Sumiko Saulson's Blog, page 57

The Friend Movement and Martin Luther King’s Day

Martin Luther King’s Day

Sumiko and Scott, 6 and 5, in 1974

I still remember the first MLK Day march I attended: I was there with my mother, and my brother and I were still very young. I was eight years old. We were marching in part to try to get it recognized as a national holiday – it wasn’t yet, then, this was around the bicentennial in 1976. People were very excited to see me and Scott, they thought we represented the Dream speech just by being biracial and existing: which is a weird thing when you are eight. And some hippies gave me a kitten. I was eight, so I was all about the kitten. My mom’s boyfriend wouldn’t let me keep her, so I gave her to the neighbors. Less than a decade later, Ronald Reagan moved to make it a holiday in 1983 – but it still wasn’t celebrated in every state.

It became a national holiday 13 years ago, in 2000.

I remember a lot of parades I went to with my nieces. It is odd to think that three generations of my family have attended these events, first as marches lobbying for it to become a holiday, and then as celebrations.

The Friend Movement

Photo Shoot from the Friends Campaign

Last night I finally had a chance to catch up with my favorite internet radio show, The Dinner Party Show. Among their guests were Ronnie Kroell and Elliot London, who were talking about the Friend Movement, an anti-bullying campaign. The entire show is actually available at the iTunes site or on the web link above.

Many people are changing their middle names on Facebook and Twitter to “Friend” in support of the Friends Movement. I am against bullying, but I am not changing my middle name to friend. Yet, yes, I invite you other people, who are young and idealistic, not middle aged and crotchety, to do so. Yet I am your friend. Your grumpy, pissy, middle aged friend with the migraine.

To hear the Podcast, go the Dinner Party Blog, which is here:

http://thedinnerpartyshow.com/2013/01/ep-10-hor-doeuvres-2/

if you want a shorter overview of the Friend movement, here is another blogger’s piece:

http://robertonbroadway.wordpress.com/the-friend-movement/

The Friend Movement has a website that is launching I believe tomorrow. So check it out. There was some mention of fat girls being bullied, but I decided not to out myself as a chubby chick. But yea… I’m 5’6 and I’m 230 pounds so, I’m definitely queen sized. If you can’t picture that, well, Jack Black is 5’6 and 200 pounds, so basically like Jack Black if he had boobs and a big booty. Okay, that doesn’t sound right.

My Thoughts On Bullying

Me as a pimply 19 year old. With glasses.

I was bullied as a child. There were a lot of reasons… besides the regular “kids are kind of mean” thing. I fell out of a laundry cart as a toddler, and it left me with a rakish Harrison Ford like scar on my chin, which caused the kids in kindergarten to call me “Frankenstein” (as you can see in the photo from 1974, it was huge – okay not really). It was the 70s so being biracial in the USA was still kind of like being a space alien. When I was 12 I started having to wear glasses. When I was 14, I started to be overweight. I lost the weight when I was 17 but still had the zits and the glasses. My mom was in trouble and wasn’t able to be there between the time I was 12 and 18, and my Jewish American dad didn’t know how to deal with my African American hair texture. I think he also thought it was the 70s instead of the 80s, because he kept trying to get me to wear a lopsided Afro. We lived in Kalapana from 1980 to 1982, and my dad’s desire to “live off the land” meant that we had no running water. That meant I was smelly at school sometimes.

I spoke too slowly because I had a stutter (I still speak slowly – it sounds better than stuttering). I got hassled for getting good grades, while at the same time being hassled for being so-called slow because some teens can’t tell the difference between being slow and having a speech impediment. And  then there were the pimples. I was suicidal, and yes, there were some suicide attempts. I wrote a nice little piece about my experience as a bullied junior high school student, which was rejected by a certain little fashion magazine (wrong audience, I am sure) but is free on Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/210126

The Dinner Party Show

Eric n Chris – The Guys, The Dinner Party Show

I love that show – the theme is “Everybody Gets Served” and that means they make fun of everyone, so it’s sort of an equal opportunity sketchy comedy and parody show. If you know me very well, you know that I am a generalized fan of sketch comedy, dating back to the late 70s when my dearly departed father would wake me up late at night so I could join him in watching “Saturday Night Live” and “Monty Python” during my preteen years.

I also listened to a lot of Dr. Demento, which was what we used to have before Weird Al Yankovich – he was a radio DJ who played all kinds of musical parodies. My dad was born back stage when his parents were on vaudeville, so you could say that comedy is in my blood. I understand about funny, and this show is funny. You should all listen to it. And subscribe to the podcast. And fan their Facebook page so you can interact with them while they are on the air every Sunday at 5pm PST. In case you missed those links:

http://thedinnerpartyshow.com/

https://www.facebook.com/TheDinnerPartyShow

I probably didn’t mention it, but you can also support the show by buying the books of Eric Shaw Quinn, Christopher Rice, and their guests, at their store. And I have been systematically adding the ones I want but don’t have to my Amazon wish list, so that you can buy them for me for my birthday, which is March 20th.

Bring Back The Horror!

I know what some of you are saying… more author interviews! Bring back the horror! Well, you’ll be happy to hear that I now that my dad’s funeral is over and I start school tomorrow, I am sort of re-gearing up and preparing to deliver more author interviews. So thanks for being patient with me though my grief and letting me express it here.

The Hat and the Cats

Today I found a flash drive my father gave me in the sink, while I was washing dishes. It seemed very strange – what was it doing in the sink? How did it get there? Momentarily, I was distressed: it was a tiny thumb drive, a broken one my father had given me. It used to be on my keychain but the then, the little loop that held it there broke… and I’d glued it back together twice in an effort to keep the special flash drive that dad gave me on my keychain, because it reminded me of him when I was at school. My October book readings were on the flash drive.

Not were, but are…

They are on the flash drive, because miraculously, despite being in the sink with the soap and the bubbles, the flash drive works.

I put it in my purse.

The Hat

Impulse took me over back in December. It was an impulse buy: the goofy, over sized Christmas hats with the elf ears or saying “Santa’s Helper”. I even got myself one… but I forgot to wrap it, so it didn’t make it over to my dad’s house for Christmas Eve, where my dad and my nieces were putting on green and red hats. My dad’s hat had elf ears on it – like Spock ears.

This is the hat I have like the one my dad wore.

