will do.  Will they greet with a kiss or a handshake?  Will he turn to look at that woman's ass after she passes?

As a bartender, people watching is essential to customer service.  Do you look like you're in a hurry or are you finally taking it slow after a hard day's work?  You said your meal was fine, but are you pushing it around the plate and just too polite to say you don't like it?

And of course: how drunk is that guy?

Good writing is about delivering the little details of body language that reveal character.

Keep your eyes open.

Blog Flash 2012, August 25: Blue

I like the bright side of the apocalypse: opportunity and rebirth.  For better or worse, what you were and what you had are gone.

Time to start over.

Joe packed his bug-out-mobile with the necessary gear, food and seeds to survive and rebuild.

And he brought an acoustic guitar.  Not because he can play it, but because he always wanted to learn.

Out on the road alone, who will hear your fingers stumble over strings or your voice crack?

And what better reason to sing the blues?  Your whole world just fell apart.

He blows a smoke ring at a passing jay,

Takes a cold sip, and clears his throat: “How long?

How long’s the road I am travelin’ on?”

Eyes closed, sprawled in the bucket seat. “How long

Before anyone hears my little song?”

A glint in the trees, unseen. Dressed in fleece

Brown and green, hair hanging around his face,

A man perched on a branch with field-glasses

Scratches his beard and studies the forest,

The road, the camels, the candy Jaguar.

From Cathartes Aura on the Road from Nowhere, Chapter One, Verse Ten.

Blog Flash 2012, August 24: In the Woods

The post-apocalypse will test whether or not the skills you've learned still matter.

Stock broker?  Not so much.  Farmer?  Definitely. Carpenter?  Sure.  Executive?  Not really.

Your world may turn into a full-time camping trip.  Those prepared to rough it will have an advantage.

A tent, sleeping bag, fishing pole, backpack and a good set of boots attached to strong legs will all be useful.

Ability to start a fire and cook over it will be handy.

Actually being at peace with such a simple lifestyle may be the greatest strength.

Going back to the "On Holiday" piece, would life be all that bad if I lived out of a tent on an alpine lake and there was no city at all to return to?

That's my boy Sam, from the CA project, who came home from a backpacking trip to find there was no home.

Blog Flash 2012, August 23: Cooking

As I've said, my boy Joe won't let an apocalypse get in his way of enjoying himself.  When we do the movie, I get to be Joe.  Otherwise, you can keep your contract.  Enough said.

A proper cast iron pan and a campfire is really all a man needs to make breakfast, if he planned ahead and has powdered milk and eggs with some Tactical Bacon.  Yeah, that stuff exists and you should be filling your basement with it.

Good cooking is all about improvisation.  Use what you got with the methods that are handy.  So far, I've featured spit-roasted fawn, scrounged ramen with fig newtons and warm soda, and beef jerky fried rice.  Coming soon is the recipe for mouse-butt soup.

But the world is yours after a breakfast of scrambled eggs, Tac-Bac, marijuana and reggae.

In a cast-iron pan, he spreads strips of pork

And sets the pan next to the coffee pot.

One last drag. He snuffs the splif on his tongue,

Tucks it in the dashboard ashtray, exhales.

He stirs powdered milk and eggs in his bowl

With more water from the tank in his trunk

As the coffee percs, the bacon crackles

And he bounces to a plucked bass guitar.

The camels groan and snort, shake off their sleep

While nosing through the heather for breakfast.

From Cathartes Aura on the Road from Nowhere, Chapter One, Verse Five.

And you should probably bring some Eighty Six Rub.  Tastes good on everything.

Blog Flash 2012, August 22: On Holiday

Looking at it in the brightest possible light, the apocalypse is like a vacation.

No more debt.  No more job.  Those people and things you didn't like?  All gone.

All you have to do is eat, drink, find a place to sleep and have fun.

Lots of free beach-front real estate, too.

Long term survival?  Friends and loved ones dead?  Too depressing and scary.

