Libby Doyle's Blog, page 3

Cover Reveal!

This book has been a long time coming, I know, dear readers. Please blame my odious day job. You may also blame the complexity and cosmic sweep of this epic bad boy. I'm fond of calling my books ripsnorters. This one is the ripsnortiest! 

As it should be!  The Vengeance Season concludes a MAJOR story arc. The series will go on with the characters you know and love, but it reboots, so to speak. If you're looking for some visceral satisfaction, look no further!

VENGEANCE IS COMING 11.27.18 

SYNOPSIS  

To keep her safe, he will confront his evil father.

​To keep him strong, she will overcome horrors no human has ever had to face.
 
After the explosive events at the winter solstice, Zan is more than happy to sink back into her job with the FBI, but she could have guessed her normal times wouldn’t last. Barakiel loves her and Lucifer — his ruthless father — knows it.  
 
With the help of Zan and the traveler adept Pellus, Barakiel learns his father is searching for a way to travel through the dark veins of the cosmos. If he succeeds, Zan will be in grave danger. Lucifer could appear at any moment in the Earthly Realm. He could appear on the manicured terraces of Covalent City.
 
The solution is clear. Barakiel and his allies must convince the Covalent leadership to march on the Destructive Realm. They must take the war to Lucifer’s Keep.
 
Warning: This book contains foul language, explicit sex, and violence. Adults only! The Vengeance Season is the third novel in a five-part series. The romantic science fantasy will continue in The Warlord Season, Book IV of the Covalent Series, due for release in 2019. ​ Preorder through the links below. 
Apple Books
Amazon
Kobo
Other Retailers
​

Wonder of the Unexpected

Today I’m sitting in my office formatting a paperback, lamenting the fact that I can’t get out into the sunny day. At least the light is pouring in through my bay windows, which makes my office a pleasant place to hang out.

My decision to publish three novels in as many months means I’ve been so busy lately that I’m missing autumn, my favorite season. The novels were basically already written, in case you were wondering if I’m one of those superhumans who can crank out a novel per month from scratch. I am not. My books are long and complex to boot so that would be quite a feat, even if I didn’t have a stinky day job.

Independent publishing is a lot of work, however, so each weekend I spend 12 hours or so per day doing what I have to do. At least this includes some writing. Yay! 

As autumn gleams outside my window I cheer myself up by remembering all the times I’ve made deliberate trips to view the foliage only to find the peak had passed, or it wasn’t a good year.

This gets me thinking about my most magical experiences. Usually, they are unexpected.

Once, my cousin and I hiked the Escarpment Trail in the Catskill Mountains of New York. We planned it months ahead of time. My cousin’s little kids made this necessary. We weren’t thinking at all about foliage even though we scheduled it for October.

Boy-oh-man did we get lucky. The Escarpment Trail winds along a series of cliffs. Everywhere we looked we found a rolling carpet of brilliant yellow, orange and red. A light rain fell the whole time. You might think that was a drag, but it wasn’t. The soft light made the colors more vivid. Yellow like ripe corn. Orange like  hot July sunsets. Red like garnets held to candles. I’ll never forget it, really. The views and the wonderful smell! Fresh rain and earth. What a trip. And then there was the time the Hubby and I were hiking in the Berkshires in Massachusetts. (Can you tell I'm partial to mountains?) We chose the first weekend in October. We hoped for good leaf-peeping, but that year the trees were mostly brown. The locals told us it was because of an unusually hot, dry summer. Of course, we hiked anyway because it was beautiful in its own way.

On the second day of the trip we rounded the corner of a dilapidated barn to witness a meadow filled with monarch butterflies, thousands of them, floating and fluttering and clinging to trees and reeds of tall grass that swayed in the warm breeze. The Monarch Migration! Every year these delicate little things zigzag all the way to Mexico! The sight was magical -- soothing and thrilling at the same time. Every time I think about it I feel lucky to have seen it. So lucky.
​
So there is my thought for the day. Always be ready for unexpected delights. They’re the best kind.
​

The Passion Season Playlist

Hello Covalent fans! To explain how a playlist is suited to The Passion Season, I begin with this anecdote about me and The Hubby. We're driving down the highway toward the New Jersey Pine Barrens when Good Vibrations comes on the radio. We think it is the original Beach Boys song because of the first few notes, but it is soon revealed to be the David Lee Roth cover. Simultaneously, the Hubby and I cry, "Oh no!"  and reach for the radio dial. This is why we are married. 