I took the pictures on my dad’s iPad and I said, when I saw them, “my dad looks like an elf”. He was growing thinner, and more and more frail. I didn’t know it then, but it would be the last day I would see him where he would be fully able to interact with me and the rest of the family. By the time I would see him again, on New Year’s Eve, he would be asleep most of the time. He would be sleeping, and I would take a photo that said “Dad is sleeping.”

My dad, out in front of his apartment in 2012

Dad is sleeping now. Now, my father is gone.

But I found the hat today – the one I had, that looks just like the one he had, the one he wears in the photos of our last Christmas Eve with daddy, and I found it and I grabbed it and held it and slept with it. I slept and I dreamed of my relatives who had passed away. I dreamed I was with my father, looking at a photo album of photos of his mother and sister and my mom’s mother and father. And when I woke up, I put on the hat.

My dad in the hat with my niece Elisabetta, Xmas Eve

My dad looked like an elf on Christmas Eve. That’s how I chose to remember him.

The Cats

Dad and Miranda, his feline companion on Christmas 2012

Both of our cats seem to know I am mourning. Both of the cats are sleeping on the bed with me, as I desperately clutch at a hat that reminds me of my father. The girl cat sleeps by my feet and the boy cat sleeps on my legs. Boy is he heavy. They don’t even like each other, but they are getting along for the moment. Two cats and a hat on a bed.

Even now, as I type, two cats sit next to me on the futon.

My dad loved his cat Miranda, but now my niece will take care of her. The night my father died, Miranda hid under the couch until the morticians opened my dad’s bedroom door.. then she flew into the room, looked at and sniffed my dad and turned around and hauled ass out of there, back into the living room under the couch.

 The last photo I took of Dad and Miranda was on Christmas Eve. Miranda was yawning and it looks like she’s winking.

Moving Forward

Franchesca, Scott, and Dad on Christmas Eve 2012

And on Facebook I posted the following:

Today is a day of doing chores… of life slowly attempting to return to normal, although it is a different normal, a normal with a big hole in the middle of it where my daddy used to be. Dishes are being washed today, bills are being paid… all of these things we put off as we scrambled to deal with a death in the family, are being remembered: the normal pace of life, but with something different.

Every little chore is being handled with a lot more tenderness. Every phone call seems to end with a lot more I love yous. Everyone is being more gentle with each other as we walk through these patterns of day to day life with our burden of grief, trying to put a net there for each other, to protect each other.

Because we are family.

But even as I did these chores, I found the flash drive, and I found the hat, and everything reminds me of my father. I am weeping softly typing out remembrances, as if all of life has now turned into memories of my father, as if this is the way I will move forward.

And life will go on filled with poignant reminders…

A Book

Warmth is free again tomorrow (January 17)… my dad liked that book. I hope you will too. He kept a paperback of my more serious title “Solitude” by his bed, but he read the eBook of Warmth… calling me from time to time asking why I didn’t kill off it’s reprehensible villain sooner.

Tomorrow (January 17) you can get an absolutely free copy of my eBook “Warmth”, which is a bit of a darkly humorous romp through the life of Sera, an angst ridden ghoulish zombie slayer who has every reason to be bitter. Infected with a virulent strain of gut flora consisting of a pre-bacteria component and a fungi, her body now requires a diet of human flesh and blood to sustain itself.

The trade off for this affliction is an extremely long life, not immortality, but highly retarded aging. For every hundred years, she will age about 90 days – but it is not without a cost. At the end of her life – at the end of every ghoul’s life cycle, her body will reanimate as a zombie-like creature with no desire other than to infect as many as possible before it rots.

If that doesn’t sound half bad to you, that’s probably because you don’t know that Sera is pregnant. In fact, she’s been pregnant for the past 600 years, and she’s due any day now. Between the constant low-grade fever that accompanies her ghoulism, and the very human condition of pregnancy oh so painfully extended through time, she’s in a bad mood.

An old enemy. A threat of revelation to the humans. A potential zombie apocalypse. And a baby on the way.

Some days, a ghoul just can’t get a break…

http://www.amazon.com/Warmth-ebook/dp/B007PGLGJ6/

Beloved camera man Bob Saulson passes

This is my father’s obituary, in the San Francisco Bayview newspaper – it will appear in print in February…

Beloved camera man Bob Saulson passes.

Interview with Gretchen Steen, Author of Legend of Dragamere

The Author

Born in Wilmington, Delaware in 1952, Gretchen Steen is literally a dragon herself. Born in a ‘Year of the Dragon’ according to the Chinese calendar, her interest spread to dragons from all areas of the world. The myths, legends and persona surrounding these creatures led to a deeper fascination with the ‘beast’.

Ms. Steen’s creative mind emerged unexpectedly as a young adult, but the urge to express it in writing didn’t come to fruition until many years later. Her family, as well as her many friends and acquaintances, know her as the “DragonLady”, a title she deems appropriate.

Since the inception of Ms. Steen’s original ideas in 2001, the amazing adventures of the “Dragonchild”, the subsequent journey to solve “The Mystery of Dragon Hall” and the revealing “Drágön Blood” produced an intricately detailed, fantasy journey.

In 2012, these stories were rewritten and condensed into two stories, “Legend of Dragamere” and the upcoming “Blood of Dragamere”.

Her writing was delayed but never forgotten during the devastation and traumatic aftermath of Hurricane’s Ivan and Dennis, which targeted Pensacola in 2004 and 2005.

Ms. Steen is the proud mother of two wonderful children, Justin and Chelsea and grandmother of Jack Daniel and

The Book

A legendary castle … a maniacal wizard … dragons, strangers and a magical rose …

Chelsey always knew she was different. After reading an obscure fantasy novel, she sensed a connection. Desperately seeking answers, she flies to England and befriends a handsome stranger, Damien. They meet with the enigmatic Malcolm, who mysteriously reveals their joint heritage. The facts are unbelievable; his claim … their bloodline.

In order for them to survive, they must go to the infamous castle, Dragamere, and break a thousand year-old curse. They are spurred on by a malevolent entity that has transcended time. The cursed lovers’ archenemy proves to be a defiant foe and their journey becomes treacherous.

The curse is broken and so is the veil of time. Chelsey and Damien find themselves in the past, united with the condemned lovers. Together, they must face their evil nemesis and destroy him. Will they ever return to their own time and at what cost?