So let's eat, drink, smoke and fornicate for tomorrow we may day.  Probably should have yesterday.

Couldn't we all use at least a little apocalypse?

Blog Flash 2012, August 21: Night

My dog, Oli, is part husky and isn't fond of hot weather.  He'd rather it be 20 degrees with fresh snow on the ground.

Most of the year, we take a walk and play frisbee in the early afternoon before I go to work.  On hot summer days, he prefers to chase the ball in the backyard and splash in his pool every few minutes.

On my days off, we go walking after dark.  This is when my cat decides it's unfair that only dogs get to go for walks.  She'll follow us.  The first time she did she scared the hell out of my by stalking us for ten minutes before sprinting past me in the dark.

Her name is Zloby, which means "she is naughty" in Czech.  Somehow I knew.

And for no reason other than I'm proud of it, another chunk of Cathartes:

Joe drains his cup, rises, shakes off his dream.

He sets in front of Bodhi a cracker

With salmon and cheese. He looks up, wags once

But stays at his post like a stone lion.

Gripping the shotgun, Joe takes one more lap

On soft feet through the brightness and shadows.

I am no owl and certainly no bat.

I nestle low in the top of a fir

As the frogs court each other, the crickets

Rub wings and the owls creep on sleepless mice.

From Cathartes Aura on the Road from Nowhere, Chapter Four, Verse Six.

Blog Flash 2012, August 20: Sports Part 2

What I really meant to post before I mentioned Eighty Six's Writers and Bloggers Fantasy Football League:

I've been writing of the things I've already written about the Cathartes Aura project, the thing I am writing, but not much about the things I will be writing.

Sport will be an integral part of rebuilding human society.  We can't help it.  Returning to a hunting/gathering/agrarian society will be stressful hard work.  People will need ways to unwind.

Lots of alcohol and weed so far in my story with harder drugs to come.  Meth is way too easy to make.

But a social and physical release is sport.  Whenever a group of people spends time together, a game is sure to follow.

In a post-apocalyptic world I foresee table games like cards and dominoes to become everyday.  Also, I think sports that are simple and universal, like soccer, basketball, and baseball, to become organized.  I've already written about a town that settles everything, from territorial disputes to criminal punishment, with one-on-one fights atop a rock.  (Scroll down to "Brawl Atop the Rock")

Get a group of people together and eventually they'll choose a game.  It will pop up in my text soon enough.

Blog Flash 2012, August 20: Sports

It's football season.

It's fantasy football season.

Most guys I know and some ladies get excited about that.  Quite.

I'm not sure about the writers and bloggers I hang with.

But we're about to find out.

Yahoo Fantasy Football

Go to "Join an Existing League" and use the following info to sign up:

League ID: 627167

Password: 86

Join "Eighty Six's Writers and Bloggers only Fantasy Football League".

It's easier than you might think and I can guide you through it.

It's free so you have nothing to lose.

Having no knowledge of NFL football can be an advantage.  Dudes who think they know a lot about football (myself included) commonly out-smart themselves and make genius moves that fail badly.  If you did not know what a football looked like and used only ESPN's Rankings you could be successful.  We all know #15 should be better than the #20 guy, right?  Using that logic, you can play this game.

It doesn't take much time.  You're already online regularly.  Look at your team before the start of the weekend's games and again at the end of the weekend.  You may change a little or nothing.

It's fun.  Trust me.  And I can't wait to see how the literary community will play this game.

Writers and book bloggers only.

Questions?

Celebrating Community with Fighting Monkey Press: Family Photo

Our two boys. Matyáš on the left. Almost five months old. Nikolas on the right. Almost three years old.

I can't explain why anyone would want to have a kid, but I know why you should have a second. The first one instantly grows up.

As my wife grew fuller and rounder, I told Nikolas how his life was changing. He no longer would get all his mommy's time. Not even the big half. But he would gain a buddy and experience the joy of helping him grow up.

