Two of my Clarion West classmates, An Owomoyela and Pam Rentz, have stories out right now in online magazines, so if you’re looking for something to read, check them out!
An’s story, “Jessamine”, is in Reflection’s Edge. Pam’s story, “Estelle Makes the Casino Run” is in Innsmouth Free Press.
I just finished reading the 2nd Edition of Coach’s Midnight Diner, an anthology of “hardboiled horror, crime, and paranormal fiction with a Christian slant”.
I was mostly reading it because my boyfriend has a story in the anthology. But I’d heard of this anthology before. I remembered being impressed by their submission guidelines. Most Christian magazines and anthologies are way less forgiving of profanity, sex and violence in the stories they publish than, say, the authors of the Bible (to pick a completely random example). So I was heartened to read that it wasn’t really an issue for them; I think the guidelines said something along the lines of “God’s not a pussy, and neither are we.”
They’ve, um, changed it since to something less crude. (“This is not Guidposts or your Sunday School quarterly.”) But I still approve. The first anthology they put out was subtitled “The Jesus vs. Cthulhu Edition”, further evidence that the editors have a sense of humor.
The one I read was “The Back From the Dead Edition.” Some of my favorite stories: “Flowers for Shelly”, by Greg Mitchell, was possibly the most memorable story in the anthology, with the best description I’ve ever read of a first person narrator who turns into a mindless zombie during the zombie apocalypse. Jerry Gordon’s “9th Ward” was also memorably creepy, very short, but with a twist ending that I didn’t see coming. I’d be amiss not to mention Donald’s story (for which he used the byline D.S. Crankshaw), “The Office of Second Chances.” I don’t claim to be offering an objective opinion here, but it was one of my favorite stories in the anthology; it’s probably the most humorous story, with its send-ups of action/thriller cliches and Lovecraftian horrors from beyond time. I also liked Maggie Stiefvater’s “The Denial” (about a demon who falls in love with a human woman, and finds some kind of redemption), Daniel G. Keohane’s “Box” (about a victim of child trafficking) and “Small Accidents of God”, by Virginia Hernandez (a teenage girl is unnerved by the menacing shadows she can see hovering around other people, and hopes that “getting the Spirit” will make them go away).
One thing that the anthology got me thinking about is whether there can even be such a thing as Christian horror. I’m not talking about the window dressing of horror, the zombies and demons and serial killers and such. What I mean is that many critics seem to be arguing that one of the essential features of horror fiction is, at its core, a sense that everything is meaningless. That there’s no underlying purpose to our lives, or to life in general; or if there is, then the mind behind that purpose (if there is such a mind) does not wish us well. Most Christians would agree, I think, that this worldview is antithetical to the essential doctrines of Christianity.
I realize that Coach’s Midnight Diner doesn’t limit itself to horror fiction. But having read the anthology didn’t do much to convince me that there is such a thing as Christian horror. Most of the best stories were neither horror, nor particularly Christian (I don’t mean that they were anti-Christian, just that Christianity wasn’t relevant to the story). Some were one, but not the other. Even stories with horrific or frightening elements often ended on too much of a redemptive note to seem true to the grim and hopeless horror aesthetic.
I think one of the reasons I especially liked “Flowers for Shelly”, though, is that it did a better job than any of the other stories at walking the line between Christian faith (the first person narrator who turns into a zombie is a devout Christian, and of course there’s the question of how God could allow a zombie apocalypse to happen to good people), and grim hopelessness (perhaps there’s a purpose, but the zombified protagonist isn’t going to find out what it is). It’s also a bleakly funny story.
Of course, on the other hand, the Bible itself can be pretty horrific, and not just in window trappings (“I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit,” as the author of Ecclesiastes tells us). I’d argue that if you read the entire book, the horrific bits are just local minima (to use a scientific analogy); overall, there’s a purpose. Not necessarily for individual lives, though. People die without ever seeing the redemption that they’d hoped for.
So I guess I don’t have an answer to my own question. One thing I do know, though; every so often while I’m typing up a blog post, it auto-saves and tells me how many words I’ve written so far; and for an awfully long time while I was writing this post, the word count was 666.
On Sunday afternoon we had one of the most intense storms I’ve seen since moving to Boston. I was in church during the height of the storm (I’m sure there’s a cliche in there somewhere), but on the bus ride home, once we got into Arlington I started seeing trees down everywhere. One had fallen right on top of someone’s parked car.
