19 March 2022
FLU SEASON - a pandemic novel, part 1
12 February 2022
The Mother of all Valentine Rants

So this love thing...what is it? Science tells us it's nothing more than a firing of neurons. It's a biochemical reaction to a certain stimulus. See a pretty face, feel happy. A pretty face is determined based on genetic programming and environmental quirks. We know what we like. For men, it's easy: there are ass men, boob men, and so on. For women...well, I've read they like broad shoulders and a non-physical attribute called confidence. Magazines can be wrong. Social media is more accurate these days.
Even so, it's a walking stimulus. Advertising is based on walking stimuli; Valentine advertising is based on sex-related stimuli. The problem is that today such stimuli exist year-round, so what's the big deal about one particular day of the year? Because, dear lovers of love, if you do not demonstrate said love to said lover on the day set aside for displays of love, you are a rube at best and an ex-lover in the making at worse. There is no middle ground, only a pit of ruin.

You go along on your simple, unadorned life, thinking it's just a matter of getting older, not having quality sleep, suffering from a poor diet, or not having enough friends, or not enough cool, hip, advertising-worthy friends (but who can ever have enough of those?) and then...BAM!!! No, it's not your fault, so don't worry. Besides, we have a solution.
Buy this! Plenty to choose from. Eat this! Drink that! Take this! Wear this! Drive that! Look this way! Pay me! Pay us! Pay all of us! Or else you are not the person you want to be. Or else you can never be the kind of person you think you are! Give us money and we will solve your problems. We will roll back time, give you a make-over, prep you for your big debut, help you sweep the lover of your dreams off his/her feet! We will make you a god/goddess!
Give us your money and all will be resolved. It's that easy.
Oh, for shame. Got no money? Well, then you don't count. Never counted, in fact. And who would want you anyway? That is, without the money to buy all the solutions you obviously need to fix all the problems you obviously have in order to fit into this perfect, virtual society we have constructed and dutifully maintain for the glory of all who worship the almighty Valentine and the many minions of Münchausen mania! Only then will you be worthy of membership!
Just click off and log off the obstinate media and social media and return to your quiet humble existence. Perhaps cuddle up with a wonderfully understanding book boyfriend/girlfriend. Many do. It's not that weird. (I have 14 books I can recommend; see the top right corner of this page.) Three-hundred pages or so will definitely last longer than an awkward round of that sexercise thing you used to do - well, that was before the Valentine thorn in your side started to hurt, before the roses wilted.
Yes, I know I like to rant. Sometimes it helps. Sorry. Probably there's a pill for that. And I have some money squirreled away for just such a solution to such a problem - a problem I never knew I had, couched in a Valentine I never requested or expected, from a person I have yet to meet, smeared with chocolate melted in a hot car then re-solidified later. At least, I think it's chocolate. It counts.
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(There do not seem to be any memes for "book girlfriend" FYI.) |
29 January 2022
Year of the Tiger (2022)
19 December 2021
On the Compression of Time
16 November 2021
On keeping up with the Future
Then
I got the reality check for real: the mirror.
Remember
the mirror, Stefan? We used to stand naked in front of that wide mirror in my
bathroom, side by side, staring at ourselves. One woman, one man. You were
slender, a geek. Me with no boobs. We were a couple. Those were good days. But
you know mirrors can lie. You told me that more than a few times. Especially
when you started poking at those dry patches on your face. You cursed the
mirror. Then you turned them down or covered them, you said. You refused to
look at yourself. But I saw you. I looked at you, Stefan. I was your mirror,
and I saw you falling apart. Every single day. I still went ahead and put my
eyes on you, no matter how bad you looked.
March
15, 2020. The next worst day of my life. I stared at myself in the mirror. I
saw the patch on my cheek. Brown. Scaly. Itchy. Mottled edges, sort of
diamond-shaped. If I had never met you I wouldn’t have a clue what it was or
how I might have gotten it. I would try what you did, what I first suggested: apply
some lotion. Dry skin needs lotion. And hydration. I can’t laugh anymore at how
many times I told you to hydrate. Your skin was too dry, so hydrate. Remember?