The Interview

Q.  In “Legend of Dragamere” your character Chelsey feels a connection to an ancient fantasy she reads, itself called “Dragonchild”. Thus the story she reads begins to pull her further into a mystical world of dragons. Do you think that the device you use with having your heroine enter her world through a book, will help draw your reader into your own story and create a feeling of identification with your young protagonist?

A. Possibly. In my original stories, “Legend of Dragamere” was book two of three. It contained a prologue that connected the conclusion of “Dragonchild” (yes, the book referenced) to the next book, “The Mystery of Dragon Hall”. When I decided to rewrite everything, I decided to start the story with book two. The prologue, at that point, didn’t fit, but I used specific reference to the antagonist in “Dragonchild” as a catalyst to begin the story and spur Chelsey toward her destiny.

Q. This entry into a fantasy world – making a connection and going as Alice does in Wonderland, further down the rabbit hole – or as the Pevensie children in C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia go, through the wardrobe, is a familiar way into the world of whimsy in classic young adult fiction. Do you think of “Legend of Dragamere” as young adult fiction?

A. It could be classified as young adult fiction. The originals had a few very steamy scenes, but in the rewrite, I toned it down a bit. “Legend of Dragamere” still contains scenes that ‘young’ readers might be uncomfortable with, but nothing is explicit. I was tempted to remove the ‘questionable scenes’ altogether, but they serve a purpose in the storyline. In the current form, it is definitely appropriate for the young adult reader.

Q. Do you think of it as more similar to modern traditions in young adult fiction, or that of the previous eras that defined the genre?

A. I can’t honestly categorize it as either modern or classic. I haven’t read enough to know the ‘defined genre guidelines’.

Q. How is a Dragonchild of Dragamere different than all of the dragons of legends before… and in what ways, if any are Giselle, Chelsey and Damien in your stories rooted in known legend?

A. I don’t know of any legends that are similar. Chelsey and Damien, my ‘dragonchildren’, have dragonblood flowing in their veins a millennium after the union of a man/dragon changeling, Lord Naguum and witch, Catreena (Giselle’s parents in the original “Dragonchild”). The curse Chelsey and Damien need to break is leveled upon them by Moorlange. Sorry, I might be confusing you, but the story is all tied together with the sequel, “Blood of Dragamere”. After all, fantasy is a conjured adventure. Nothing has to have basis in anything as long as it’s believable.

Q. You create your own system of myths and legends for the books, “Legend of Dragamere” and “Blood of Dragamere”. Was there anything particularly challenging about creating your own mythology? Was it fun?

A.   That’s what I love about writing fantasy. As I said in the last question, anything is possible and if it’s written well, the question of ‘what if’ arises. I did intersperse reality with the fantastic, to make the story somewhat more relatable. I had a grand time creating the story. I thought I was finished with book one, “Dragonchild”, but the story wasn’t finished ‘in my head’. The years that followed, the story flowed and the two subsequent volumes, “The Mystery of Dragon Hall” and “Dragon Blood” were written. I began editing, rewriting and rearranging the story about a year ago. “Legend of Dragamere” (the old book two) is now the beginning of the story and the upcoming sequel, “Blood of Dragamere” is the sequel/prequel of the combined “Dragonchild” and “Dragon Blood”. I won’t tell you how I plan to collate the two stories, but it’s being done right now.

Q.  Currently, there are two books journeying into your fantasy world of Dragamere. Can we expect more in the future?

A.   No, the dragon fantasy ends with “Blood of Dragamere”. My next venture is an attempt to write an apocalyptic thriller based on conspiracy theory called, “What Is To Come?” The cover and short synopsis are on my website www.gretchensteen.com under the ‘Books’ tab. It’s still a work-in-progress, but next on the list after the revisions of “Blood of Dragamere” are completed.

Q.  Is Chelsey named for your daughter Chelsea? If so, how does she feel about being immortalized in literature?

A.   No, it’s just a coincidence. My daughter has never read my work. When I reworked “Legend of Dragamere” I changed the M/C Courtney to Chelsey. All the names were changed in the rewrite, so it is technically a ‘new story’.

Q      As you may know, “Alice in Wonderland” was written by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson aka Lewis Carroll as an entertainment for the Liddell children, and the middle child was named Alice. Did you read these stories to Chelsea when she was younger? 

A.   No, this whole story began as therapy during a crumbling marriage. The fantastic adventure was my ‘exit from the real world’. I could bury myself in what I loved, dragons, fantasy, romance and adventure. I was constantly told “You’re not good enough to write anything”…and I proved them wrong. It’s been years since I began the first story and to this day, none of my family has delved into my ‘fantasy world’.

Q.    Is there anything you’d like our readers to know that we haven’t covered yet?

A.   Not really, but I must convey something from my father, who didn’t live to see my writing. He said to me years ago, “Give yourself a chance, don’t say you can’t do something until you try; make the attempt…and then you just might surprise yourself with what you’re capable of.” To this day I hear him…and press forward. To all the unknown writers, never give up!

The Video

 Where To Find Her Online:

Website: “The DragonLady” Gretchen Steen Fantasy Author http://www.gretchensteen.com/index.html

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/gretchen.steen

Lulu.com: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/dragonlady55

Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Legend-of-Dragamere-ebook/dp/B0062SDR5Y/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347754279&sr=8-1&keywords=Gretchen+Steen

Thank you for the love you’ve shown our family in the wake of my father’s passing

My father on Christmas Eve 2012, sporting an elvish hat and a plastic robot arm for grabbing things (which were my Christmas presents to him). My dad always loved gadgetry and toys. He was like the original model for the IT geek even though he worked with telephone systems.

My family and I are deeply moved by the kindness of our friends and relations near and far, of generous strangers, of caring people who have gathered around to show us love and concern in our time of bereavement. We were saddened by our father’s passing. When my father died, I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore. Even knowing that he would pass, it was difficult: those of you who have been following his story on my blog or who know us personally know that around the beginning of my Fall school semester, my dad called and told me he had been told by his oncologist that he had about three months to live. He held out a little longer, so that he could spend the holidays and the New Year with family. 

We lost him two days ago, on January 3, 2013.

We knew five months ahead of time that his days might be short – and we chose to spend that time making memories with him while he was still here with us. I guess that is the natural course of things – to celebrate life, as we are living, and to hold off grief when we can to appreciate the company of the dying while they are still among the living. But we didn’t plan well enough for the practicalities that surround death, and so we were taken by surprise.

