Adventures with Words, Newsletter 18, August 2024
I’ve had a very busy summer with gardening, hiding from the heat and working on the book. This is typically a season where my writing goes through a lull, but that’s not happening this year. I’ve gone through the manuscript YET AGAIN looking for repetitious words or similar words, little gotchas where that need to be removed or fixed, and hunting down filler words. I’ve gotten feedback from a few people (Thank you, Mol, Keith, Isabel, and Maile!) and will be working through changes suggested by their feedback. I’m pleased that I haven’t had to rip out any huge sections or solve large logic problems. The issues that have been uncovered aren’t horrible, and I know I’m up to the task of fixing them. I will be getting feedback from two sensitivity readers – thank you, Chris at Blue Cactus Press for facilitating that.
My deadline on making revisions is August 18th when I send the manuscript back to Jenny Bartoy for a line edit.
Growing Our Own Food
The Front Yard Farm garden has produced lettuce, cabbage, collards, broccoli, peas, beans and potatoes. While some of the potatoes are still in the ground awaiting harvest, and some of the beans are still producing, we’ve pulled most of the rest. And this year, instead of tucking in the beds until next spring, Mol and I are planting a fall garden. We’ve sown seeds for carrots, beets, onions, cabbage and kale. We plan to add lettuce and snap peas. We are still awaiting our first ripe tomatoes, though it seems a lot of folks in this area are in the same boat.
Mol and I did some foraging a couple of weeks ago and picked a lot of blackberries. Mol juiced them into a quart and a half of super tasty liquid and converted some of that to syrup. It was so good on the waffles they made for kiddo and I this weekend. We still have almost a quart of juice left. Of course, the blackberries are in season, so I can graze on my way to the mailbox.
It’s Getting Hot in Here….
As I learned while working at Mom’s earlier in the summer, outside work on hot days is best done early and late, with the middle for working (or not-working) inside. I am a baby when it’s super hot so I’ve got to get my strategies in order before we move to Chewelah. They’re regularly running 10 degrees hotter than we are in Olympia.
What I’ve been reading
The combination of revising the book and gardening have slowed down my reading pace. I have finished a couple since the last newsletter.
Who Put This Song On? by Morgan Parker is a YA novel featuring a teenager very like EJ in my book – prone to panic attacks, dealing with depression and trying to be a good friend. Morgan feels stifled and misunderstood at their private Christian high school – not only are they one of the only Black kids, they’re nonbinary but only their closest friends use their pronouns. Parker has done a great job of utilizing her own experiences in high school to create relatable characters and circumstances that are often super-cringy – just like high school was in real life.
Out of Salem by Hal Schrieve (who once hailed from Olympia) features teenaged characters who are not just queer, not just binary but also monsters! Well, that’s how their home town of Salem Oregon sees them. What happens when a zombie and a werewolf join forces with other magic wielders to face off an all-to-familiar conservative push-back? Read it and find out. It’s a long one, so set some time aside because once you get into it, you’ll want to keep reading to find out what happens next. Truly an imaginative take on supernatural coming-of-age.
What I’m Listening To
Along with the podcast for The Shit No One Tells You About Writing, I get the newsletter. In a recent issue, writer William Dean (The Chamber, Dark Pines, Tuva Moodyson Mystery series) talks about his process and his personal hacks for staying on track despite insecurity and the terror of NOT BEING GOOD ENOUGH. His description of what we are trying to do when we write is similar to how I’ve described art in general – we have a vision, we try to take that vision out of our heads and into the world where others can read, watch, view, experience that vision as a piece of art. It’s never a perfect transfer, so we keep doing it, always trying to get that perfect creation from the inside of our brains to the outside.
