Kim Fielding's Blog, page 45

Ooh, That’s Interesting!: Ajvar

Things have been quiet here on the blog as I finished the first draft of my 13th novel, Rattlesnake. I also had two laptop meltdowns and a traumatic phone upgrade, all of which have sucked away far too much of my time. I’m planning a (probably quarterly) newsletter in the near future, with excerpts, free stories, updates, contests, etc. You can sign up using the form off to the right or by going here: http://eepurl.com/bau3S9.

So let’s talk about ajvar.

It’s pronounced ahy-vahr. I believe it’s native to Serbia, but it’s also very commonly eaten in Croatia, where I’ve lived. It’s made of roasted red peppers, eggplant, and spices, and is used as a relish or spread. I like it on a sandwich or on roast chicken, or just eaten beside the main course. You can get it in varying degrees of sweetness and spiciness. My small neighborhood groceries in Zagreb always had a large selection, but since my understanding of the language is rudimentary, I usually just chose a jar at random. A lot of people make their own, and I can tell you that homemade ajvar is especially delicious.

Unless you have a Balkan grocery store near you, ajvar is fairly hard to come by outside of that region. I did see some jars of Bulgarian ajvar during my last trip to CostPlus, an import store here in California. The jar in the photo is a Croatian brand.

If you’re not familiar with foods from the region, I’d describe ajvar as sort of like salsa or chutney, but not quite.Which gets me thinking about foods that are specific to a place and hard for anyone else to understand. Like peanut butter. Although it’s a sandwich staple in the US, every European I’ve spoke to finds the concept odd. (I tell them it’s sort of like Nutella minus the chocolate, but that doesn’t help much.) Ketchup is apparently mysterious in some places too. Once, when I was in Ljubljana, Slovenia, our waiter sussed out that we were Americans and proudly brought us a bottle of ketchup. We were eating pizza.

I think nearly every place has some food like this–something beloved to the locals but puzzling or unknown to everyone else. What are some of the foods like this in your region?

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Blast from the Past: Fortunes of War

Guest review by Christopher Hawthorne Moss!

Fortunes of War by Mel Keegan

Blurb:  In 1588 a young mercenary and the son of an English earl meet by a quirk of fate. Dermot Channon is a soldier, while Robin Armagh has been sheltered on his father’s estate. Love blossoms fast while war looms on the horizon. Under the thundercloud of armed conflict, Channon leaves England and the Spanish Armada sails soon after. Robin despairs of seeing him again, for their countries are locked in an endless struggle. Years fly by, and in 1595, when Robin’s brother is taken for ransom in Panama, the dangerous duty of delivering the price of his life and liberty falls to Robin. He sails with the historical ‘1595 Fleet,’ commanded by Francis Drake, hoping to bring home his brother. But Fortune has other plans for Robin and Channon. Ahead of them is a an epic adventure in hazardous waters where old enmities, Spanish and English, shape their future together — and try to drive them apart.

My comment: 

This is the first MM novel I ever heard of.  My friend and author Brandy Purdy told me about it.   I was astonished.  I didn’t even know the genre existed.  It was a fateful day that I read it, since in the more than ten years since I have gone through a major transformation, getting into reading and writing MM romance and ultimately figuring out that I am a gay transgender man.  The author, Mel Keegan, is now my very good friend and started the GLBT Bookshelf at www.glbtbokshelf.com that I will ultimately take over when he retires.  If I have read and reviewed your book, it’s because I read and reviewed FORTUNES OF WAR all those years ago. 

Fortunes of War

Mel KeeganDermot Shannon is the bodyguard of the Spanish Ambassador in the court of Queen Elizabeth I. After someone tries to poison the ambassador, Shannon accompanies him to the country estate of Robert Armagh, a Catholic bent on revenge for the murder of his pretty wife. There Shannon meets Armagh’s son, Robin, and it is love, almost, at first sight. Robin is young, starved for a father’s approval and affection, and ripe for the picking. What Shannon didn’t count on was falling in love.