The picture above is of the end of the one-way street I live on. Note how a tree has fallen and blocked the entire street, dragging a power line down with it.
My roommates told me that an even bigger tree fell over on the next street. They could hear the Public Works department sawing at it for over an hour after the storm ended, but by the time I got home, most of it had been cleared away. Here’s a picture of the part of the tree that was still standing.
It seems that Arlington was particularly hard hit by the storm, for some reason. Though not as hard hit as southern New Hampshire, which reportedly had a tornado! (The Boston area had a tornado watch, but I don’t think we actually had any tornadoes in Massachusetts.) They had most of the trees cleared off of residential streets by nightfall, but the bike path was still blocked by several downed trees on my Monday morning commute to work. I wish I’d thought to take my camera along. I had to carry my bike over two fallen trees just on the stretch between Lake Street and where it opens up by the soccer fields before Alewife. One of the trees was a willow that must have been at least 18 inches in diameter where it split. I could see the jagged trunk left behind; it broke off about 30 feet above the ground.
I assumed that these trees fell because of the strong winds, but my roommates think it’s because they were struck by lightning. I didn’t see any burn marks, though, and I was under the impression that if the upper limbs of a tree fell off because of a lightning strike, you’d see scorch marks. But I guess I don’t really know enough about it.
I’ve decided that my paranoia about riding my bike in thunderstorms is probably justified. Even if it’s just the 10-minute ride home. After seeing what the bike path looked like on Monday morning.
My roommates said that our cat didn’t like the thunderstorm, and kept meowing at them as if she wanted them to make the noise stop. When that didn’t work, she went and hid under my bed for a few hours.
Only 3 servings left!
I think I might have mentioned how Rachael Ray’s 30-Minute Meal recipes, in addition to being impossible to finish in 30 minutes, also serve way more people than the recipe claims. The cookbooks always say that the recipe serves 4. Above, you’ll see a picture of “Curried Vegetable Stoup” from Just in Time–after I’ve already eaten a bowlfull. That is, the humongous amount of soup you see in the Rubbermaid container should theoretically contain 3 servings.
This is not necessarily a bad thing. While I do love to cook, I would probably have more time for writing, sleeping and socializing with friends if I didn’t spend so much of it cooking. Still.
“Stoup” is Rachael Ray’s cutesy term for something that’s a cross between a soup and a stew in consistency. Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s why I don’t watch her television show, even though the cookbooks are excellent. It tasted good, no matter what you call it. And this recipe was vegan, too, so a good thing to serve if you have friends of that persuasion coming over for dinner.
Here it is in a bowl, with some pita chips on the side (no, I didn’t make the pita chips myself!).
Oh, and although this recipe was categorized in the cookbook as a 60-minute meal, and my experience thus far has led me to believe that it takes twice as long as the suggested time to cook a Rachael Ray recipe, it only took 1 hour and 13 minutes. I’m relieved that it didn’t take 2 hours.
I also made Roasted Beets with Dill-Walnut Vinaigrette, from the America’s Test Kitchen cookbook The New Best Recipe.
I wasn’t keeping track of how long this one took. Roasting the beets takes a while, but that’s pretty hands-off. I suppose, in retrospect, making a roasted beet dish when it was almost 90 degrees outside was not the smartest idea.
Finally, from a few days ago:
This one is not for the vegans (or those counting calories). That’s a 1:1 mixture of heavy cream and whole milk, not soy milk. And yes, those are bits of bacon you might see floating around in there. This is “Harvest Creamy Corn ‘Choup'”, also from Just in Time. It was listed as a 30-minute meal, but took 1 hour and 2 minutes. I guess “choup” is a cross between chowder and soup, but really, it seemed pretty chowderish to me. I don’t think that this soup really required the invention of a brand-new word in order to adequately describe its physical characteristics.
I suppose I should talk about writing again soon, since, despite theoretically being my author website, this seems to be turning into Kristin’s Cooking Blog.
I don’t like wasting food, but not everything I cook is delicious (I know, I know, hard to believe, right?–ask my boyfriend about the Tunisian pumpkin stew). So sometimes I end up eating things I don’t like all that much.
Last night, I made myself a mixed drink that included Coca-Cola as one of the ingredients (London Iced Tea, a variation of Long Island Iced Tea, from one of Dale Degroff’s cocktail books, for those who are curious – 3/4 oz gin, 3/4 oz white rum, 1/2 oz amaretto, 3/4 oz fresh lemon juice, 1/2 oz simple syrup, over ice in a highball or Collins glass, topped with Coke). It didn’t use the whole can, though. But I didn’t want to throw it away, so I drank it, even though I was under the impression that I don’t like Coke (or Pepsi, for that matter).
