Jane Lindskold's Blog, page 9

Halloween Een

Mysterious Mei-Ling

I’m typing this with a low fever while exuding a Ghostbusters-worthy amount of slime, so I’ll keep this short and wish you all a good week.

Here’s a really cute picture of Mei-Ling out in the open, rather than in the closet, which is where she will likely be if any trick or treaters drop by Thursday night.

Later!

Ask Roary!

Roary Replies

I don’t have a heck of a lot to report this week.  A couple of book store orders emptied out my stock of Wolf’s Search and Wolf’s Soul.  I do have more coming in and will try to remember to tell you. 

I’m working slowly on polishing the first 60,000 or so words of the Over Where novel I was working on before having surgery done on my right rotator cuff.  I’ve learned that I’ll pay in pain if I do too much on my computer, but I am seriously enjoying revisiting the book, and really look forward to moving forward.

When I can’t write, I’ve been reading a lot.  I’ve plowed through most of the works by neurologist Oliver Sacks that our library has, and really wish that I could read Spanish, as the only copy of his work Hallucinations the library has is a Spanish translation.

I think I know what I’m going to “be” for Halloween, but I’ll save that for when I have a photo.

Meanwhile, be well.  If you have any questions, ask away and Roary shall reply next week!

Killed To the Roots

Pomegranate

I’d just pruned the pomegranate shrub into a nice tidy shape when we were hit by a winter with unusually cold temperatures.  These killed the plant back to the roots.  Initially, we weren’t sure it had survived at all, but we left the apparently dead wood in place.  Much later in the spring than usual, a few green shoots appeared, tentative and shy.

We didn’t get any fruit that summer, but having the pomegranate shrub make a comeback was a source of delight as sweet in a different way.  When winter came, we carefully heaped mulch around the base of the shrub and throughout the winter made sure to keep it watered so the ground wouldn’t freeze too hard.

This spring, the pomegranate shrub made its comeback earlier in the spring, early enough, in fact, that we worried we’d have a late frost while the plant was still tender.  The temperatures remained moderate, however, and our shrub flowered, then produced about a dozen pomegranates of various sizes.  We’ve harvested a few already.   Even the seeds that are cotton candy pink, rather than the dark red that is more typical, are impossibly flavorful.

A good, ripe pomegranate is far sweeter and richer than what you typically get in the store.  Ours, at least, are also much less messy.  The flavor reminds me of what I always thought “Hawaiian Punch” should taste like but never did: like all manner of fruit blended together, sweet, with an undernote that isn’t precisely tart, just an extra dimension.

As so often, gardening reminds me of aspects of writing.  This year I’ve dealt with a creative impulse that was killed to the roots by pain, stress, and, quite possibly, the side effects of anesthesia.  However, like our shrub, it’s slowly coming back, blossoming, and maybe even bearing fruit.

What Are You Going To Be For Halloween?

Tatter DeMaLeon

News Brief!  My website bookshop, which I closed while I recovered from rotator cuff surgery (and so couldn’t sign books), is open.  For now, prices remain the same but, due to incredible spikes in the cost of shipping, I may need to raise prices.  However, as my holiday gift to you all, I will not do so until sometime in the new year.  Please note that international orders must query, since free shipping is only available for domestic orders.

Now…  Back to Halloween!

“What are you going to be for Halloween?” asked a friend this past weekend.

I haven’t made up my mind, but since we’re both going to the same theme party, I bounced a few ideas off her before we got back to our regularly scheduled conversation.   I’ve kept thinking about it since.  As I have done so, I felt a great deal of happiness to have reached a time and a place where such questions have become routine, because I grew up in a different, much more restrictive, world.

When I was a kid, dressing up for Halloween was expected to stop when one reached high school age.  There were a few exceptions.  Costume parties were one, although there was a lot of foot shuffling and pretending one didn’t really want to get dressed up.  Another exception was if one was escorting a younger sibling trick or treating but, even then, the escort’s costume was supposed to be a token mask or headband, unless the costume somehow tied into what the younger one was wearing.

I’ll admit, I never was the greatest at designing costumes, but I always anticipated the event.  One year my (two-year-younger-than-me) sister and I gave in to the impulse at the last minute and raided her ample make-up supply and our own wardrobes, coming up with relatively decent costumes as two members of the band Kiss.  We just planned to stay in and answer the door, but a neighbor dragged us out for a final adventure.