Sadly the two must part, because England and Spain are now at war. While his dashing lover goes back to Spain to fight for that country, Robin leaves the family estate for London and a new life. Before he can leave, though, his father gets wind of his tryst with the Hiberno-Spaniard and has the crap beat out of him by the priests. In London he gets work as a cartographer, pines for Shannon, fears he is dead and then concludes he had never been more than a boy toy for Shannon, and gives up and marries the boss’s daughter. When his brother is held in the Caribbean for ransom, he takes ship only to find himself captured by… Shannon! The rest of the story is kissing and making up, fighting rival privateers, lots of swash to buckle, and lots of graphic sex.

So… love, longing, swashbuckling, pirates, sex… what’s not to love? This novel is not meant to be painstakingly historically accurate, but Keegan seems to have the spirit of Elizabethan politics and war in his hands. It’s a sweet love story for the most part, though the desertion of wife and kids by Robin is only topped by his decision to marry and have kids when he should have known better. There is an awful lot of the use of the word “boys” in this novel, but never fear… it really means older boys.. young men.. I hope. In reality, boys it might be, but you know how people will talk.

I’m glad I read it, can see why Brandy Purdy recommended it, it being her era and m/m and all. I was just happy to find it on Kindle, so I bought it, had it sent to my Kindle, and enjoyed a good entertaining read.

At Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Fortunes-War-Mel-Keegan-ebook/dp/B001V5KEHC/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1415817582&sr=1-5&keywords=fortunes+of+war

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Happy New Year!

I spent my exciting New Year’s Eve working on my WIP, my 13th novel. How about you?

I have a new project planned for this year: a newsletter. I hope to send it out quarterly or so. I promise I won’t clog your email inbox with spam! The newsletter will contain updates on my new releases, sneak peeks of works in progress, free short stories, contests, and whatever else I can think of to entertain you. It’s quick and easy to sign up. Just click here or fill in the form in the sidebar to your right. And if there’s anything special you’d like to see in the first newsletter, please let me know.

2014 was a busy year! I published 3 novels (Pilgrimage, Motel. Pool., and Bone Dry) and 3 novellas (“The Pillar”, “The Golem of Mala Lubovnya”, and “The Dance”), and some short stories. I had translations released in German, French, and Spanish. Three of my books came out in audio format.

And of course I worked on more. I currently have two novellas set for publication this spring (one of them will be in the third Gothika anthology, Claw. It has a werewolf theme!). I recently submitted my 12th novel and I’m almost done with the first draft of the 13th. Several French translations and another audiobook are currently in the works.

I also updated my website and started regular features on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

Since I started using a FitBit during the summer, I’ve walked 743 miles.

And I got to see some old friends and meet lots of wonderful new people at the Gay Romance Northwest meetup in Seattle, at GayRomLit in Chicago, and at Bent-Con in Burbank.

Travel-wise, I didn’t leave the US this year. But I do get around. I made 3 trips to the Pacific Northwest, a couple to southern California, and one to the city where I was born, Chicago. I made some shorter treks too, to the Sierra foothills, Santa Cruz, and San Francisco. I’m planning a couple of farther jaunts in 2015. Orlando’s on the agenda, as is Washington, D.C., and–I hope–Europe. I’m not sure where in Europe yet. Definitely Croatia, but maybe also Malta and/or someplace else. Where should I choose?

I hope 2015 is a good year for all of you, filled with peace, joy, and lots of reading!

 

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Ooh, That’s Interesting!: Sonora Cemetery

I’m in the middle of writing a novel set in a fictional town in California. The working title is Rattlesnake. The novel’s a contemporary, but the fictional town where it’s set is in Gold Rush territory in the Sierra foothills. Which, conveniently enough, is close to where I live.

As I was doing some research for my story, I stumbled upon a census for the old city cemetery in Sonora, California. Sonora is a town of about 5000 people. It was founded as a mining town, and you can still see the remains of mines right downtown. But the cemetery census is fascinating. You can see it yourself here: http://www.sonoraca.com/visitsonora/History/Old%20City%20Cemetery.pdf .

I’ve never actually visited the Sonora cemetery, although I love old graveyards. I’ve been to the Columbia cemetery many times, and it’s just a few miles away. Speaking of which, notice Joel A. Cumback’s headstone from Columbia: http://oldwest.theblincoes.com/ca/columb3.html (4th photo down). I’ve seen that one myself, and always wondered what the story was. His friend Jacob R. Giddis cared enough for him to buy him the stone–and to put his own name on it. Were they lovers? And then poor Jacob was murdered just a few years later and buried next to Joel.