It was … okay. I would have preferred a nice glass of soy milk, though.
On the other hand, I just had the house-made root beer at the Woodstock Brewing Company in Woodstock, NH. And that was quite nice! (though I liked their brown ale better)
My boyfriend Donald and I are in New Hampshire now for our writing retreat. We haven’t done any writing yet, but it’s still early. We’re staying in a cute little cabin with a private screened porch overlooking a river. The cabin has wi-fi, but not on the porch, only in the living room.
At least for the past week, I’ve been able to keep up with my pledge to myself to make more time for reading, and I finally finished a book I’d been at for a long time. Of Fiction and Faith: Twelve American Writers Talk about Their Vision and Work, by W. Dale Brown. It was published in 1997, so it’s a little out of date in some ways, especially since some of the interviews took place in the early 90s. All this talk about the first Gulf War, and newspapers still being viable, and hardly anything about the internet.
The fiction and faith thing is a subject I’ve been interested in for a long time, so the book gave me a lot to think about. The writers interviewed are mostly lit fiction folks, so I had to grit my teeth at a lot of comments about how fantasy fiction can’t be considered art. Most of the writers in the book don’t really write “Christian” fiction (i.e., the stuff you find in Christian bookstores), even if they’re writing about God and faith.
One of the things I noticed was that, with few exceptions, the writers featured in the book were all quite liberal, politically. I guess since that’s where I find myself, it doesn’t surprise me that writers who wrestle with issues of faith and redemption in their work would have a similar outlook. But I do know Christian writers who aren’t writing standard Christian bookstore fare, who are not any more interested in providing easy but unsatisfying answers than I am, who are more conservative, politically. So I wondered if there was some sort of selection bias, as to the writers who were chosen. Few were genre writers–are genre writers more likely than literary fiction writers to have conservative politics? I don’t know.
Another thing that I came away with–something I’d already been thinking that was reinforced, really–is how easily and unfortunately we dichotomize. Many of the writers spoke of being too religious for secular readers, but too secular for religious readers. Fiction is religious, or secular. We’re Republicans or Democrats (at least in the country I’m living in). We’re intellectual, or uneducated. And Mississippi-born author Will Campbell, in his interview, talks about how contrary this is to the teaching of the New Testament, and yet how endemic it is in so many churches to do it anyway
“If you start saying, ‘Brothers and sisters … worldly standards no longer count in our estimate of anything. What this means is there’s no such thing as race … What this means is there’s no such thing as communism and capitalism and North Vietnam and South Vietnam. These are human categories, human standards, and Paul says these are no longer of any account. You don’t consider these things anymore.’ That’s when you start getting into trouble.”
Campbell’s mostly talking about his involvement in the civil rights movement, but I was really struck by how it applies to so many things, and how far I fall short of the standard God calls us to. I mean, this judging of people (or ideas, or works of art) by the categories you’ve put them into isn’t a problem that the church has exclusively. Literary fiction writers and critics disdain genre fiction. The college-educated look down on those with only a highschool degree (or less). People who eat exclusively natural and organic food look down on those who live off frozen entrees from the chain grocery store. But Christians fall into it, too, me as much as anyone else, and I was kind of moved by the reminder of how wrong-headed it is.
I’m not advocating the kind of tolerance where no one should express strong opinions about anything, or disagree with anyone else. I just mean that, all too often, we dismiss someone or something because of the category we’ve put them into. And even though I might not like it being done to me, I do it to others. I don’t want people deciding not to read my stories because they’ve found out I’m an evangelical Christian. But I tend to dismiss pretty much all Christian popular fiction (the stuff that Christian publishing houses produce, and that’s sold in Christian bookstores) as insipid and not worth my time. I get irritated if lit majors think my fiction can’t possibly be worth reading because it’s mostly science fiction and fantasy. But I make the same judgment about romance. I don’t want people at church to think I’m a bad person because I would vote for the Democrats if I were a US citizen, and think abortion and gay marriage should be legal. But I’m pretty quick to judge all the Republicans at church because of the policies of their party on the environment, international policy and domestic social issues.