Grief, Interrupted

My dad with his cat, Miranda – who seems to be winking. My dad named her after the planet in Firefly – he was a major science fiction fan.

By the next day, we would be hit with yet another painful revelation: my father had no burial insurance, and although as a Veteran, the VA would provide a plot, a headstone and the burial, but we would have to come together to pay for everything else. My father was a senior on a limited income with no estate to pay for his funeral and no insurance. We would have to come up with between $4,000 and $6,000 in a very short period of time – just a little more than a week – in order to bury him on Monday, January 14th, eleven days after his death. The funeral parlor told us if we waited any longer, his body would start to become unpresentable for an open casket funeral.

We Just Want To Thank You

My niece Franchesca, who turned 22 in December, with her father (my brother) Scott and my father (her grandfather) Bob.

In response, when I came home last night, I started a campaign on Fundrazr.com

My niece, Franchesca – who my father asked to handle his affairs (he left an advance directive) is running this online fundraiser with me, and her dad and my mom are going around and asking people in person to donate (they are not “computer people”).

We are overwhelmed with gratitude by all of the support. In less than 24 hours, we’ve received nearly $700 in donations towards his funeral costs. Every time someone donates to the fund, me and Franchesca see it and are both filled with a sense of hope – that we can do this thing.

Grief, and Hope

My dad kept my first book with him to the last – by his bedside. He told everyone about his daughter, “the author”. This was the bias of parental love, of course – every parent and child knows it. But I am glad my father was as proud to have me as a child as I was to have him as my daddy.

Grief is difficult and none of us experience it the same way. I know all too well how easily the suffering we all find ourselves experiencing individually in this loss of my dear and beloved father has at times been a source of friction and conflict – and I guess that is why it makes it all the more heartwarming and touching that people can come together in the face of tragedy and adversity to show how we can all be of one heart – one mind – one love, even in the most difficult times, it infuses me with a touch of bittersweet hope. Even though we are hurt, and we are suffering a loss, we can come together. We can show love.

Even with all of the love, it is so hard. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the chest sometimes. Sometimes I feel like it’s hard to breathe.

But people are AMAZING. People have come to us and created a circle of love and warmth around me and my family, and I can’t express much it really means to me, and my niece, and my brother, and my entire family to know how much you care. 

If You Want To Help

My father was a US Veteran. He served in the Navy from 1960 to 1964, where he learned the technical skills that would lead to his career as a proto technogeek. My dad was a radio guy who worked on the radar systems, and he was stationed in Iceland. Because he was a veteran, his plot, headstone, and burial are not an issue, but the family and friends still need to pay for the service, the preparation of his body, and the casket, plus little incidentals like flowers.

You Can Donate To The Robert Saulson Memorial Fund By Clicking On This Link

In addition to our fundraiser, author Serena Toxicat is offering books/CDs as part of a fundraiser for my dad, and Requiem Rose Designs is offering proceeds from jewelry sales. And I can offer signed copies of my book “Things That Go Bump In My Head” if, you know, you really want one. Although I’m not famous and I am only famously loved by my dad, who was likely my biggest fan. But if you want to do that, just hit the “Paypal” button on the side over there and send me an email at sumikoska@yahoo.com.

My mom, brother and niece are also trying to put together fundraising events.

Thanks.

In Memory of My Father, Robert Allen Saulson

Time is precious, and the fact that our time together here on Earth is limited only makes it more so. My father was seventy years old when he passed away on Thursday, January 3, 2013… and to me, he was much too young.

My father is in the back, center, with me on one side and my brother Scott on the other, my niece Elisabetta (Scott’s youngest) in the front. Christmas Eve 2012

Memories are precious beads running down my face like tears, tears are precious memories beading on my face like water, and I am stunned into bouts of silence and inappropriate laughter. We all grieve differently. We all tend to grieve over a course of time, not in the fitful spurts of appointed times for memorials and services alone – but also, in the quiet moments when we think of how much a loved one would have loved something we usually would enjoy with him. Love is a daughter picking up the phone to tell her father that someone in Australia is selling a hover bike. Love is a father listening to his daughter’s voice on the phone before letting go. Love is a son holding his dying father in his arms, because only moments before he was desperately trying to revive him through an act of CPR and my brother would be that son, my father would be that father.

Every parent, child, sibling, and grandchild has a relationship with his or her loved one so personal that no blathering of any writer ever will capture it. Our love exists unspoken, so how can words truly give meaning to what we already know? But my father’s daughter is a writer, and so to write about it is the most natural expression of love.

To love is to remember.

Besides, I have the feeling that my father would be very perturbed if I didn’t write about him. He believed in me in ways I never have truly believed in myself, and although I feel it is the prerogative of every parent to believe his or her bundle of joy is extra special – and yes, my parents always were and probably will always be my biggest fans – I think I will humor him, even now that he is gone, in his improbable belief that someday my books will be being made into movies. It’s not impossible, and what if that happened after I was dead, and I didn’t write a bunch of biographical material about my dad? He might have words with me in the afterlife, and well, I can’t have that, now can I?

My dad and my niece Franchesca back in 1992

My father did not believe in an afterlife, although I do… he had a few moments of speculation as to the possibility of an afterlife, and especially after Contact came out, because Carl Sagan was a hero of his. What he did believe was that he lived on through his children and grandchildren in a kind of race memory, like in Dune. I read Dune when I was twelve – my father left a copy around the house and I was one of those kids who could read well above grade level and would read anything that wasn’t locked away.

It gave me nightmares.

Leaving copies of Frank Herbert, and Peter Straub around the house could possibly be a way of accidentally raising a future horror writer. Believe me, I didn’t discover Poe until I was fourteen and by then I’d already been reading my father’s Asimov Science Fiction magazines for four years.

My dad was a cool guy. He was ahead of his time. He was one of those Sharper Image nerds who had every gadget they came out with in the 70s and 80s when we were kids. We had a computer in the house in 1980, a Commodore. We also had an Atari game system with Pong and Adventure on it. If I was an early adopter, it was only because my father was far ahead of the curb. By trade, he was a telecom guy. He fixed phone systems like Centrex, and worked for a place called Hawkins Audio on mall sound systems, basically Muzak. He was a technician before I was a technician.