Somewhere in the early 2000’s, I found myself attending at least one, often more than one, Halloween party.  It didn’t take me long to convince Jim to join in on the fun, and now we both look forward to getting dressed up.  Sometimes, there are unexpected benefits.

Back in 2017, my Halloween costume and the character I created to go with it became the inspiration for the creepy story “A Green Moon Problem,” published in May 2018 in Lightspeed magazine.  The mask featured in today’s photo is the one I decorated for that.

This year I’m still considering.  Do I have the time and energy to do something elaborate?  Or there’s a silly idea.  A trip to a hobby store or thrift store might tilt the balance on what I decide to be.  Whatever the case, I’ll enjoy the anticipation and planning as much as wearing costume itself.  The feeling is not a lot different from how I feel when I’m putting a story together.

And the question remains: “What are you going to be for Halloween?”

Meet Our Beanie Babies

Liana and Fava

This has been a tough week for lots of us, so I’m going to offer cute.

Meet Fava (short-hair) and Liana (long-hair), our two new guinea pigs.

They came into our lives to fill the holes left after old age took first Coco (in April) and Dandy (in July).  Guinea pigs need company, so we couldn’t leave Dandy alone—especially since she kept sitting in the same spot where Coco had breathed her last, obviously looking for her.

Happily, we feel that Fava’s affection gave Dandy three good months she might not have otherwise had after we lost Coco.  It took us a few days to find a good fit for Fava, and her delight when she realized she had a new friend lifted all of our hearts.

Both Fava and Liana are named for types of beans.  We’d been planning on continuing the floral theme of Dandy’s name (which was actually Dandelion).  On the way home from the pet store with Fava, Jim said “It’s a shame there are no black and white flowers, because this little one’s colors are so striking.”

And I promptly replied, “Fava beans.  The flowers look black and white, although the ‘black’ is actually a very dark purple.”

When we got Liana, we decided to keep with the bean theme.  We grow liana beans (a subgroup of the type of beans often called asparagus beans and yard long beans).  Liana’s rather wild and long hair seemed a perfect match.  Also, the word “liana” is just plain pretty.

Calling them the “beanie babies” came later, but it fits, since they’re just as cute as the popular (and adorable) toys.

Having gotten used to the quieter enthusiasm of Coco and Dandy, we learned all over again just how exuberant young guinea pigs can be.  Most mornings begin with Fava and Liana romping.  A favorite game is “Formula One Race Cars,” which involves running in circles around the rock in the center of their hutch.  They have variations, including running in opposite directions and trying not to crash, and jumping up and down off the “stages” we have for them at opposite corners.

Guinea pigs are known for figuring out that the rattle of plastic veggie bags or even opening of the fridge may mean treats to come, but Fava and Liana are true optimists, and have decided that the sound of our making coffee (which often comes before lunch treats) also qualifies.

They make us smile a lot, and we hope they give you a smile or two as well.

Home Sweet Murder House

The Ghost’s Yard

I live in a house where there was a murder. 

Back in mid-1995, I really needed to find a place to live.  I’d been living in a rented house in Santa Fe with Roger Zelazny.  After his death, not only didn’t I want to stay there, I couldn’t have afforded to if I did.

To tell this story right, I need to be honest.  Emotionally, I was a wreck.  I loved Roger deeply, and I don’t think that until a few days before his death either he or I accepted that he wasn’t going to beat the cancer.  I did want to stay in New Mexico, but decided to move to Albuquerque.  Even there, I rapidly found that renting wouldn’t be an option, since I had six cats and four guinea pigs.

So, I started house hunting.  I had some savings, but I certainly wasn’t financially secure.  Even though I had several novels under contract, as far as banks were concerned, I was not a great risk.  However, friends linked me up with a compassionate realtor (Patty Larsen Pecsok) who not only made my quest her own, but encouraged me to talk about how I was slowly putting scaffolds up to support my broken life.  She also suggested I get pre-approved for a mortgage.

In autumn, Patty found a house that not only I could afford, but would come with some battered but working appliances.  (In my price range, houses often did not.)  Even better, the house had an assumable mortgage.  The interest rate was higher than market norm but, compared to what I could get as a high-risk buyer, it was a deal.  We made an offer immediately (contingent on the house passing inspection and title search).  The eager-to-sell owner (the house had been on the market for a while) accepted immediately, and I had a house.