I’ve heard secular humanists say that this kind of judging based on having categorized someone as “other” is the fault of religion (or maybe even the fault of Christianity, specifically). But I don’t think it is. I think it’s a very human instinct (or perhaps an animal instinct), and I think it’s one of the things that the Christian faith explicitly commands us to put behind us.
We just don’t do a very good job.
My boyfriend and I are off to New Hampshire this weekend for a writing retreat. Just the two of us! It will be a very small writing retreat. I expect to get lots of work done. After all, what distractions could a young couple in love, shut away together in a cabin for the weekend, possibly encounter?
I’m hoping to finish the last revisions on a story I’m revising for the umpteenth time, so I can send it out into the world and try to find a home for it. It’s been out in the world before, but always came back limping and licking its wounds. It’s been through many variations and titles. First it was called “Menagerie,” then “The Magician’s Niece.” The current title is “Clear Skies in Pixieland,” which I’m not sure I’m crazy about either, but is the best I can come up with for now. People who’ve read more than one version always prefer the most recently written one, which is good! I think now it’s just about there. The beginning is much more exciting than any of the other beginnings; Donald and I think a couple other people suggested I start with the scene where Chris and Ed are captured by the pixies, and that seems to work pretty well. I also took my friend Douglas’s suggestion to start and end the story with events in the alternate world and have the middle take place in this world, since so many cross-world fantasies have the opposite structure.
For those who haven’t read this story, and are curious, it’s about a university professor and his research assistant who have this shady operation where they go into an alternate universe and capture pixies and fairies and other beings to sell to wealthy collectors. Then, on one trip to the enchanted forest, something goes terribly wrong!
I also hope to get a significant amount of writing done on my revision on “Swordsman of the Guard.” It’s turning out much, much different that the last version. Much longer, too. It’s still short story length (under 7500 words), but only just, and there’s a LONG way to go. It may have to be a novella. If it gets over 40,000 words (not this weekend, obviously; I can’t write that fast!), I’ll have to put it aside for a while and decide whether I really want to write a novel just now.
It might be a stupid idea, at this stage in my career, to be writing fiction at a not-very-publishable length (the pixie story is over 14,000 words, and getting longer every day). But I never let the fact that something is a stupid idea deter me! And, well, that happens to be what I want to write just now. I do want to write novels as well as short stories eventually, so maybe writing a couple of novellas, even if I can’t find anyone who wants to publish them, will be good practice.
I finally cooked a Rachael Ray meal that took less than 30 minutes (28, to be exact). “Pea and Parsley Soup with Canadian Bacon.” (or “peameal bacon” or “back bacon”, as we refer to it in Canada) From Just in Time.
Only trouble is, this recipe is listed as a special, super-fast “15-minute meal.”
Usually, with a Rachael Ray recipe, I assume that it will take twice as long as the cookbook says it will.
I put in a picture, which I think will show up at the top of this post, but I’m not sure, because it’s the first picture I’ve included in a post so far. I’d put it down here, but I don’t know how to select where in the post I want the picture, and I’m trying to limit myself to 30 minutes of time on the internet each day, and I only have 2 minutes left.
Anyway, it was very tasty. I used to hate peas, but now I don’t mind them so much. Though I still don’t like them all by themself, especially the canned or over-ripe frozen ones that have gotten all starch and gross.
On Monday night, I made a Rachael Ray recipe from the 2nd 30-minute meal cookbook. This one actually gives full menus, instead of just a one-pot meal. It claims that you can make the entire menu in 30 minutes, but I find that it usually takes 30 minutes for each of the 2 or 3 courses. I made “Tuscan-Style Grilled Tuna Steaks” and “Grilled Stuffed Portobellos with Tomatoes, Rosemary, and Smoked Mozzarella.” And a tossed green salad. 1 hour and 14 minutes. I’m willing to shave off 15 minutes, since I used a charcoal grill, and that adds a bit of time compared to using gas. But a 30-minute meal it was not! (It was absolutely delicious, though. And my cat Tallulah also enjoyed the tuna.)
Okay, I’m 3 minutes over my alloted internet time for the day, so I’d better stop.
Two summers ago, I was fortunate enough to attend the Clarion West Writers Workshop in Seattle. This is a 6-week program where 18 science fiction and fantasy writers, usually pretty early in their careers, live together in a sorority house and write fiction and critique each other’s work and learn about developing their craft. (Each week of the program is led by a different instructor who’s already a professional writer.)