I am Christian and I believe in heaven – but I also believe that children are like our parents, and that my brother and I are like our father. I believe that it made him happy when I started fixing computers and setting up simple daisy chain networks at the ass end of the 1980s, that he was also happy when I got recertified last year – ACMT, A+, Network+, simple certs – but not bad for a daughter. My dad used to think if there was any technical aptitude my brother would have to inherit it – not me, a girl. That was until he caught me taking apart his watch to see how it worked when I was nine, and he said, “I used to get in trouble for doing things like that when I was your age. By the way… you are in trouble. You better be able to put that thing back together again.”

And I did… with a little help from my dad.

My dad (smoking) with my cousin Gina and his sister (her mom) Charlene in the early 70s

My dad wasn’t ahead of the curb with everything, though: he was also nostalgic. In the 80s he drove a Yamaha 700 fitted with a stereo system – an 8 track stereo system that he installed, because he was convinced they’d bring back the 8 track – they had to. It was so far superior to the standard cassette. He also decried the failure of Beta to best VHS videotapes. He had video discs back when they were huge – 12 inch disks that where the size of records. He was filled with foresight in equal amounts to his reverence to technological betters of bygone times. He was my father – through and through, this was just who and how he was.

I’ll miss him.

There is more to say, but I can’t say it tonight. It’s too soon. The wounds are much too fresh. I just want to say that my dad – Robert Allen Saulson – was a special man. He was a family man, and he was special to his family. He was an imperfect man but he was my father and I never, ever, ever wanted a different one.

I loved my dad very much.

2013: The Year of Triskaidekaphobia

Happy New Year! Most of us have waved our goodbyes to 2012 by now: said a fond farewell to the year of unsubstantiated allegedly Mayan prophecies that the Mayans denied having anything to do with, based upon an Olmec calendar and generally posted with a photo of an Aztec stone carving on the internet. We’ve said goodbye to the year that made John Cusack an action adventure hero in the movie of it’s very name.

But now, everyone is over making their end of the world playlists and hosting apocalyptic-themed parties, and we are on to making our New Years Resolutions. Or as Mark Twain would say:

“This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.”

– Mark Twain

Samuel Clemens aka Mark Twain, famous triskaidekaphobes.

While most of us are looking forward to leaving 2012 behind and launching into a fresh start with 2013, but if you were like Mark Twain, you’d be entering the year of two-thousand and thirteen with a sense of unease… for he, like many others, suffered from triskaidekaphobia.

Triskaidekaphobia is a fear of the number thirteen. Thirteen wasn’t always considered an unlucky number – indeed, it is not always considered unlucky now. However, our famous writer Samuel Clemens lived in a time where fear of the number thirteen was so prevalent that as a new invention took root during his life time – that is, the elevator - in part, making the skyscrapers of today possible by offering an alternative method of inter-floor transportation to the staircase – it carried with it a superstition that is still with us in this modern age, a prohibition against including a thirteenth floor.

Just so you don’t think John Cusack’s appearances in movies with superstition-driven plots are limited to 2012, he also started in 1408 - a personal favorite of mine. The movie was based on a Stephen King story of the same name, and deals of course with the habit of calling the “unlucky” thirteenth floor by the name of fourteenth floor in the taller buildings: as apparently, the forces of evil are quite literal minded and will be deceived by such a device.

But is thirteen really unlucky?

Lucky 13

American and European fear of the number thirteen is part of why some feared that December 22, 2012 would be the end of the world: it marked the end of the 13th Baktun (or long count calendar – the Mayans, like the Olmec before them used a series of circular calendars that ended and restarted) and the start of the 14th Baktun. But the fear of the number thirteen wasn’t part of Mayan culture: it’s a European thinking that accompanied the European settlers when they came to America.

The idea of thirteen as an unlucky number is a fairly modern one. Most religions have auspicious associations with thirteen. In fact, some believe that the strong presence of positive associations with thirteen in Judaism, where thirteen is the number of the mercies of God and the age at which a boy or girl becomes a man or woman and full-fledged member of the church, may also have something to do with the reason thirteen became considered unlucky, during a time of antisemitism in Europe.

In fact, a lot of this has already been covered in an article I wrote about Friday the Thirteenth some time ago… last year.

Thirteen Moons

A lovely photo of the moon by Nonya Justagirl

There are also thirteen moons every year. The Gregorian Solar calendar we use has been divided into twelve months, and months are moon-based cycles dating back to Mesopotamia, however, our modern calendar is a sun-based or solar calendar, based upon the year which is the period of time it takes the earth to traverse the sun.  Lunar cycles do not fit neatly into this solar calendar, which  is why we use a “leap year” every four years to make a correction. Actual lunar months are about 27.5 days, and thirteen of them will occur during one of the 365.25 day years on the Gregorian calendar we use. Some thought the “unlucky” thirteen came from the messiness associated with the partial lunar month that divided half into each of our calendar years.

Not everyone used this type of time keeping. The Mesoamerican calendars used a trecena – a thirteen day cycle, in a series of twenty, for a 260 day calendar – further evidence that they did not consider thirteen as particularly unlucky. The Tongan calendar contains thirteen months. The Hebrew calendar includes a sort of “leap” month called Adar Bet, or Adar 2,  which occurs seven out of every nineteen years. The Roman calendar used prior to our current Gregorian variant actually included a thirteenth month during leap years – called Mercedonius.

All of this of course is a consequence of the decision to use the solar calendar as the primary basis, cramming and trimming months in any number of ways to get them to fit into a year. The moon has strong associations with the feminine, as our cycles of menstruation are connected to the timing of lunar cycles, and so the moon is associated with all that is womanly. A tension between the dominance of the masculine associated sun and the feminine associated moon in mythologies and the actual thirteen months in lunar-count years could be another reason thirteen came to be seen as unlucky.

Nosferspratu needs your help… (guest blog by Kateryna Fury)

I am lending Guest Blogger Kateryna Fury some space today to talk to you about her beloved cat, Sprite, aka Nosferspratu, a retired service animal. Sprite could use your help today. Without further ado, here is Kateryna Fury…

Who Is Sprite?