He had his jealous streak early. Pre-partum. He clung to his mommy and wouldn't let me change his pajamas or do anything if she was around to do it.

I gave him the title "Assistant Birth Coach". He performed admirably: bringing her food, cleaning up and getting his brother's room ready.

Upon Matyáš' birth, Nikolas dropped the clinginess almost completely. He's been a great big brother. Instantly more independent. Enjoying nights out with daddy. Helping his little brother as much as possible. However, I do have to ask him to stop kissing him so much.

I'm the youngest of three, so I don't know, but I suspect only-children never have to make this change. Nikolas knows he's not a baby anymore and is looking upward.

And in case you're curious, that's Mah-tee-ahsh.  A Czech version of Matthias or Matias.

Blog Flash 2012, August 19: Fireworks

I'm a guy.  I love a good explosion.  Bright and noisy.

When a story starts to drag, I've said to myself: "I need to blow something up."

Maybe a bomb.  Maybe a fight.  Maybe a crash of some sort.

Sometimes you just need a bang.

The garage with the vans, trucks, and mowers,
The power-tools, golf-carts, and all the fuel
Explodes like a hammer-blow to the chest.
The wall is breached. Bricks scatter like snowflakes.
Burning tires on rims bounce into the sea
Sizzling as doors, beams, and chassis splash down.
The macaques exploit the gap, dodging flames
And leaping rubble to gain the beachhead.
Without a pause they dive into the waves
To swim after logs, benches and barrels.

From Cathartes Aura and the Apocalypse Zoo, Chapter Nine, Verse Five.

Celebrating Community with Fighting Monkey Press: Community Togetherness

For Pavarti K Tyler's Community Celebration for Eid al Fitr, a celebration that marks the end of Ramadan, the Islamic holy month of fasting.

For today, Pavarti asks: "What does community togetherness mean to you?"

Thursday was easy.  I love food.  I love to cook for friends and family.  Recipe?  No problem.

This is a tough one.

First, "community togetherness" is a bit broad and vague.  Also, my world these days is very weird.

Four and a half years ago, I moved to Spokane to be near my sister and her family.  My wife and I could buy a house here.  We couldn't afford to do that in Seattle.  Since then, we've had two kids and our attention is of course focussed on them.

Then my sister got divorced, moved away from her husband and kids, then everyone moved back west.

I have a very social job as a hotel bartender, but the relationships are rather shallow.  I have buddies I work with, but we rarely hang out outside of work.  I have guests I know on a personal basis, but they never see me sitting down, out of uniform, or without a name-tag.

I've finally entered the 21st century and, as an independent author, do a vast majority of my communication and socialization online.  Many of the people I share words with I would never recognize in person and have never heard their voice.

Yet I have more personal connections with these people online than anyone in my neighborhood.  Somehow, we all are so busy with our own jobs, kids and backyards that I never spend time with the people next door or down the street.

So, community togetherness?  My community is quite small: my wife, two boys, a dog and a cat.  Those are the people that are tremendously important to me.  After that, my parents, sister, niece and nephews I adore and wish I could spend more time with.  A couple good friends.

Already my time is spread thin, so as for the rest of humanity?  If they don't bother me, I won't bother them.

And then we're all playing in the front yard last night, which is more shady than the back yard during the evening.  I take my increasingly curious 4 month old down the block to look at cars and pluck leaves from the trees.  A couple doors down some kids are riding tricycles with their parents watching.  We get to talking.  They're Belarusian and speak a language similar to my wife's native Czech.  My older son rolls up on his trike.  He's bilingual, but too shy to speak.  My neighbor and I get to comparing numbers and other words, discovering than lingually we have a lot in common.

Don't know if I've said anything profound about community togetherness.  Maybe I noted that the neighborhood community is in danger of slipping away as the online community grows.

Yeah, that sounds deep.