It’s a really amazing experience, and I don’t regret having had the chance to participate. But one thing that’s difficult about it is that it’s also a very artificial experience. It’s wonderful to write and read and learn about writing, all day every day. And to be surrounded by 17 other people with the same obsession. And to have your meals cooked for you, and the dishes done, and the bathroom cleaned, and the floor vacuumed. For the rest of the world to go away and leave you alone for 6 weeks (or, rather, to go away from the rest of the world). But most of us don’t have those luxuries when we go back to our regular lives. It can be difficult to figure out how to keep being a writer without them.
I actually managed to get through the whole 6 weeks without being addicted to coffee, and to mostly get 8 hours of sleep each night. And I was reasonably productive. I wasn’t the most productive person in the class. One week I didn’t hand in a story. But I got stuff done. I had time to read fiction, every now and then. To keep up with my e-mail. To socialize.
And I can’t seem to do that in the real world. Lately I’ve been drinking 2 or 3 cups of coffee a day, and getting by on 6 hours of sleep, and I still don’t seem to be finding much time to write. Or read. Or hang out with friends. So many other distractions! (having a full-time job, for one)
I’ve tried all sorts of strategies to deal with this, and every so often I realize I have to do better, so I come up with a new strategy and try that. My typical writing goal is to spend an hour each weekday, Monday through Friday, writing fiction or revising stories that I want to send out to magazines. And then 5 hours either Saturday or Sunday doing “related work.” (Critiquing other people’s stories, researching places to send new stories of mine, working on my website.) But the problem has been that if, for whatever reason, I don’t get my hour (or 5 hours) done on a particular day, I tell myself that I’ll just make up the time some other day. So then I accumulate this massive and somewhat embarrassing backlog of time that I’m supposed to make up, and it’s so overwhelming and discouraging that I end up not being very motivated just to do the 1 hour I was supposed to do the next day. What’s the point? I have these 30 OTHER hours I still need to make up before I can allow myself time to read fiction for pleasure, or sleep 8 hours.
Anyway, I finally had the somewhat obvious revelation that this is kind of stupid and pointless, and if I don’t get my hour of writing done on a particular day, I should just move on, and decide that tomorrow is a new day, etc. Then maybe I’ll actually do tomorrow’s hour, rather than thinking I’m going to stay up all night and do 5 hours, and then not get started until 11 pm, oh, and what’s that article I just saw on the internet….
At least that’s the theory. I’m also going to try and spend 30 minutes every day reading stuff I want to read. Whether I got yesterday’s writing done or not.
It was easier at Clarion West, though.
A friend of mine once threw some old maraschino cherries in his compost. A year later, they were still there, as round and brilliantly-hued as the day he first opened the bottle.
I’m not a huge fan of maraschino cherries. Food doesn’t come in that color! And yet, I like to make old-school cocktails, and some of them call for one of these cherries as a garnish. A Manhattan just doesn’t look right without one. I’ve been buying the Silver Palate brand, which at least don’t have any artificial coloring, but they don’t taste much better than the standard grocery store variety.
The kind you get at the grocery store are not actually the original maraschino cherries, though. The term used to refer to a product made by the Luxardo Corporation: marasca cherries (a small cherry native to the Adriatic coast of Italy and Croatia) bottled in a liqueur made from the same (Luxardo’s maraschino liqueur, which for a long time wasn’t readily available in the US, but now is, thanks to the trendiness of fancy cocktails). When Prohibition came along, these became illegal, and a non-alcoholic substitute was invented. And is, sadly, with us to this day.
So, the other day I was at the bar at Clio Restaurant in Boston, and what did I see on the counter but a jar of Luxardo brand maraschino cherries! It wasn’t very busy, so I asked the bartender about them, and he gave me one to try. Was it ever tasty! He said that you can buy them at Boston Shaker (a bartending supply store) in Davis Square. I haven’t yet put this to the test, but I hope he’s right! I’m looking to forward to garnishing Manhattans, Old Fashioneds and Aviations with a cherry that not only looks pretty, but tastes good, too.
(On this latest visit, I was only at Clio with a friend for a drink, but I have eaten there before, and I think it’s one of Boston’s best restaurants. We did end up on a whim getting the Miso Dark Chocolate Cremeux, which my friend ordered without either of us looking at the menu, and I would never have ordered it on my own because it comes with banana ice-cream, and I hate banana more than any other flavor on the planet, but we scraped the ice-cream off to the side, and the chocolate part was just amazing! It was like a rectangle of this luscious, dark chocolate pate, with a burnt caramel sauce on the side.)