Sprite

I am asking you today for help. My name is Kateryna Fury, and I am a writer who forgets to get published sometimes and I dabble in horror, fantasy, poetry and the loose ends of my brain. I need help today helping one of the most influential beings in my life. Her influence is massive despite her small size and her being a cat, but it is there all the same. This is the story of Nosferspratu aka Sprite.

Sprite was born in a rural town in New Mexico, the entire litter was put in a box and dumped in the road. She survived the car hitting it and being dumped into the shelter system. This street smart feline was adopted a few times but brought back due to being too wild. She was deemed a feral and put into the feral rehabilitation program run by the state. She was dubbed Demon, and eventually clawed her way to some friends of mine. She was homeless and so was I. They took me in for meals, just as they cared for a menagerie of animals. I went over one day so they could feed me and warm me up, it was late in November and my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was making surviving while being disabled and homeless nearly impossible. I couldn’t seem to fight for the few foods I was not allergic to, and I was in serious trouble. I sat down on the couch, and they took my walker away, to put it aside until I needed it again and I closed my eyes savoring the warmth of their heater. I felt her weight on my legs, then the hesitant rumble of her purr. It was the first time she had purred in their house, and my friends were surprised. They came back to the room with a tray table and food and found her curled up on my lap, her eyes closed, her tiny paws tucked up under her body and her face pressed against my stomach.

They did not disturb her but adjusted around the cat, we ate, and laughed, and several hours later she was still there. She did not want to let me go, and tried to dig in quite literally when it was time. They did not tell me her history then but they saw the feeling was mutual. In that short timeframe I had fallen in love with the silver blue cat. As luck would have it, I had a place to stay shortly after that but I did not yet have any income. A person renting a room in a house decided to let it and let me stay. They agreed to back rent, and then when my friends brought over Sprite let me actually keep her. They paid for her food, my friends her litter, until I could afford to do so. Neither one had to but this was part of what lead to Sprite and I having a chance to grow together.

Sprite never showed me her feral side. That first night was one of the few times when I could tell she was not used to a house, but she never once ran from me. We had an adventure in my room trying to settle in. Me with an untreated spinal injury and her with her fear of the dark. Once I figured out what was scaring her so badly it was not too bad. I turned a flash light on under the covers and put the ticking clock out of my bedroom door, then curled up with her. I woke up the next day with her tucked up under my head as if SHE was my pillow. She never got the idea that she wasn’t a good pillow, though she was exceptionally small and bony then.

Sprite in her natural environment…

This was nearly ten years ago and I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was not really prepared for the amazing intellect my cat has. She is wiley, and I suspect a lot of her challenges before were mixtures of fear and boredom. I didn’t ever have to find a way to keep her from being bored, it turns out I was her way. My disabilities lead from a lot of trauma, I mentioned before I suffer with PTSD, and my body has some medical challenges from that. I also had a bout of malpractice that I had to fight through preventing my spinal cord injury from being treated. I did not yet know what was wrong with my legs at this time, and my pride wasn’t helping either. With in days of our living together Sprite saved me from a medical cataclysm for the first time. She came into the living room, bumped my knees until I sat down and then stood on my chest staring into my eyes while yowling. My roommates came running to find out if she was hurt, and then I had a seizure. My seizures are Petit Mal, so I am aware of them and conscious but I cannot DO anything. I float in the space where electricity reigns. This was the first one anyone had seen, I had thought them normal.

Sprite alerts like that consistently. Since I use a wheelchair, after finding out that my spine is indeed a mess after that car accident and I should have had treatment, she will just climb into my lap and block access to the controller. She does other things too and before her health began to decline did even more. The myriad of things is long but she helps me to safely move in my house. My legs work intermittently so I like to sit into my chair instead of fall into it via a transfer, she makes this happen. She detects the dangerous allergens for my allergies, and has more than once saved me from what would have been fatal cross contamination. She reminds me to take my medications. Her best skill however is calling 911. Some phones work better than others but she has more than once called for help. I cannot list everything she does without turning this into a 500 page novel.

Despite the physical aide, the most important thing Sprite has brought me is mental relief. Some time into our friendship something shifted in my brain. I am not sure if it was during a nightmare or waking PTSD, but I was lost in a moment of violence. I was reliving a brutal beating by my father and instead of calling for my mother I called for Sprite. My mother never came, but she did. The change to the memory interrupted the flashback. She let me cry into her fur for what may have been hours. She purred consistently and deep. She was there. I am not sure what made me call for her but she has since then always been there. My being disabled my PTSD has nearly disappeared. With Sprite I can be downright reliable, but most of all I am free to explore the occassion of stories with happy endings. It is a bit hard to say but Sprite gave me the love I always wanted. Before I knew Sprite I did not know what love was. There were people involved in learning that too but I would not have taken the risk without them.

I would be locked forever in my mind, without her. I do need her, and while life is finite she does not have to die from an untreated infection. I am asking for more time. She is 11 years old and with the surgery she can live quite a lot longer. I want more birthdays, holidays, and laughter with her. Without her I will be okay, she helped me to become a whole person. No therapy ever did, no doctors can cure my body but she cured my spirit. She let me grow into a woman and an advocate for equal rights. I want her to reap the benefits of my happiness. She gave me a life I never imagined I could have. She gave me the ability to not just be alive, but to experience. She gave me my words to write again.

There is so much I want to put in here, the times she has saved me. The times I saved her. Most of all I just wish I could put into words the feelings that she lets me feel. New sensations. Warmth, joy, happiness, excitement, and the other words that exist are not enough to convey what she has gifted me with. There is no real way to imagine without knowing her, how she can alter your reality. I never knew I would let my cat wear sweaters and dresses, for warmth and sun protection. I never knew that I would love at all. I was just a child when she met me, and she was just out of kittenhood. She is my trellis so that I can wind like ivy towards the sun.

Thank you for reading this and giving consideration to Sprite. Her life has more adventures than I could share, and she has done amazing things for people, without the joy of opposable thumbs. I hope that even a fraction of the light she brings my world crept through, and perhaps a bit of that love.

What Sprite Needs

Sprite has two abcesses in the roof of her mouth that have spread to her teeth. These were caused by an untreated mast cell sore, and resisted antibiotic intervention over the last year. They have begun to push her teeth out of her gums and now she needs to have them excised and some teeth extracted. If left untreated this infection will cause blood poisoning. Right now she is on the strongest antibiotics that I can handle, to try and keep things status quo but they are not strong enough to help for long. That is due to my extreme allergies to the medicines.