You
know me: I hydrate like a fish. So that was not my problem. I tried lotions,
which softened the patch—patches, eventually, on my face, shoulders, back, also
my chest. There didn’t seem enough lotion in all the stores of the mall to cover
my needs.
But
I did know you, so I had a clue. A creeping feeling started to run up my spine.
I
know what you’re thinking: Why does she have this problem? She is not
Hungarian. She doesn’t have those genes. And she eats a ton of garlic in that
Korean food. I wondered that, too. It made no sense. But there I was, naked in
front of the mirror in the bathroom, examining myself, staring at my
brown-patchy skin, wondering what to do.
And
my mother walked in!
“What
are you doing?” she asked, half in shock to see me naked.
“I
was about to take a shower,” I told her. “I was checking these . . . a few
spots of bad skin.”
She
stepped closer and took a look at them. She doesn’t have any medical training,
but she is a mother. That must count for something, right? But she had no idea.
Then it was déjà-vu all over again: “You better see dermatologist.”
28 October 2021
On the Overwriting of Sex Scenes
“Shhhh,” Eléna whispered. She pulled him back onto the bed. “Let me enjoy you.”
He thought then that he was about to go sailing on a wild, stormy ocean. No telling what would happen! He expelled a big breath, freeing his anxiety, and the woman knew it was time to raise the anchor.
He continued collecting souvenirs
as she directed him southward, showing him a lush garden of delicious, juicy
fruit to sample, even daring him to taste the puckered kumquat. The festive banquet
of Eden spread before him! She sighed in pleasure, like the wind in the sails,
and encouraged him to gather all the treasures that he could. He responded by
lapping furiously at the fountain of youth, growing not younger but older,
gaining maturity. And when he feared he might finally be satiated, she called
for him to return to port, to push hard into the harbor until his vessel was
fully docked and his wares completely unloaded.
In the end, she was satisfied far more than she had expected to be, and much more than she had been for many years of married life. He listened to her confession as though it were a siren’s song. She had nearly forgotten how wonderful such a vacation trip could possibly be. She lovingly kissed her captain for what seemed endless days and weeks, and thanked him sincerely for the voyage. And he, spiritually exhausted and morally bankrupt beyond reason, reluctantly surrendered into her gentle hands his last ounce of gold.
However, the scene has always bothered me. Most likely, I worried what my mother might say about it. Scandalous, indeed. She was so proud, however, that she told all her church friends to read it. That would make it a bestseller for certain! Anyway, no complaints, no rough feedback. I imagined well-read folks would take exception with the lavish description, calling it pretentious, overwrought, or silly - it is silly, I'll admit, but for a purpose.
27 September 2021
Another Year Falls
And so, one night a couple weeks ago, I pulled from my shelf one of my novels: EPIC FANTASY *WITH DRAGONS. Why this one? I'm not sure. Perhaps I had a dream which, upon waking, left a smudge of something in my consciousness which dovetailed strangely with an episode in that epic fantasy novel. So I wanted to go to that scene in the book, like picking up a piece of candy, but instead of jumping right there I started from the beginning. Suddenly I was determined to read it straight through, all 660 pages of daring do, merry mirth, strange cities, and all the damn dragons!
I was pleasantly surprised. The novel opens with our hero in his element: hunting dragons. I've always recalled that it started slow, and despite many revisions, I continued to believe that. Upon re-reading it, however, I found it moved along quite well. It had been just long enough that I had forgotten many small details which upon reading again seemed quite delightful and clever. I enjoyed the troubles our hero gets into and how dragons or magic save him, or else, sometimes, others manage to help him save himself.
At any rate, the scene I was heading toward when I started reading the novel again is the argument between our burly hero and the new girl, literally a woman warrior who will not let our hero be the leader. They are camped for the night while on the road, escorting a lady ambassador back to her home. And it goes a little like this:
The woman [warrior Naka Wu] squatted and sliced off
some meat, then extended the dagger to him [our hero Corlan], a juicy cut dangling from the tip.
He reached over and plucked it off the blade and plopped the morsel into his
mouth.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, chewing.