Like my husband and I, music brings the two main characters of The Passion Season together. Zan O'Gara is a skilled guitar player who fronts a rock-n-roll band and sits in with some bluegrass players everyone once in a while. That's her guitar in the picture above, the Les Paul Goldtop. Rainer Barakiel has relied on music to keep him company throughout his solitary life on Earth. His violins are among his most prized possessions.

When Zan and Rainer meet, their common interest in music is one of the things they find most intriguing about each other. Their shared devotion to the art form becomes their most intimate form of communication. Except for their righteous sex, of course.

This is why I thought a playlist would be fun. Many of these songs are meant to match the emotion of a particular part of the book (like first one, Burn). Others are played by the characters as part of the story. I hope you enjoy them! Burn - Nine Inch Nails
Rosary Sonata No. 6, The Agony in the Gethsemane - Heinrich Biber
Repeater - Fugazi
Top of the World - Shonen Knife
Don't Let Your Deal Go Down - Flatt & Scruggs
Caprice 24  - Paganini (played by Hilary Hahn)
La Cumbia Campesina - Luis Ornelas
There Goes My Gun - The Pixies
​Cover Me Up - Jason Isbell
​Past and Pending - The Shins
My Idea of Fun - The Stooges
​Angel of Death - Slayer
​To Be Over - Yes
Love is Blindness - Jack White
​The World's A Mess; It's In My Kiss - X

Pets in Space™ is back!

Hey, readers! Do you have any fur babies? Do you ever imagine them in space? No? Well, that's okay, because the writers of Pets in Space™ have done it for you!

The animal-filled anthology is back with 11 original, never-before-released stories from today’s top selling Science Fiction Romance authors! Pick up your limited release copy of Embrace the Passion: Pets in Space™ 3 and help support Hero-Dogs.org. 

Join these talented writers as they unveil eleven original, never-before-published action-filled romances that will heat your blood and warm your heart!

New York Times, USA Today and award-winning authors S.E. Smith, Anna Hackett, Ruby Lionsdrake, Veronica Scott, Pauline Baird Jones, Carol Van Natta, Tiffany Roberts, Alexis Glynn Latner, E D Walker, JC Hay, and Kyndra Hatch combine their love for Science Fiction Romance and pets to bring readers sexy, action-packed romances while helping our favorite charity.

​Proud supporters of Hero-Dogs.org, Pets in Space™ authors have donated over $4,400 in the past two years to help place specially trained dogs with veterans. Open your hearts and grab your limited release copy of Embrace the Passion: Pets in Space™ 3. Buy links below. Overview of Stories
 
HEART OF THE CAT:
Sarafin Warriors Series
By S.E. Smith
Can love bridge the gap between a wounded alien warrior and the reclusive human woman who holds the future of his species inside her?
 
DESERT HUNTER: Galactic Gladiators Series
By Anna Hackett
Among the desert sands of an alien world, a man with secrets to hide finds himself face to face with the one woman who can bring him to his knees.
 
QUASHI: Mandrake Company Series
By Ruby Lionsdrake
Alien fur balls, a handsome doctor, and a little white lie create havoc for a young woman who only wanted a job.
 
STAR CRUISE: MYSTERY DANCER: The Sectors SF Romance Series
By Veronica Scott
A long-lost princess and her three-eyed cat seek refuge on the Nebula Zephyr only to catch the attention of an inquisitive Security Officer.
 
OPERATION ARK: Project Enterprise Series
By Pauline Baird Jones
A not quite routine mission to return rescued prisoners to their home worlds turns deadly for unlikely allies, a USMC Sergeant and a raised-by-robots pirate. Is the Sergeant’s unusual pet the wild card that will save or doom them?
 