Or so I thought.  Closing was set for shortly before Thanksgiving.  I was envisioning being in my new place for the holiday.  Then Patty called.

“It turns out the owner of the house doesn’t have a clear title.  He bought it from the VA, who had accepted the deed in lieu of foreclosure.  Turns out the deed holder didn’t have the right to sign the deed over, because he was in prison for having murdered his girlfriend, who was the co-owner of the house.  Since you can’t profit from a murder, he couldn’t sign over her rights.”

I think I said something, but what I remember is my knees going weak and sinking to the floor.  Patty went on.

“That’s the bad news.  The good news is that because the current owner of the house bought from the VA in good faith­—although he should have done a title search, like we did—the VA is the one who will need to deal with any consequences.  The house is still available to you, but we can’t close on it for at least six months, because a quiet title search needs to be done.”

Me, barely able to speak, “But I can still buy it?”

Patty, reassuringly, “There will be a delay, but you can even move in.   You’ll need to rent from the current owner.  That will take a bit of paperwork, and you’ll need to get rental insurance.  With Thanksgiving coming up, we won’t be able to get the new agreement finalized for a couple of weeks.  Do you still have a place to live?”

Me (mentally wondering just how much the renter’s insurance would be): “If we move me before mid-December, I think I do.”

Patty: I’ll get on it, then.  Have a great Thanksgiving!  Don’t worry.  You still have a house.”

I hung up the phone.  Then, dear reader, having been as brave as I could be, I crumpled up on the floor and cried so hard that all six cats came to check on me.  (I think the guinea pigs would have, too, but they were in their tanks.)

Patty continued to be a champ, helped me set the new agreement up.  In December, a cohort of local writers and assorted friends helped me move. 

I’m still in the house.  When Jim and I pulled up the carpet so we could tile, we found the victim’s bloodstain on the concrete slab.  Other than that, no sign of the tragedy, no bad auras or ghosts or anything.  In fact, we sometimes wonder if the murdered woman (her name was Bonnie, we learned later) might have been glad to have us there. The next-door neighbors told us that she’d also been a gardener and, for a while, just about anything we needed for the garden came our way.

Being a writer, I later used some of the details of the event in my short story “Auspicious Stars,” published in the anthology Black Cats and Broken Mirrors, edited by Martin H. Greenberg and John Helfers.

You can bet that I bought a spare copy of the anthology, and made a gift of it to Patty, the kindest realtor ever.

First of All, Thank You!

Maggie!

I want to thank all of you who sent me birthday wishes.  Most of these included the hope that I would have a really good day.  Well, I’m happy to report that I did.

Jim knew that I was beginning to feel a bit down because I’ve hit the slow progress point in my recovery, so he decided that we needed to have some fun this past weekend.  We started with a picnic trip out to Wildlife West, which is a nature park in Edgewood, close to Albuquerque.  Wildlife West specializes in providing homes for animals that can’t be released into the wild due to injury or being too habituated to humans to be safe.  The animal live in large, roomy enclosures, almost all of which include native plants and trees.

We’ve been there several times before.  This time we enjoyed revisiting various animals we were familiar with from former visits, and meeting a few new arrivals.  The definite star among these was Magdelena (Maggie), a black bear about a year old.

Fortified by a picnic lunch, Jim and I walked through the facility twice, getting a view of some animals that had been napping or under cover (all animals can take themselves off exhibit if they wish) our first time through.

We got home with enough time for me to rest up before doing my second set of PT.

The next day we stayed closer to home and went to the Albuquerque Museum.  We hadn’t been there for a while, so we immersed ourselves in a variety of new or updated exhibits.  Then we wandered around Old Town Albuquerque (the city was founded in 1706, so it’s really an old town), before heading home so I could do more PT.

That evening, our friends Melissa and Cale treated us to dinner—and brought flowers.  Jim supplied the birthday cake: an admirable chocolate buttercream creation that I swear looked smaller in the store.  We then played a collaborative board game, Ravensburger’s Horrified, the Greek Mythology version.  I’ve really come to love collaborative games, because the players work as a team, rather than against each other.  I’m happy to report the four of us defeated Cerberus and the Basilisk with enough moves to spare that I think we’ll probably dare to deal with three monsters next time.

As a writer, I’m back to working on reviewing the manuscript I was writing before my surgery.  I’m about half-way through the two hundred or so pages I had, and still like it.  I’m enjoying polishing my prose, which is I guess what makes a writer, since writing well is as important as getting prose down on the page.