One thing you can see from the Sonora census is that immigrants came there from lots of places. China, Mexico, Russia, Sweden, Serbia, France, England, Germany…. These people must have endured some really hard journeys to get to Sonora, and once they got there, their lives were still hard. A lot of them died in mining accidents. Some died of exposure or burns or falls or drowning. Murder and suicide were apparently common, as were drug and alcohol use. A lot of people died from TB, as well as things that rarely take lives today (at least in the US): diphtheria, typhoid, typhus, croup, infections. And a few people died rather colorfully, like the 4-year-old who, according to the record, died from eating watermelon. Or the man who was bitten by a bear and died 6 days later.

I also was fascinated by the little snippets of information about some of the people. One of them was an “actress.” In a mining town in 1870, I wonder what kind of acting she was doing. Another had fame as a dancer. A miner died in an accident, leaving his wife and children, who were still back in Wales. Another man murdered his wife and two young children. Several people hung themselves in jail cells. One 70-year-old was survived by 15 children. At least two of the people buried in Sonora were originally brought to California as slaves.

The cemetery census provides a thousand plot bunnies. Next time I go to Sonora, I plan to visit the cemetery. I can post some photos if you like. Don’t be surprised if I eventually write a historical set in the Gold Rush era.

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When the Writing Gets Angsty

Jamie Fessenden just posted about how he’s having a tough time writing an emotionally difficult but essential scene. And I know just how he feels, because I just gave my MC an unexpected case of the flu, I think partly to delay getting to one of those hard scenes. There have been a couple of books where writing particular scenes just about devastated me (I’m talking about you, Tin Box and Motel. Pool.). But we still have to write them.

And yes, I know even as I’m writing that most of the characters will eventually get a happy ending. Readers realize that too, because these are romance books, after all. But we’ve come to love these guys over the course of the story, and their pain feels real.

So now I’m wondering. If you’re a writer, do you share this problem? How do you face it? If you’re a reader, how do you feel about reading these scenes? Do you have a strategy for getting through them (besides keeping Kleenex close at hand)?

And now’s where we can all put on our psychology hats. Why do we like the angst? We must, because even though it hurts, I keep writing it (as do many of my favorite authors), and we keep reading it.

And finally, what are some of the difficult scenes–in any book–that have touched you the most?

It’s the holidays, so to encourage you to be chatty, I’m doing a little giveaway.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Kim isn’t reading now, sadly

Usually on a Monday I’d do a What’s Kim Reading Now post. But the truth is, I haven’t been able to read much of anything for the past couple of weeks. First I had the end of the semester, which meant lots of reading–of term papers and exams. Then I had edits to finish on my 12th novel so I could submit it (done!), two rounds of edits on a novella that will release on March (Grown-Up), and my 13th novel in progress. On top of all that, my laptop got a virus I have not yet cleared up, and my old laptop is pretty much nonfunctional. I’ve resorted to borrowing my 15-year-old daughter’s laptop, which is 4 1/2 years old and badly needs replacing. Argh! At least I’m pretty good at backing up, so the virus didn’t cost me anything important.

We took a family vacation last week. We spent half the week in Solvang, a faux-Danish town with way too many bakeries.

Then we visited family in Palm Desert. The highlight was Joshua Tree National Park, which we’d been to only once before. My younger kid climbed rocks and we all had a nice hike through the desert. And at least my daughter got some reading done. Two Stephen Kings and a Kurt Vonnegut, I believe.

Now we’re back home. Aside from all the writing, I have a day trip to the Sierra foothills planned for this week, plus a very complicated 3-way family cell phone upgrade. And child chaufeurring to do.

What are you up to?

 

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Blast from the Past: Electric Melty Tingles by K.Z. Snow

It’s August of 1970, and the friends of 21-year-old Oliver Duncan are having a blast at his bachelor party. Except Ned Surwicki. He isn’t an Ivy Leaguer. He doesn’t appreciate female strippers. And although he’s been Oliver’s best friend since they were 14, Ned isn’t much inclined to celebrate his pal’s impending marriage. Ned is gay, something he’s known since he kissed a boy and got the melty tingles. He’s also in love with the groom-to-be.

Ned is miserable.