CATS OF WAR: A Central Galactic Concordance Novella
by Carol Van Natta
A disgraced military Sub-Captain, a repair technician with secrets, and two special cats must save the day when trouble erupts at an important factory.
 
HUNTER OF THE TIDE: The Kraken #3
By Tiffany Roberts
Nearly broke by betrayal, a human discovers solace—and a chance for love—among the creatures he once hunted, but he must overcome prejudice and inhibition to claim the female he desires.
 
STARWAY
By Alexis Glynn Latner
A lonely interstellar pilot and a passenger’s mistreated consort find each other in an interstellar hotel that offers everything to satisfy its guests’ desires—even desires they didn’t know they had.
 
THE BAJO CATS OF ANTEROS XII
By E D Walker
Two ex-lovers, stranded in space, have to save a pair of kittens with hazardous powers before the local drug cartel catches up to them.
 
SHADOW OF THE PAST
By JC Hay
On a world of perpetual night, an aging ranger and a widowed veterinarian need to put aside their past to protect a pack of wolves and their future.
 
AFTER THE FALL
By Kyndra Hatch
The Invaders took everything worth living for. Could an Invader show him how to live again?
 
BUY LINKS:

Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon CA
Amazon AU  
 
iBooks
 
B&N 
 
Kobo 
 
Google Play
 
Goodreads
 ​

Find Your Rage

Hello, dear readers. We’re you as riveted by this week’s Blasey Ford and Kavanaugh testimony as I was? Certainly, it seemed like the whole United States was watching or listening. I had my ear buds on at work, listening through NPR. My productivity was for shit that day, but I wasn’t the only one. The man in the office behind me was watching on his computer. Later, he and another colleague got in an argument. A civil one, but an argument nonetheless. It’s all such a mess.

I’m glad the FBI is performing an investigation, but I don’t think it will make a difference. I think he’ll be confirmed. Whether this is good or bad news depends on your politics, of course. I’m sure you’ll be able to tell mine from the following screed. Nothing gets me more worked up than women’s issues, except maybe humanity’s crimes against the Earth.

Do I think Kavanaugh did this? I have no idea. I believe Dr. Blasey Ford, but I cannot say with certainty that she isn’t mistaken about the identity of her attacker. I will say this: I think it’s more likely that Kavanaugh assaulted her and doesn’t remember. I think it’s likely he was so adamant about his innocence because he doesn’t want to believe he was capable of such a thing. Human beings have an enormous capacity to lie to themselves.

Certainty? We’re not going to get it here, much to my frustration and everyone else’s, I’m sure.

I think it’s likely Kavanaugh behaved this way because many perfectly normal young men act this way. It’s sad to say, but many women and girls know this in their bones. Am I wrong?

These boys may go on to be upstanding citizens who wouldn’t think of committing violence against women. Before you get and upset and think I’m stating, “Boys will be boys,” please understand that I think statements like that are exactly the problem. It’s why a seemingly normal boy or man will assault a female, lie about a female, humiliate a female, or abuse a female. Our culture encourages boys to act this way. They are taught from a young age that sexual conquest makes them more impressive in the eyes of other boys. The girls don’t even come into it as human beings. They’re nothing more than chips to be used. They’ve been socialized to understand females through a narcissistic lens.

Simply put, they’ve been taught that they matter more than girls. They’ve been taught that they matter so much more than girls that they’ll make a poor girl’s life miserable without a second thought if they think it will make them look cool, like a big man. If it will obscure their fear and insecurity.

How about a story. This one is mild because we’ve heard enough horrible shit lately, but it’s typical of the kind of things that happen to girls and young women on a regular basis.

A naïve young woman, a freshman in college, gets drunk and goes off with a young man. They make out. She lets him knead and suck on her breasts. When it gets too heated, she insists they go back to the others. Later, when the young woman has dates with other young men, they all grab her head and try to force it into their laps. She resists and departs the situation. Only later, when she is older, does she realize what probably happened. The first young man told all his buddies that she had sucked his dick. They pursued her because they thought she would suck their dick, too. She wasn’t a person. She was a dick sucker. The only value they saw in a fellow human being was in terms of their ugly little cocks.