“We must work together now,” she
said. “Like a clan. Everyone to do a part, sharing.” She shot a glance at Rupas [sidekick hunchback] across the spit from her. “We could call ourselves the Wu clan.”
Rupas laughed. “Corlan might object
to that. He started this clan—if that’s what we should call it: a clan. He is a
Tang by birth. It should be the Tang clan.”
“That’s right,” Corlan muttered,
chewing.
“Now I am in charge, you say. I wish
to call us the Wu clan. There is a beautiful sound to the words.”
“Why are you even riding with us?”
asked Corlan in a sour voice. “What of your rebellion?”
“Fa Mei led the rebellion. She rules
in Covin now,” said Naka Wu. “I did my part, as you saw. I will return and be
part of her reign. She has promised me a high command. With my sisters, we
initiated the first step. Now I am bound by my code to escort the ambassador
home.” She regarded Jemma [ambassador], sitting beside Rupas. “However long that may be.”
“Another detour from our original
journey,” Corlan muttered.
“So many detours,” Rupas mumbled.
“It’s a wonder we are not all dead. We’d better avoid cities from now on.”
“The Wu clan is not afraid of
cities,” said Naka Wu boldly.
“The Tang clan is smart enough to
avoid unnecessary dangers,” Corlan countered.
“You two should work together,” said
Rupas. “It doesn’t concern us what we call ourselves. Let it be the Tang-Wu
clan and we will all be satisfied.”
“Let us be the Wu-Tang clan,” said
Naka Wu. “And we will not be afraid of any city yet we shall not be so bold as
to enter any city without caution.”
“Danapo is a safe city,” Jemma cut
in.
“Fair enough,” said Corlan,
tightening his jaw.
“Then it’s done: we are the Wu-Tang
clan,” said Rupas, clapping his hands. “Compromise!”
Amusing perhaps, even if you don't know the reference to a pop music group. The novel is full of puns and malapropisms. It's part of the fun I had writing the thing. At the time, I called it my tour-de-force, declaring that I had said in it everything I wanted to say about life, death, civilization, men and women, law and religion, and the value of dragons. I had nothing more to say on any topic after this novel. That is the goal, I think, of anything deigned to be called "epic". Meanwhile, I seem to have started a new novel, the post-apocalyptic plague story, different from the one I started in March 2020 but soon gave up when real life became too much like art.
So it goes....
I think I might reflect on past works, share some insider information, reveal some quirks or problems I had in writing it, critique my own efforts. It's always good to return to once important things and see them again in what may be a new light. That process is helpful when put in order the materials of one's life and lifeworks.
14 August 2021
Late Summer / Fall Reading List
However, this summer I've been delayed in giving you the reading list. Instead, I was publishing my latest book, a science fiction tale of an intelligent non-human being trying to escape captivity and find the way home, one of the basic plots in literature. You're probably reading it now, right? You can read more about THE MASTERS' RIDDLE here and about its setting here.
Note: I write in several genre, whatever fits the story that my muses dictate into my ear, so there's something for everyone: romance, adventure, sci-fi, fantasy, paranormal, contemporary, literary, biographical, but not especially YA (sorry). Most of all, I try to write a compelling tale of people in crisis, strangers in strange lands, whether it is our contemporary world or a world of imagination.
YEAR OF THE TIGER (Nov 2020)
Every night Karl Edwards has strange, violent dreams. He sees the world as though he's looking through the eyes of a Bengal tiger and it's driving him insane. Fortunately, his sexy wife knows a hunky doctor who can help her have Karl committed, that is.
Locked up, the nightmares worsen as the tiger hunts down the men who killed its mate. Karl has a plan, however. All he has to do is persuade Althea, a young nurse, to help him escape. Next, he must get to India. Then he must find that one tiger and kill it. Only then will he have the mind they seem to share all to himself.
But others are also interested in joining the hunt. The doctor who put Karl in the mental hospital, fearing Karl will reveal his crimes. And famous big game hunter Colonel John Barrington will come out of retirement, with worldwide media in tow, for one last chance at a man-eating tiger!
(You can read a lovely review here.)