I'm as guilty as anyone because not only do I work odd hours compared to most nine-to-fivers, but I'm professionally social.  On my own time I enjoy being left alone.  Now with a wife and kids who need my love and attention (and I need theirs) all-by-myself time is a rare and precious jewel to me.

Blog Flash 2012, August 18: Wild at Heart

What says "wild" more than an angered bull elephant?  The largest land animal on earth is not something you want to be in front of when he's enraged.

With increasing frequency, elephants are pushing back against the encroachment of mankind and intentionally killing humans.

This elephant has been imprisoned by our species and seen us ruin the whole world.

This character will reappear in my series.

Having stood by her cage all day, the bull
Trumpets like a volcano and charges
Out the lobby, down the path, through fences,
Stamping craters in mud, gravel, and sod,
Draped in ivy, chain-link, various bloods
With meat and bone on tusk and underfoot,
Tipping carts and lawn-mowers, smashing glass,
Concrete and bamboo, finally plowing
Through the north gate as a ten yard cedar
Crashes blazing onto the jungle house.

From Cathartes Aura and the Apocalypse Zoo, Chapter Eight, Verse Ten.

Blog Flash 2012, August 17: Graveyard

On glazed asphalt, the tank sits cored: slack treads
And scorched armor frame a funnel of earth
Shined like glass from the kiln. On wheels and doors,
Hoods and trunks, cars lie scattered with spent shells,
A humvee and jeep, pools of gummy blood
With clouds of fresh flies. Walls pocked from bullets.
In a meadow up the hill, six fresh graves
Hold wrapped bodies while seventeen stand stooped.
A robed man scans them with hickory eyes.
“Stand straight. You look half in the ground yourselves.” 

From Cathartes Aura at the Last Call Mall, Chapter One, Verse One.

It all starts with a funeral.

Celebrating Community with Fighting Monkey Press: Recipes

The Eighty Six Barbecue Rub

Ingredients:

Dried Chilies

2 parts Turbinado Sugar

1 part Salt

1 part Various Seasonings

You will also need:

Food-Processor

Jar with a Lid

I like using a food-processor to grind everything into a fine consistency, but if you don't have one, you can use pre-ground chili-powder and/or paprika. How much? Depends on your taste and the heat of your powder.

Step One:

Measure your jar. Find out how many cups it holds and divide that by five. That will be “one part”.

Step Two:

Take the stems from a handful of chilies and grind them in the food processor. I get japones and anchos cheap at my favorite market, so I typically use those, but use what you like. I can't say that I count or measure them. This whole thing will take some experimenting before you get it the way you like. Also, I don't know how hot you like it. I have to dial mine down a little because my family doesn't have my tolerance for capsaicin.

Grind the chilies for a half-minute or so until they've broken into little bits. Take the lid off the food-processor and take a deep whiff. If you have a cold. Or just love to sneeze.

Smoked Pork Loin with Bacon and Wild Rice Stuffing

Step Three:

Add the sugar and give it another spin. The graininess of the sugar will break the chilies down further. I like the turbinado (raw) sugar because it has more flavor than white sugar without the moisture of brown sugar. If you make this with brown sugar, it will clump together.

Step Four:

Add the salt and spin it again. I use kosher salt, sea salt or both. Adjust the amount of salt to your personal taste.

Step Five:

Add the seasonings. Whatever you got. Whatever you like. Onion powder, garlic powder, ginger, cumin, curry, ground black pepper, dry mustard. If you're feeling funky add celery seed, coriander or a tiny bit of anise. Often this portion is a bit larger than the salt portion because I have so many good things I want to put in there. Spin it again.

Step Six:

Take off the lid, being careful of fumes and dust, and give it a taste. It should be intense. It should grab you by the boo-boo. You should get a balance of sweet, salty, spicy and savory. Decide now if you need a little more of any flavor. When it's done, pour it into your jar after stabbing some holes in the lid.