Here’s the kicker. Males hardly ever suffer any repercussions for this kind of behavior. Often, they suffer no consequences for outright assault. They hear, “Boys will be boys.” They hear, “Well you know, boys have urges. Men have needs.” They hear, “We can’t ruin this promising fellow’s life simply because he caused a girl a trauma that will haunt her for years! Who gives a shit about a girl, anyway? Hey, Sally! Suck my dick!”

Sorry. As I write I get angrier and angrier. Care for some female rage? I’ve got an endless fucking reservoir, in no small part because girls hear much different things. They hear, “Don’t let boys touch you that way.” At the same time they hear, “Be nice, be accommodating, or boys won’t like you.” The implication? You’re not worth much if boys don’t like you. The pressure also comes from the boys who condemn girls for being cock teases or prudes, or frigid or stuck up.

Damned if you don’t. Damned if you do.

If you have sex because it’s a normal biological function, you’re loose, you’re cheap, you’re easy, you’re a slut. If you deviate at all from the impossibly narrow slot into which you’ve been shoved, your value is stripped away because society defines and judges you based solely on your interactions with males.

Lest you think my ire is focused only on males, the slut thing? Other females are some of the most egregious offenders. Even worse, a girl might get labeled this way simply because other girls are jealous of her looks or popularity. Some girls have no awareness of the mind-fucking to which they’ve been subjected. Some grow up to be completely oblivious women. In addition to this “can’t win” situation, women's freedom is still restricted because we have to guard against sexual assault. I think things have gotten much better for girls since my time growing up. I don’t think they hear, “You can’t go there/do that. You’re a girl,” as much as they used to, but the threat is real.

It all boils down to this: Nearly exclusively, females suffer the negative social repercussions of sex. Far too often, they are left alone to handle pregnancy, the major physical repercussion of sex.

What do girls hear? Since Eve bit the apple, we are responsible. The whole fucking Judeo-Christian culture is based on the fundamental blame of the female. The patriarchal white male god points his finger at us and bellows:

YOU ARE BOTH THE VESSEL AND THE GUARDIAN OF SEX, FOREVER DOOMED TO BEAR TOO MUCH OF ITS UGLINESS AND SHARE TOO LITTLE OF ITS JOY.

Let’s refuse, shall we? All the good men out there can help us. But first and foremost, we need to work on it ourselves. We are legion. We can do it.

Masters of Fantasy and Sci-Fi

We all have books we loved when we were young. Many of mine were fantasy. I spent night after night as a child, and then a teenager, walking the paths of Middle-earth, riding the Dragons of Pern, or searching with the rabbits for our new home on Watership Down.

As I got older, I leaned more towards science fiction but I never really left fantasy. I was obsessed with Frank Herbert’s Dune series, with Roger Zelazny, and Ursula K. Le Guin. All these writers sat on the fence, dangling one leg in science fiction, and one leg in the fantasy realm.

Herbert’s Dune books are considered science fiction, but it’s not like the characters are always using or discussing tech. In fact, space travel in Dune is made possible through a drug called spice which makes the navigators prescient. That’s hardly a warp drive. The Bene Gesserit, a class of powerful women in Dune, can bend people to their will with their voices. This is explained in physiological terms, but the power has a paranormal flavor. You can find threads on Reddit discussing whether Dune is science fiction or epic fantasy. I’m sure they’ll roll on forever.

Of course, if you know my books, I have a ready answer. Dune is science fantasy! This is how I categorize The Covalent Series. My male hero, Barakiel, is Covalent, a race of ancient alien beings who hold the cosmos in Balance. The fact that he's an alien pushes the story into science fiction, but his power comes from Balance, the equilibrium of Creation and Destruction, order and entropy, love and hate. Balance belongs more to fantasy, I think. Another major character in the book, Pellus, is a type of Covalent known as a traveler adept. He can manipulate the properties of matter and energy and detect and alter the bonds that give structure to all things. Mostly, Pellus does this using electromagnetism. He would never call it magic, but it’s a mysterious power nonetheless. Again, a blending of science and fantasy. It’s too bad the book retailers don’t cooperate. Science fantasy does not exist as a category.