On the night before his wedding, Oliver realizes he’s miserable too. And he has only one person to turn to.

Thus begins a romance that spans forty years, requires one coming-out after another, and survives a broken engagement, a menage with War and Pees, world travel, an ill-advised marriage, scores of fuck buddies, a father who thinks his son is destined to be a clone of Liberace, parents who reject their son, and, worst of all, the failure of two misguided men to pursue their fondest dream.

The most important coming-out for Ned and Oliver is summed up in a declaration they spend too many years trying futilely to forget: “I love you. That’s never going to change.”

 

BUY LINKS :

Loose Id — http://www.loose-id.com/electric-melty-tingles.html

Amazon — http://www.amazon.com/Electric-Melty-Tingles-K-Snow-ebook/dp/B004EPYTRW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1415830156&sr=1-1&keywords=electric+melty+tingles

All Romance eBooks — https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-electricmeltytingles-489370-145.html

B&N –http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/elect...

 Excerpt:

Oliver’s current room at the Pfister was two floors down from where his bachelor extravaganza had been held, which was also one of the suites in which the wedding party was to gather in the morning. The out-of-town guests were staying in the hotel’s 1965 Tower addition—a hideously dissonant piece of architecture that reminded me of a stack of butter cookies or coffee filters—I couldn’t decide which. Oliver made me identify myself before he opened the door, and then he yanked me inside.

“What’s going on?” I asked as he locked the door at my back. I went to the closet and hung up my tux, then set down my bag. “How come you’re not staying upstairs?” By upstairs I meant one of the two suites the Duncans had reserved for the wedding.

Oliver stood with his hands on his hips, stared at the floor, and nibbled at the inside of his cheek. He wore a Hang Ten T-shirt and a matching pair of Adidas shorts, and all I wanted to do was tackle him and drop him onto one of the room’s two double beds.

When he looked up, I noticed the shadows beneath his eyes. He was on his way to being a mess, both physically and mentally, but he was beautiful to me.

“I’m all fucked up, Ned.”

“Why?”

Oliver’s face contorted, and he suddenly bolted into the bathroom. The sounds of retching were unmistakable.

I sprinted to his aid just as the toilet flushed. Kneeling beside him, I laid one hand on his back and curled the other over his forehead.

“Your hand feels good,” he mumbled to the swirling water. “Cool. Soothing” After a moment, he tentatively sat back on his heels and caught his breath.

Christ, he was a wreck. I got up and wet a washcloth at the sink then poured a glass of water. When I sat beside Oliver again, he took some water into his mouth, swished it around, and spat it into the toilet. Then he took a drink. I tilted his head toward me and gently swabbed the perspiration from his face. The delicate spears of dark lashes on his lowered eyelids made him look young and vulnerable.

Well, hell, he was young. We both were. Oliver was twenty-one. I was still twenty.

“That’s like the fourth time I’ve thrown up today,” he said.

“Have you been drinking?” He didn’t smell like it.

“No. Maybe I should start.”

“What’s wrong? Tell me.”

He dolefully shook his head. “Tomorrow… I’m not up to it.”

“You feel that bad?” Late August was a strange time of year to get the flu, but it was possible. Or maybe he had food poisoning.

“I only feel bad when I think about walking into that church. Just sitting here with you, I feel fine.” Oliver briefly put a hand over mine. His felt clammy. “Thank you for coming.”

“I had to show up sooner or later. I’m your best man.”

“Maybe not.”

I laughed nervously. “What, you’re firing me?”

Oliver’s smile was so wan, he looked like an invalid. He rose from the tiles and shambled out of the bathroom. I followed. When he sat on the edge of one bed, I sat on the other, facing him.

K. Z. Snow spent her formative years in Milwaukee bars—not because her parents were drunks, but because they were neighborhood tavern keepers. And, ja, a good life it was! She learned her first words off a Wurlitzer jukebox and could play poker as well as dance a mean polka by the time she was five. Too much has happened since then to recount. She now lives a quiet life with two rescue dogs in rural Wisconsin, where a crazy-ass crop duster pilot provides the area’s only excitement. Except when someone digs up an obscenely shaped potato. Or the Packers win.

Check out K. Z.’s website http://www.kzsnow.com to peruse all her titles, or her blog http://kzsnow.blogspot.com for news, or her Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/KZSnow for the hell of it.