My Pork Spare-Ribs

Step Seven:

Put it on anything. We put this on everything but cereal in my house. Of course, I like this on things I'll barbecue, especially ribs, but that's another post. For tips on barbecue or anything food, ask my cooking guru Alton Brown.

Find more great recipes at the Fighting Monkey Press Celebrating Community Event.

Blog Flash 2012, August 16: Different World

Much respect to the historical fiction authors who can take me back to Victorian England or Cold-War Europe. I can't do that.

So I created my own world. The geography, history and sociology are mine. No one can tell me I didn't do it accurately.

Not to say it's easy. Hard work to build a believable setting that feels real. You still need to understand this world and then fabricate a copy.

From the post-apocalyptic angle, destroying the world, even fictitiously, is hard.

Scientists and physicists will always say: “the virus wouldn't spread like that” or “a man-made bomb couldn't cause a tsunami”.

My turkey vulture narrator isn't only a macabre. He's a cop-out. I don't have to tell the reader what happened completely. I just deliver little clues and bits of dialogue as observed by my boy Cathartes Aura.

Blog Flash 2012, August 15: Books

My Gorgeous Illustrator and I hope to collaborate on some kids' books if we ever get the time.

Until then, we take the kids to the library often. We check out over a dozen books a week and have learned a few truths about children's books.

Some are visually beautiful to a humbling extent. The “wow, we could never do that” category.

         The Man in the Moon by William Joyce

Others are brilliant but simple. Smart with a clear message and minimalist illustration. The “why didn't we think of that” category.

                       Zero by Kathryn Otoshi

And we found the biggest corporations make the worst books. With few exceptions, Disney, Nickelodeon and Sesame Street make terrible books completely focussed on drilling their characters into kid's heads.

Once read a Sesame Street book of numbers that was so front-loaded with Elmo, Big Bird, and Cookie Monster that they ran out of pages and stopped at seven. The “millions and billions of dollars and you came up with this” category.

Not giving you a link to that.

Blog Flash 2012, August 14: Children

The post-apocalypse won't be easy on the kids. It's a world for the strong and resourceful. It's an easy place for anyone to die.

So far I have only one juvenile character and I wish her no harm. I don't believe in protecting my characters, however. Everyone is mortal. If I get my readers so attached to a person that it causes them pain to see them go, then I've created something powerful.

Meet Emme, a bright-eyed twelve year old girl who read every book in her small town before it was erased by disease. I don't know where her story goes from here. I hope it's somewhere happy.

Lance looks at every face but Emme's. “'Scuse me?”
From her tippy-toes, she shouts: “Middle name.
Sergeant Gord's middle name. That clear, soldier?”
He lifts his hands high as the chains allow,
Pales and shrugs. “His first name was Bill, I think.
I don't know.” Emme climbs down, paces and smiles.
“So, you and the Sergeant were not close friends.”
She returns to her chair, sits halfway, stops,
Turns with a finger raised. “Just one more thing:
What came first, Private Lance, chicken or egg?”

From Cathartes Aura Part Three, Chapter Two, Verse Five.

(Still working on the title. Any suggestions? Cathartes Aura at the Last Call Mall? Something evoking a clearance sale at the last shopping center on earth.)

Blog Flash 2012, August 13: Forest

Eternal turquoise water to the west

Curling with foam and crashing on the sand,

Thumping like drums, tossing logs like matches,

Circling the zoo. To the south, charred timber

On each side of the canal and a road

Winding away through a valley. The sky

Spins with gulls, stampedes with charging white clouds.

Herring schools shimmer around the island.

Everywhere else, as far as I can see

Wave after wave of golden evergreens.

From Cathartes Aura and the Apocalypse Zoo, Chapter 5, Verse 4.

My narrator is a young Turkey Vulture (Cathartes Aura) born in a zoo.

When he escapes from the zoo, he soars around the country reporting what he observes.

He can't tell you what's changed, because he's never seen this place before.

He can't tell you what to feel when you see a forest full of golden evergreens.