Unlike Herbert (and myself, if I dare include myself in the same sentence as these writers I love), Zelazny drew a line between his science fiction and his fantasy. The Immortal, for instance, is clearly science fiction, as is my favorite short story of all time, The Keys to December. But Zelazny’s masterwork (in my humble opinion) is The Chronicles of Amber, ten books of some of the most imaginative fantasy you'll ever find.

As for Le Guin, I owe my taste for science fiction to her, as well as to Madeline L’Engle, the author of Wrinkle in Time. While I was still deep in my fantasy obsession, I picked up Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea and went on its magic ride. In a fever, I read the other books in the series, then cast about for more to read by this amazing writer. Like Zelazny, Le Guin wrote in either science fiction or fantasy, without blending the two (much anyway). My search for more of her books turned up the Lathe of Heaven, one of her sci-fi works. It did not disappoint. On I went to The Left Hand of Darkness. The social commentary got me thinking about grown-up things. My love of science fiction was born.

Ursula Le Guin died this year, at the age of 88. I'm grateful she left us with the fruits of her imagination. Thank you, Ms. Le Guin. If you’re curious about her, check out this great article in The New Yorker.

What books inspired you when you were young? I'd love to hear about them. Drop a comment!

Review: God's War by Kameron Hurley

​Nasheen and Chenja are at war. Over faith, over culture. In short, although these nation states are on an planet far from Earth and far in the future, the reasons for war have not changed. And the fight has gone on so long no one remembers the “why” anymore.

Nyx, the main character, was once an official hunter for the Nasheenian government called a bel dame. She found deserters and killed them before they could infect civilians (biological weapons have become the choice of both sides). Kicked out of the bel dames for bad behavior, she hunts now for money. The novel takes readers through the brutal adventures of Nyx and her team, until a final, impossibly dangerous assignment for the Queen of Nasheen. Sure, Nyx is doing it for money, lots of money, but the Queen has also said it could end the war.

Ms. Hurley built a fascinating world, powered with the energy of the insect life on the planet, Umayma. The world is populated by the magicians who control the bugs, by shifters and mercenaries. And my favorite, a host of completely BADASS women. Some are villains. Others are deeply flawed, but find their heroic side when the stakes are high enough.

Nyx is like this. She’s effed up. In her own words, she’s “not a good woman.” This is what makes the book absorbing. Her mistakes and choices are so bad that when she shows that flash of heroism, it breaks your heart. The side characters are equally well drawn. Really, this book shares sharp observations about the human condition I associate with high-brow literature more than genre fiction. So good.

Some people say all a book has to do to be feminist is tell a woman’s story. My bar is a little higher. This book flies over it. This book fucking rocks for strong females.

Summer Solstice Gratitude

A view from the train on my way home from work. The other day I forgot my monthly pass on the train. I left it on the seat so the conductor could see it when she came around. I neglected to put it back in my bag. As I'm sure you will appreciate, dear readers, I blame the fact that I had my nose in a book, completely absorbed.
 
When I realized what I'd done, I fumed. Figured I'd never get it back. I never signed it even though it has a signature line on the back and a place to write your telephone number. I didn’t think it mattered. It’s not like the conductors check the signature on your pass against your identification. Anyone can pick up a found pass and use it for the rest of the month. I lost the pass on June 7. Almost $175.00 right down the #@&$! drain!
 
When I realized it was gone, I had a poor-me attack, like, "Woe is me, oh woe, I loss my munneee!" Then it occurred to me that I could drive to work for the rest of the month. I wouldn't have to shell out another $175. I felt better. I thought, “It's lucky I have a car.” For some reason, this led to one of those proverbial moments of clarity. How am I lucky? Let me count the ways.
 
Yes, I have a car. What's more, if I had to buy another monthly pass, I could do it without hardship. How many people can say this? For many people, the loss of the monthly pass they use to get to work would be a disaster. This is a major expense. What if they had no car? They'd have to buy another pass. For people who live on the razor's edge this could start a cascade of misfortune. Of course, my writer's mind spins out the stories.
 