 

 

 

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Ooh, That’s Interesting! Forensics II

I know I posted about forensics last week. But I recently saw this article, which is fascinating. A skeleton found under a parking lot in England has been pretty much proven to be that of King Richard III, who died in 1485. Here are several things I think are cool about this:

–They could confirm his ID by matching mitochondrial DNA with that of living descendants.

–The analysis also suggested that maybe English royalty fooled around more than we thought.

–Now that we know it’s King Richard III, scientists could possibly help solve a murder mystery. King Dick’s young nephews–one of whom was actually heir to the throne–disappeared while locked up in the Tower of London. A couple hundred years later, the skeletons of two children were discovered at the Tower. Since we know where those bodies are buried, now scientists could check their DNA and compare to Uncle Dick’s.

–British parking lots are damned interesting places. See also this, and this, and this, and this. I’ve actually seen that last one in person, and I think it’s funny. Yes, I have sort of a dark sense of humor. In defense of my home state, however, I should mention that California parking lots are also occasionally interesting.

–Actually, one can find long-dead British people in a variety of surprising places. Like Jeremy Bentham, for instance.

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Blast from the Past: The Boys of Summer

The Boys of Summer by Sarah Madison

Contemporary/Historical M/M Romance

Finalist in the 2013 Rainbow Awards. Nominated Best Historical in the Goodreads M/M Romance Reader’s Choice Awards. Selected as a Best Read in 2013 by Jessewave. Winner of Best M/M Romance in the 2013 PRG Reviewer’s Choice Awards. 

Blurb:

This couldn’t be happening. The plane couldn’t be going down.

As production assistant, David McIntyre has been enjoying the heck out of his current assignment: touring the Hawaiian Islands in search of the ideal shooting locations for a series of company projects. What’s not to like? Stunning scenery, great food, sunny beaches…and indulging in his crush on his hot pilot-for-hire, Rick Sutton.

Everything changes when a tropical storm and engine failure force a crash landing on a deserted atoll somewhere in the South Pacific. Sutton’s injuries and a lack of food and water make rescue imperative, but it takes an intensely vivid dream about the Battle of Britain to make David see that Rick is more than just a pilot to him. Will David gather his courage to confess his feelings to Rick—before it’s too late?

On Amazon: http://amzn.com/B00CCUVR7G

Inspiration:

People often ask me what was the inspiration for writing The Boys of Summer, and the answer is simple, really. I was merrily trucking along with my contemporary story, but I couldn’t shake the image of Rick Sutton in a WW2 RAF pilot’s uniform, leaning against the side of a Spitfire.

Well, that didn’t fit with the story I had in mind, but no problem. I’d introduce a little dream sequence that allowed me to use that powerful image. It would work because David McIntyre was researching Bletchley Park and Alan Turing for a film project he was working on—stranded on a deserted atoll with an injured pilot, having discovering a WW2 listening outpost, it would only be natural that his dreams would turn to WW2. Logically, I should have written about Pearl Harbor, seeing as the story takes place in the South Pacific. But that RAF uniform stuck with me. Right, so a little research online to get the details right about the time period and off I go.

Only the more I researched, the more appalled I became at my level of ignorance about WW2, and the Battle of Britain in particular. Sure, I’d heard Churchill’s speech about “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few” but the words hadn’t completely registered with me before. It wasn’t until I read in detail about the Battle of Britain, and the odds these young pilots faced, that it really began to sink in. Many pilots were sent into battle with less than ten hours of flight time. At one time, the average lifespan of a fighter pilot in the RAF was six weeks. The more I delved into the history, the more important it became to me to do justice to their story. Sure, I could have written an entire novel just on that period in time, but it would have ended in tears. I needed a happy ending. I believe in happy endings. And so the weird amalgamation of historical and contemporary story was born. Some people hated it, but many more loved it. I hope you will, too.

 

 Excerpt:

“Hey! Hey! Don’t pass out on me,” David warned, reaching under Sutton’s jacket and around his body to take hold of his torso. “I’ll never get you out of here if you pass out, and I can’t reach whatever’s bleeding from here. I need to stop the bleeding, okay? You’re going to have to help me.”