In case you’re looking for other writer related podcasts and want recommendations, I am also enjoying Print Run by Laura Zats and Eric Hane, the two literary agents who make up Headwater LIterary Agency. A non-writing themed podcast to try out is Ologies with Ali Ward. Ologies explores various areas of scientific research like Quasithanatology (near-death experiences), Neuroparasitology (nature zombies), and Fire Ecology (wildfires and indigenous fire management). This is a black hole you’ll be happy to fall into if you love to learn new things. Plus, think of all the story ideas you’ll find.
Last night, I attended the Creative Colloquy event at Peaks and Pints – part of the Tacoma Beer Week celebration. As usual, there were great featured writers and lots of talent in the open mic section. I changed my mind about just being an audience member – the open mic is very seductive – and looked through my Drive to see if I had anything short to read. I found something in a folder I named ‘Violent Daydreams’.. I don’t exactly remember writing it – it’s very possible I was high on post-surgery narcotics.
Waking to Chaos
I came back to consciousness and chaos at the same moment.
I was lying on a hospital bed in recovery from my second carpal tunnel surgery. I had a faint memory of waking up at least one time previously, though I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary. This – whatever this was – had happened within a short time span.
I felt grateful that the surgery was on my non-dominant hand, though a bandaged wad on the end of my arm would be a hindrance, of course. There was no IV to deal with, I did need to get out of this gown and my bladder was throbbing for attention.
But the chaos, you and I both want to know what that’s about. The room was dim with emergency lighting; sirens and alarms were blaring inside and out. Earthquake? I glanced around the room and didn’t see anything knocked over. Instead I found Nurse Wilson – he insisted I call him ‘Wils’ – slumped against the door, a trail of blood all the way down, his eyes as open as the wound on his chest.
Jesus Effing Christ, how had I slept through this?
I assumed he’d been shot outside the room and had sought refuge inside. Shit, Wils, what the hell is going on?
I carefully got out of bed, checking in with my balance and possible dizziness. Confident I could walk without passing out or falling, I sidled up to peek out the window, not sure I was still in the same city I started out in that morning. Across the parking lot, where a squat, gray, government-mandated ugly building had been this morning, was now a smoking ruin piled up against the horizon. I knew the horizon was out there, even though I couldn’t see it through the smoke, flickering flames of uncontrolled burning and other buildings reduced to piles of concrete debris.
I regretted not choosing the hospital on the outskirts of the city in favor of the one right next to the government complex. I fished clothing out of the hospital-provided plastic bag and shed the gown. Once my shoes were on – and let me tell you, I don’t recommend trying to tie your shoes with one hand. Wils had promised to help, sweet guy that he was.
I went through the cabinets and drawers for anything useful – gauze, tape, etc. I didn’t find anything I could use as a weapon – I’m sure that was intentional. I mean, I could possibly use Wils stethoscope to strangle someone, but no, the rubber would break before it finished the job.
The final step before exiting the room was moving poor Nurse Wils with one hand. No small task as he was a lot bigger than me. I squatted down and closed his eyes, apologizing for not being able to do more. I managed to move him by pushing with my legs and holding him up with my good hand against his chest. It was awkward because I was avoiding the wound. Once I got him off the door and against the adjacent wall, I had to sit and catch my breath.
Was I ready to face what was outside that door? I’m sure you’re as curious as I am. Nurse Wils’ fatal wound was a good indicator that this wasn’t a natural disaster, which would be better than the human-made kind, in my opinion. In that regard, I had three candidates in mind – the Orange Bands, who had been threatening violent reprisal for months; an as yet unknown terrorist group taking advantage of the focus on the Orange Bands; and aliens, because we always have to consider aliens, right? Again, based on the look of the wound, this was an Earth-based threat.
I reached out for the door latch, unlocking it. I’d be more confident teaming up with a live, intact, 6 foot-something former football lineman named Nurse Wils but I’d have to rely on one hand, arthritic knees and high blood pressure to get me through whatever awaited.
Take care until the next time.
Making Contact
Here’s where you can find me online:
- CKCombs.com – my blog
- @CKCombs_author – Instagram, BlueSky, and Threads
- CKCombsAuthor@gmail.com