The estimate for the surgery is 1556.98

This includes the presurgery bloodwork, the catheter and IV, fluids, pain injections, as well as the dental debriding, anesthesia, and a second blood test to make sure that after surgery none of the infection went into her system that way, as well as her hospital stay and pre and post surgical xrays. We did some Xrays already but they need them to be done the day of. This also includes the post surgical visit to see how she has healed, I am told.

How To Help Sprite

Donate Directly To The Veterinarian:

The account number for Sprite’s prepay is 100495. To pay to the account you need to call Aztec Veterinary Clinic at (505) 265-4939 if you wish to pay directly. You will need to tell the office it is for Sprite’s surgery and that will go into earmarked funds. You can ask to speak to a woman named Hope, who is fantastic. She does almost all of their phone work.

PayPal

If you want to use PayPal, you can use Mike’s email which is Michael.Kambli@gmail.com.

Donors Incentive Programs

Hi – this is Sumiko Saulson again. I am hoping that you will help Kateryna and Nosferspratu, and as an incentive to donate, I (Sumiko Saulson) and Requiem Rose Designs (proprietor Desdemonna Ekaterina Gare-Ho) are both offering donor incentives: things we give you if you donate to Sprite’s cause.

The Mau Collection

When you purchase a gorgeous set of loom jewelry from the Mau collection, all proceeds go towards Sprite’s care due to the generous offer of Requiem Rose Designs and the blessing of Mau and his human Jody Rose. The collection was originally named after Mau, and used to (successfully) raise funds for him. Now it is being used to raise money for Sprite! These beautiful sets are only $10 + 4.95 flat rate US shipping (only $10 if you pick them up locally). Get the earrings as separates for $5. This beautiful jewelry comes in a variety of colors, and you can find it right here:

The Mau Collection – Requiem Rose Designs

Things That Go Bump In Your Head – Signed Copy

I will also be donating proceeds from “Things That Go Bump In Your Head”, signed copies, which you can purchase from me for $10 + 4.95 flat rate US shipping (only $10 if you pick them up locally).

“Things That Go Bump In My Head” is a collection of short stories and other writing by horror and science fiction novelist Sumiko Saulson. A bit of old fashioned horror… a ghost story… a couple of works on the dark humor side of horror (and they are unabashedly funny), a science-fiction dystopic tale, a few works of psychological horror… even a bit of poetry. It contains: “Frankenzombie”, “A Life of Her Own”, “Agrippa”, “I, Stammer (In Disbelief)”, “Dead Horse Summer”, “Attempted Happiness” and other short stories. Because it is a collection of these pithy and varied tales… there is a bit for everyone: Reading “Things That Go Bump In My Head” is like entering a haunted house ride… you never know what you will find around around the corner.

If you’re interested in the books incentive contact me here

Pick up some “Warmth” for the Holidays

Perhaps you don’t live in a place with snow… and you can’t sit near a cozy log fire. Well… even if so, there’s no reason why you can’t have a little holiday “Warmth” this winter.

Today only, get “Warmth” for free on the Kindle! Warmth is a work of horror firmly in the dark comedy arena about an alternate earth where a prehistoric gut flora has extended the life of a select few – ghouls, who can only survive by consuming human flesh. This extended life comes with an end of the line penalty, though… when they die, all ghouls come back as flesh-eating zombies. The reanimated corpses have only one purpose – to seek out and infect humans with the ghoulish condition. But the world will not survive if most of it’s population are infected, so a select few ghouls are self-appointed zombie hunters – ever culling down the recently dead to prevent this kind of outbreak, and to keep ghoulish life a secret from the human world.

Sera is one of these – a ghoulish zombie hunter who is more than a bit cranky and irritable – the slow aging of the ghouls has also affected her unborn child, and as a result she’s been pregnant for the past 600 years.

http://www.amazon.com/Warmth-ebook/dp/B007PGLGJ6

Book Description


“I hate the dead. They have no self-control” – Sera. She is ghula – one of the extremely long-lived though not immortal flesh eaters whose lives can end in only one way – in resurrection as a hungry, ambulatory corpse who will spend the short days of its unlife rotting, eating, and infecting as many as possible. Sera compares her life to a dark comedy – trapped with an unwanted pregnancy for the past 600 years, constantly afraid that the fetus will die and go zombie in-utero, always cold and constantly running a fever like every other ghoul on the planet. Luckily, two things in life sustain her: her joy in hunting and destroying the Dead, and the constant seeking of comfort in warmth.
 
However, all of that will soon be over. In the weeks before she’s to go into labor, an old enemy has resurfaced – Lizbet, an irrational wildcard who threatens through her impulsive and reckless actions to reveal the ghoul community to all of humankind – and by doing so, perhaps get herself killed in a violent and public scene that could potentially kick start the zombie apocalypse.
 
Customer Review:

5.0 out of 5 stars  Suspenseful, campy gore!  September 29, 2012
By M. E. Valenzuela
Format:Paperback

Another book I had trouble putting down, I stayed up until dawn totally blown away by all the interesting twists in the story. The characters are compelling, well thought out and unique. Not everything is what it seems and no matter how much you try to hide it, reality has a way of catching up with you in sometimes thoroughly gruesome ways. It was one hell of a ride, sad to see it end. If you have a sick sense of humor, add this to your must read list!

Reading List for the Apocalypse

May 21, 2012 – The Mayan Apocalypse, or so they say. You may be asking yourself the important questions, like what would you be doing if this were indeed the last day on Earth. With less than two days to go, what would you do? More importantly, what would you read? With that in mind, I’ve compiled a handy-dandy list of my recommended apocalyptic literature.

It is one of the many days occurring during the course of my lifetime wherein the world is supposed to end. Days arbitrarily plucked from the minds of some man or woman based upon the thinnest of evidences and hailed as the end of life as we know it are a recurrent theme. The prevalence of this phenomenon indicates that it strikes a particular chord in all of many: the idea that we won’t die singularly and alone somewhere, but as a part of a global catastrophe.

When I was a teenager, I had frequent nightmares regarding nuclear war. Someone I knew who claimed knowledge of interpreting dreams told me that such dreams signified subconscious concern about impending change. That made perfect sense, as I was preparing to enter the adult world, and my life would change on many levels. About six months after I left home and got my own apartment, I stopped having the nightmares. But when my parents were each diagnosed with different cancers (and my father has now been diagnosed with two cancers in as many years) I found myself writing an apocalyptic novel, “Solitude”.