Sutton nodded silently. His lack of heroic banter worried David. He tightened his grip around Sutton’s chest, locking wrists that were slick with far too much blood. Where the hell was it coming from? He braced his feet against Sutton’s chair and pulled.

At first, it seemed like nothing was happening, as though he was attempting to lift a two ton gold brick. Then slowly, he felt Sutton coming with him, oozing out of the seat like a man being pulled out of quicksand. Sutton wasn’t helping him much, a fact that scared the crap out of him. He’d slung one arm around David’s shoulder, but he was pretty much dead weight as David tugged on him. Nonetheless, things were progressing steadily, with David gradually pulling Sutton up out of the crumpled mess that was the pilot’s seat, when suddenly they stopped moving.

David grunted and tugged some more, but to no avail. He slithered around, trying to get a different grip on Sutton but nothing worked.

“Hang on,” Sutton said, his breath coming in short, warm bursts near David’s ear. “I think I’m caught on something.”

“What, again?” David asked, and was rewarded with a faint chuckle. It was odd to think he could so easily turn his head and his lips would be on Sutton’s. They were practically embracing now. As it was, Sutton shifted, trying to move his injured side, reaching around behind him. His actions caused him to arch his back slightly, pushing up against David’s chest. The rain had soaked through Sutton’s shirt, leaving no questions as to his physical fitness. They could have been skin to skin, the contact was so close.

“Fuck, that hurts.” Sutton slumped against him. “Sorry.” His words were little more than exhaled breath. “I can’t reach it.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” David huffed, pulling Sutton closer into his body and then fishing around blindly behind him to see what he was caught on. He found the offending piece of cloth, hung on part of the console. When he couldn’t unsnag it, he tore it instead. He collected Sutton into his grip once more. “Most heroes could get impaled in the belly at least once every other episode, and still manage to fight off the bad guys and get the girl in the end. You’re supposed to say, ‘I’m fine, I have at least two kidneys’ and keep moving, mister.”

A laugh so soft it only stirred the hair near his ear sent a ripple of undefined emotion through David. He was so afraid Sutton would die. He needed Sutton not to die.

 

Sarah Madison Author Bio and Contact Information

Bio: Sarah Madison is a veterinarian with a big dog, an even bigger horse, too many cats, and a very patient boyfriend. She is a terrible cook, and concedes that her life would be easier if Purina made People Chow. She writes because it is cheaper than therapy.

Contacts:

Website: http://www.sarahmadisonfiction.com/

On Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004K9QY5C

On Facebook (Author page): http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Sarah-Madison-Author/106445646104338

On Facebook (Profile page): https://www.facebook.com/akasarahmadison

On Twitter: https://twitter.com/SarahMadisonFic

On Dreamspinner: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/advanced_search_result.php?keywords=Sarah+Madison&osCsid=i8qhvu8sb7150s11croi48klc3&x=31&y=8

Goodreads Profile: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4057853.Sarah_Madison

On Tumblr: http://sarahmadisonfiction.tumblr.com/

 

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Ooh! That’s interesting!: Forensics

I have a colleague who’s a forensic anthropologist and gave me a tour of her bone room when she was working on a case involving the victims of serial killers. It was poignant–a shoe still contained a skeletal foot. It was also really interesting. What looks to me like a random piece of bone allows her to identify the age, gender, and maybe even height of the victim.

I also have a colleague who’s a forensic entomologist–he studies the use of insects in legal cases. I once had a fascinating lunch with him and a very well-known forensic entomologist who has a very loud voice. Everyone else in the cafeteria soon moved far away from us, but I was enthralled (I have a very strong stomach). Did you know one of the best ways to estimate time of death–something very important in a homicide case–is by studying the insects living on the body? And in warm weather outdoors, blowflies can locate a corpse within minutes.

Here’s another interesting factoid. One of the earliest recorded uses of forensics was in China in the 13th century. Here’s a summary of that incident. The summary’s from a really interesting book called A Fly for the Prosecution.

There have been some amazing developments lately in forensic science. Among other things, these have led to the exoneration of at least 321 wrongly convicted people. Just a few weeks ago, a man who’d been in a California prison for almost 36 years was released.

Some of the newer stuff feels almost like magic. Like scientists at MIT who say they can reconstruct speech by looking at the vibrations of recorded images of things like potato chip bags.

How cool is that?

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