Take care, be well, and catch you later!

Fair Illusion

A Fair Illusion

I’m happy to report that my ability to write has continued to progress over the last week.  I haven’t written anything new (although I’ve had a couple of cool ideas).  Instead, I’ve been reviewing the manuscript of the novel I was working on before my rotator cuff surgery.  So far, I’m pleased with it, and hope to continue feeling that way.

Physical pain, especially in my hands, fingers, and levator muscle continue to slow me down, but I’m hopeful there will be a day when I can work without being aware of the physical effort.

My endurance is going up, as was proved this past weekend when we made our annual jaunt to the New Mexico State Fair.  We were there for at least five hours, usually walking or standing as we looked at the art shows (our Fair has three; four if you count the one in the hobby building) and animal and agricultural exhibits that are our favorites.

As we were leaving, we came across the charming performer who graces this week’s WW photograph.  When we first spotted him from a distance, it appeared that a man was riding an ostrich.  Having encountered some very interesting mounted performers in the past (my favorite were the two cowboys riding longhorn cattle), this didn’t seem impossible.

When we drew closer, we realized that the ostrich was not a real creature. However, it took careful watching to realize that the ostrich was not a vehicle or animatronic figure, but that the performer was a very talented stilt walker who manipulated his cumbersome costume with uncanny grace, creating the illusion of a living creature.

This was a good highlight on which to end the day.  That evening, I hurt a lot from the unaccustomed motion, and was grateful that we came home with time enough to rest before bed.  I may not have been walking on stilts, but I was reminded once again that walking uses more muscles than those in one’s legs.

It will be a long time before I can walk miles without pain, as I remember doing on another September 11, when I came home from my morning walk to the news that gave a different meaning to the numbers 9/11.  But I have hope I’ll be there someday.

Beside the Spider

Lovely Visitor

Yesterday marked five months since I had surgery to repair some major tears to my right rotator cuff.  A lot has changed since then.  Instead of my life revolving around my writing, it tends to revolve around getting two sets of increasingly complex PT done, as well as my usual exercise.

Most mornings this summer, after I finish my first round of PT (which happens right after I finish my first mug of coffee), I head out into the yard to see what needs to be done before the day gets too hot.  Jim usually joins me.  While I’m the hand-watering vulnerable plants, he’s been taking care of the harvesting.  That’s when he spotted the lovely spider featured in today’s photo amid the stalks of our yellow lilies (now minus flowers) and had the good sense to grab his camera.

Our garden is giving less produce now (although we are getting a bumper crop of cactus pears), but there are always delightful discoveries.  Although there are days that I hurt pretty much everywhere, I’ve also had more luck with writing.  I even had a couple other short story ideas, although I’m still mulling over the details.

I might even take a look at the novel I was working on before my surgery.  I have a little time now before PT and exercise calls again.  Maybe that’s what I’ll do!

Keeping Those Thoughts

Signing (alongside Lauren Teffeau)

Thanks to all of you who kept a good thought for me as I attempted to finish a short story in time for Bubonicon.  I’m happy to announce that I managed to do so.  I finished typing up a reading draft of just over 5,000 words with time enough for Jim to read the story and mark up some typos.  Then we headed off to the con to pick up our registration materials before my first panel of the convention—which was also the first panel of the convention.

I found more typos as I was reading the story to a standing room only audience that evening, but managed to handle my cold reading pretty well.  That night, however, I was so sore from unaccustomed time on my computer that I had trouble sleeping!  Once I’m rested up from a really busy weekend, I’ll polish up the story, figure out a title that isn’t too spoilery, and think about sending it out.

I’ll keep you posted!

Bubonicon was lots of fun.  I was on three panels, in addition to my reading.  This gave me time to attend several talks and readings, see the art show and Dealer’s Room, and sign a lot of books.  I was tickled to discover that some folks were hunting out my very early works, including a couple that aren’t available as e-books, although for many print copies are available at my website bookshop (still currently closed).

I’ve been asked when my website bookshop will be open again.  I’ve left it closed longer than I planned, since my recover from rotator cuff surgery took more out of me than I anticipated.  However, I hope to get to it before the end of September.

Thanks again for all the good thoughts.  Even better, maybe now that I have proven to myself that I can write, I’ll get back to the novel I was working on.

Take care!