A single mother, forced to replace her lost train pass, has to skip a week of daycare. She is forced to leave her child with a neighbor, who isn't used to watching children. The child totters out of the house, into the street, gets hit by a car. Mauled by a dog. Abducted by a pedophile.

Okay I'll stop.
 
My point is, something small like this may be all it takes to cause low-income people serious trouble. Maybe it isn't nearly as dramatic as the above. Maybe this women can't pay the electric bill because of her lost pass, so she skips that month. She incurs the late charge, making next month’s bill more expensive, causing a ripple effect, a tug on the noose. Then her kid loses his book bag, or has to go to urgent care, and her tiny bank account shrinks further. Or the kid gets sick, and she misses hours on her minimum wage job. Before you know it, she can't pay her rent. Everyone she know is in similar financial shape.
 
Really, I can't imagine how stressful it is to have absolutely no financial buffer.
 
I lost my train pass and my imagination took me on this trip. I emerged feeling grateful. I love my imagination.
 
As it turned out, I didn’t have to drive all month. Or buy another pass. I checked with the conductors. They hadn't seen my pass but they told me to call lost and found. I called. Embarrassed, I told them I didn’t sign the pass but that I could identify the exact train where I'd left it. They had it! Some meticulously honest person had turned it in! I brought the credit card receipt when I went to fetch it. The people in the lost and found didn’t even check it. They took me at my word. The whole incident left me astonished. The recovered pass. My faith in humanity somewhat restored (it would take a lot more to completely erode my cynicism, I'm afraid) let us return to our single mother.

Her child wanders into street, under the nose of the well-intentioned but easily distracted neighbor. The child disappears. The neighbor is disconsolate. The mother won't let it stand. She slaps the neighbor in the face, out of her weeping. They scour the streets.
 
Sure they call the cops, but this mother is not the type to stand by chewing her lip, even if the detective is plenty handsome.
 
Door-by-door, block-by-block, she and the neighbor get the word out. Soon the whole neighborhood is searching for her little son. Someone whispers to someone that someone else saw that guy snatch the kid. You know, the one who drools, the one with the Sixers jacket who hangs out under the elevated train.
 
Being no fool, the mother calls the cops again. Now that they know who snatched little Ricky she'll let the people with the guns handle it. The handsome detective finds him in no time. Ricky's okay. He's okay. Her baby.
 
The handsome detective gives the mother a telephone number for victim’s services. Ricky might need some support for his trauma, he says. You too, he says, although from the way you mobilized the neighborhood, I think maybe you should be running the place.
 
This gives the mother an idea. She wants these goddamn predators off the streets. She wants more police patrols and a neighborhood watch. She runs for office. She wins hands down. Behind her as she takes the podium to give her acceptance speech is her new boyfriend, the handsome detective.
 
And there you have it. My upbeat mood at the advent of summer. For all the darkness in my stories, there is also light. There is balance.
 
Happy summer.

The Kid Can't Be Dead

[image error] Flash Fiction from a Special Guest - The Hubby! Gerald couldn’t stop the fucking shakes. Damn! He was trembling behind a gas station like a little hairless dog, crouched next to a chain-link fenced area against the building. It was filled with old tires and good-for-shit rusted crap stuck back there because you never know when something’s gonna come in handy.

In some subconscious defense mechanism, Gerald’s mind willed itself to focus on the junked parts instead of the kid. The fucking kid had to be there at that moment. The kid wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure the kid couldn’t be dead. What the fuck was the kid doing there?

Raising his eyes, Gerald saw a modest ranch house to his right about 50 yards away. It must be where the kid came from, his old man must own the gas station, Gerald thought, before realizing he could be seen from the house. He took off running across a fallow field, veering away from the house. As he ran big gusts of his breath were visible. The old cigar box filled with the mechanic’s money was in his right hand, clamped between his ribs and elbow.

“Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus,” he heard himself repeating in rhythm to the frosty earth crunching beneath his feet. “Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus ...”

The field was huge. The station building and the house were small as dice when he heard the sirens and stopped and turned around for a second to watch the red lights flashing and bouncing off the structures in the twilight.

“Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus.” Winded, gasping for each breath Gerald continued racing toward a distant highway. Almost forgotten was his car parked across the street from the station at a McDonald’s. He’d have to sneak back later and get it.

It was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment thing. The door was open when he went in to ask directions because his cellphone had died. The place looked deserted. The cigar box was there, he idly lifted the lid and saw the cash. Nobody was around. He picked up the box then heard a small voice behind him say, “Hey, what’re you doing?”

It was a reflex, a knee-jerk reaction. He’d swear to it. Gerald swung around and hit the kid, who must have been about five, in the head with the cigar box, hard. Harder than he meant to, Gerald told himself.

The fucking kid dropped like he was scythed. His head hit the concrete floor with a loud crack like a baseball bat hitting a screaming line drive. Blood immediately began pooling. The can of Pepsi the kid must have gotten from the cooler, rolled slowly along the floor before coming to rest against Gerald’s foot. He kicked it away like it was one of slimy gross things in Aliens and ran.

Gerald paid in cash from the cigar box for the cheap motel room. The clerk was too bored to take notice of his trembling hands. In Room 13, Gerald sat on the bed, a painting of a mountain lake on the wall in front of him. He turned on the TV at six o’clock to watch the local news. 

Of Mermaids and Misfits

[image error] [image error] ​The other day I ran across a story about Seattle’s mermaid community. Yes, that’s right. People in Seattle who wrap their legs in tight fish sleeves to swim. One participant said they do it for the camaraderie, and to call attention to marine conservation.
 
Such behavior may not help the cause of marine conservation. I don’t think many people are going take faux mermaids seriously, but their heart is in the right place. Besides, they’re having fun. Fun is underrated as a worthy pursuit for human beings. Our corporate overlords have convinced us that work is our identity. Throw off the shackles! Find yourself in fun! Put on a fish tail and wriggle through Puget Sound!
 
Years ago, when I lived in Boston, I got to know a few people who fancied themselves vampires. They mostly worked in bars and rarely came out in the daytime. Some had their canine teeth filed to points. They were pale and listened to Goth. Rumors were they drank each other’s blood during sex.
 
I think about them sometimes, their affectations of depression and darkness. Kids trying to find their way, find somewhere to belong, some way to escape the banality of life.

When I was in college there was a popular game called Assassin. If you signed up to play you would be given a file on a stranger whom you had to hunt down and “kill.” Another stranger would likewise receive your dossier. It was all in good fun until some players sank too deep, victims of their own pain and loneliness. They terrified their game targets.
 
Obviously, given the above, fun isn’t the only reason people might slip into a new identity. I could relate to the people who sank too far into the fantasy. My early college days were difficult. I was crippled by self-consciousness, a country bumpkin thrust into a world of sophisticates. A working-class girl surrounded by people who grew up in Manhattan, secure in the belief that they would be doctors or lawyers or titans of industry like their parents. After a few humiliating attempts to fit in, I found my tribe. We smoked a lot of pot and played Risk (the board game of world domination) to the point of obsession. We discussed philosophy and rejected the world’s coating of bullshit. But I only got to enjoy my lovely misfits for one semester. One friend got hauled off in a straightjacket, his schizophrenia revealing itself at the age of nineteen. Another got booted from school for non-payment. Another flunked out. Yet another had to leave because he couldn’t cobble the money together for another year. The fabulous weirdos who saved me. I wonder if they knew.
 
Now in my 50s, I worry less about belonging, though I’ve retained my low tolerance for bullshit. Still, who doesn’t want to find their tribe? The Seattle mermaids got me thinking. What kind of society would I join or create? Modern day druids? A resurrection of the Knights Templar? (I dig their chain mail, not their faith.) A cult of people devoted to learning the secret language of trees?
 
Of course, it occurs to me I’ve already joined a type of cult. Pulp-fiction writers! I write to escape the banality of life, to dodge my responsibilities for a little while. I wish I’d come to it sooner. I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time trying on all those other costumes.
 
How about you? What kind of strange community would you like to kick into existence?
 
May you find your tribe.
​