The writers of apocalyptic fiction may have personal or impersonal motives: I really can’t say. What I can say is that the theme enchants the imagination so that there are innumerable such stories in both film and literature.

Today, I am going to talk about books. Here are a few of my favorites with apocalyptic themes or undercurrents. There will be great stories I’ve left off the list, because there are many more stories than I could possibly mention. What are your favorite works of apocalyptic fiction? Please comment below.

[SPOILER ALERT] Some of these descriptions contain spoilers, if you haven’t read the books yet, consider yourself forewarned.

H.G. Well’s “The Time Machine”

While certainly not his only work of apocalyptic fiction, “The Time Machine” was the one that most captured my imagination. I remember as a small child, my father taking me down to the science museum in Los Angeles and showing me the exhibit about stars going supernova. When  the Time Traveler reaches the end of the line, the last moment of life on earth it is the sun’s expansion that destroys all remaining life. As a young reader, this seemed more possible than the alien invasion that threatens to destroy us in his “War of the Worlds” and more unstoppable than the global warfare in his “The Shape of Things To Come”, two books that also certainly belong on this list. I was young and idealistic enough to believe that a wise humanity could take heed of the warnings against war and prevent such an end… but who could stop a supernova? The space program was running out of steam when I was a child, and taking away it’s dreams of interplanetary travel and escape from a natural disaster destroying the earth along with it.

Frank Herbert’s “Dune”

The two movies made from the book never really seemed to communicate the overlying sense of pre-apocalyptic dread first Paul, then Leto Atreides experienced for most of the first three books. In Dune, before he becomes Maud’Dib, because he is the Because the Kwisatz Haderach and can see the masculine as well as feminine genetic lines of potential futures, Paul Atreides struggles with nightmarish visions of a future where his own actions unleash a jihad in his name that ultimately destroys the world. Even after he becomes Maud’Dib… Paul and his son Leto spend a great deal of time trying to avert yet another catastrophe: a war over the spice melange. Indeed, it seems that seeing into the future is a kind of a curse, with terrible consequences and an endless series of horrible choices and sacrifices to make in order to avert the extinction of mankind. In many cases, these are choices that no one else can understand and the actions Paul and Leto take make them seem at times monstrous. It is due to the pre-apocalyptic tone of these presentient visions that the book is included on this list.

Stephen King’s “The Stand”

When the first version of “The Stand” was released in 1978, Larry Underwood was still a disco singer. By the time I read it in 1983 at the age of fifteen, we were just becoming aware of the global AIDS epidemic which would color the adolescence of many people my age. “The Stand”, with it’s story of a global pandemic “Captain Tripps”, started by the government appealed to us on so many levels back then. The idea that AIDS was created by the government was just one of the contemporary fears it managed to strike: we were also afraid of biological warfare, and it hit that nerve quite nicely. The story follows multiple protagonists and we see through their eyes the unraveling of an extinction level event. The book also contains many Christian religious references, tapping into the deep psychological well of end-times fear that has spawned so many apocalyptic films and stories. Stephen King is another writer with multiple apocalyptic stories, as he also crafted the post-apocalyptic “Dark Tower” series.

Richard Matheson’s “I Am Legend”

“I Am Legend” is another, earlier story regarding the extinction of humanity as caused by a global plague. Indeed, Stephen King admits that this story was one of his inspirations. In the story, Robert Neville is the only person on the planet who is immune to a disease that causes it’s victims to look and act a lot like vampires. The novel has a far more provocative ending than the Will Smith blockbuster film based upon it, with a dark little twist.  In the end, protagonist  is forced to accept the fact that the vampires, the infected and mutated variant on mankind, are actually the “new normal”. When originally infected, the other people were quite wild and irrational, but now they have recovered their sense and formed a new society. Neville finds out that he’s not actually the hero, but the villian – having slain thousands of the infected, he’s now legendary as the world’s greatest serial killer.

Harlan Ellison “A Boy and His Dog”

In this, one of my father’s favorite science-fiction stories, the world ends due to Nuclear War. The story follows the adventures of a teenage boy named Vic and his genetically altered telepathic dog Blood. The dog is definitely the brighter and more civilized of the two. The young man’s mind tends towards theft, gluttony and rape. Blood is only able to telepathically communicate with his semi-feral human companion, so they are for better or worse stuck together. They live in a world rife with nuclear contamination. In a possible nod to “The Time Machine”, these above-ground dwellers run into a girl named Quilla June Holmes and she turns out to be secretly searching for men to abduct and hold captive in order that they might impregnate women in the underground society she lives in.

Pierre Boulle “Planet of the Apes”

The first apocalyptic story to frighten me was not the 1963 novel, but the 1968 film. It was playing on the television one day when I was about five years old, and when I registered the meaning of the Statue of Liberty at the end, it caused me to have nightmares for the next week or two. As such, I must of course include it. The book, written in French, is actually a bit scarier than the movie: the story is told within another story, distancing us a bit from the subject matter. A couple find the story of a man named Ulysse Mérou, told in his own words. When he lands on this planet where human beings are like monkeys, and monkeys like humans, although he maintains his abilities, his companion Professor Antelle begins to lose his faculties and find himself more and more like a wild animal. The apes perform experiments on the humans. Of course, like the movie, there is the twist ending where we learn that the planet was earth all along – so, like “I Am Legend”, this is a story where the planet continues but humans as we know ourselves fall into decline.

Wendy Pini’s “Masque of the Red Death”

The online comic is based upon Edgar Allen Poe’s “Masque of the Red Death“, a short story which can be read in it’s entirely online. The Poe story is about Prince Prospero’s fruitless efforts to avoid dealing with a national epidemic, an ebola-like virus called The Red Death. Ignoring the suffering of the poor, he plans a fantastic ball to entertain his well-off friends. But death in the end touches all of us, rich or poor. The Pini story moves the epidemic to the future, where it is an accident of failed genetic engineering. Instead of being a national epidemic, this time it is a global pandemic, and the storytelling centers around the doomed romance of Stephan and Anton, two young men falling in love near the end of the world. Pini’s Masque of the Red Death contains mature content and is only for adult readers.

You can find it online here.