Summer is speeding by, and I have been terribly remiss in keeping up with my blog. For those who have reached out to me in recent weeks, asking if I am okay, the short answer is, “Yes, I am.” I won’t claim to be wondrously fantastic, because you wouldn’t believe me if I did. But I am well.
Our new house continues to feel more and more like home. The house itself is pretty much where we would like it to be at this point. A few more doors, door frames, and window frames need painting, but that can wait for cooler weather. We have found a couple of pieces of furniture to fill gaps in the three-season room on the back of the house, and we now have outdoor furniture for the backyard patio. All we need now is a fire pit for the fall. The yard looks great — Nancy has been planting and transplanting and weeding, and I have been keeping the grass under control with my new (used) standing mower. (If you don’t know what a standing mower is, look them up. This thing actually makes cutting the lawn sort of fun.)
We have a large flock of Wild Turkeys that walks through the yard a couple of times each day. How large? Five hens and twenty-two growing chicks. The young were adorable when they were little fuzzballs. Now they’re bigger, more awkward — like adolescents — but still dependent on their moms. Apparently it really does take a village… We also have a White-tailed doe and two fawns who show up most evenings while we’re eating dinner in the back room. And there is a young buck, with velvet still on his antlers, who appears to be shadowing them. Add to that our hummingbird family, the Indigo Buntings and Chipping Sparrows, and our local Cooper’s hawk, and we have a nice selection of wildlife paying us visits on a daily basis.
I have recently finished reading slush for the Skulls X Bones anthology I am editing with Joshua Palmatier for release from Zombies Need Brains. Soon, we will be making our final choices of which stories to include and will begin the actual editing of the manuscripts. And already I am working on my next editing project, which will be for Falstaff Books with the fabulous Sarah J. Sover. More details to come.
As for writing, I have still not done much at all. But that might be changing soon. There are a lot of moving parts to this development, and nothing is set in stone yet, but for fans of the Radiants books, who have wondered if I ever planned to go back to those stories, stay tuned . . . . Yes, I know that I have promised a return to the Thieftaker universe as well, not to mention a reissue of Winds of the Forelands, which I have had on the back burner for years now. Those will be coming eventually as well. I am slowly working my way back into a writing mindset. I would ask for your patience, as I continue to heal and find my emotional footing again.
Nancy and I have been out to see Erin in Colorado, and will be seeing her again before too long. We have plans for multiple trips later this summer and into the fall, and are also looking forward to welcoming some guests to our home.
Other than that, life has been sailing along. We see family and friends. We watch our favorite shows and listen to music. We cook fun foods and taste new whiskeys. I have been playing music as well, polishing long-neglected guitar skills and trying to retrain my voice.
Alex, of course, is a constant presence in my thoughts. I am learning to live with my grief, to honor her memory in ways that do justice to the loss while also allowing me to function and breathe and be thankful for all that we still have in our lives. At the risk of misspeaking for Nancy and Erin, I believe it is a journey for all of us. There’s no real end point. It is just the reality of our world now, and always will be. Not long ago, I shared a song with my guitar buddy and dear, dear friend, Alan Goldberg. It was a tune I first heard on a mix CD Alex made for me when she was in high school, a tune I hadn’t listened to in several years, since well before her death. I knew he would love the song, but I was also afraid to play it for him. I didn’t know how I would feel upon hearing it again.
I needn’t have worried. It brought a smile. It made me feel close to her, thankful for this tiny gift she had given me — one gift among so, so many. Did it make me miss her? Of course, but it’s not like I need help in that regard. And the sweet memories that came with the melody were a balm.
Here is the song. Enjoy your weekend. Hug those you love.
Last weekend, at ConCarolinas, I was honored with the Polaris Award, which is given each year by the folks at Falstaff Books to a professional who has served the community and industry by mentoring young writers (young career-wise, not necessarily age-wise). I was humbled and deeply grateful. And later, it occurred to me that early in my career, I would probably have preferred a “more prestigious” award that somehow, subjectively, declared my latest novel or story “the best.” Not now. Not with this. I was, essentially, being recognized for being a good person, someone who takes time to help others. What could possibly be better than that?
Our beloved older daughter would have been thirty years old today.
Later we realized that the name was too small to contain her, too simple to encompass all that she was, all that she would grow to be. She might have been the smallest in her class, but she was smart as hell and personable, with a huge, charismatic personality. She might have been the smallest on her teams, but she was fast and savvy and utterly fearless. On the soccer pitch and in the swimming pool, she was fierce and hard-working. Size didn’t matter. She might have been the smallest on stage, but she danced with passion and joy and grace, and, when appropriate, with a smile that blazed like burning magnesium.
One time, in a soccer match against a hated rival, a player from the other team, a huge athlete nearly twice Alex’s size, grew tired of watching Alex’s back as she sped down the touchline on another break. So she fouled Alex. Hard. Slammed into her and sent her tumbling to the ground. I didn’t have time to worry about my kid. Because Alex bounced up while the ref’s whistle was still sounding, and wagged a finger at the girl. “Oh, no you don’t,” that finger-wag said. “You can’t intimidate me.”
She was effortlessly cool, like her uncle Bill — my oldest brother. And she had a wicked sense of humor. She was brilliant and beautiful. She loved to travel. She loved music and film and literature. She was passionate in her commitment to social justice. She adored her younger sister. And she was without a doubt the most courageous soul I have ever known.
When Alex was three years old, Nancy took a sabbatical semester in Quebec City, at the Université Laval. I stayed in Tennessee, where I was overseeing the construction of what would become our first home. Once Nancy found a place for them to live, I brought Alex up to her and helped the two of them settle in. In part, that meant finding a day-school for Alex so that Nancy could conduct her research. We put her in a Montessori school that seemed very nice, but was entirely French-speaking. The first morning, Alex was in tears, scared of a place she didn’t know, among people she could scarcely understand. But we knew she would love it eventually, and as young parents, we had decided this was best. So we explained to her as best we could that we would be back in a few hours, that the people there would take good care of her, and that this was something we needed for her to do. I will never forget walking away from the school, with tiny Alex standing at the window, tears streaming down her face as she waved goodbye to us. And I remember thinking then, “She is the bravest person I know.” Remember, Alex, all of three years old, didn’t speak a word of French!!
Her dauntlessness served her well on the pitch and in the pool, on stage and in the classroom. It fed an adventuresome spirit that took her to Costa Rica for a semester in high school, to the top of Mount Rainier with a summer outdoor program, to a successful four years at NYU, to Germany for part of her sophomore year in college, to Spain for all of her junior year in college, and on countless side-trips all over Europe.
She was, in short, remarkable. I loved her more than I can possibly say. I also admired her deeply. To this day, I push myself to do things that might make me uncomfortable or afraid by telling myself, “Alex would do it, and she’d want me to do it as well.”
Yet, the figures who fascinated me most during our afternoon at the museum were those of whom I’d known nothing — not even their names — before seeing the exhibit. One of them was Leah Penniman, a food justice advocate and activist whose portrait exudes warmth and joy. Her quote is wonderful and worth repeating in full:
Another was Grace Lee Boggs, an author and community organizer, who gazes out from her portrait appearing tough, frank, unwilling to put up with any BS. Her quote:
One of my favorite portraits was of a media hero of mine, PBS’s Bill Moyers. I will leave it to him to have the last word:
Clara Bartels was born in Amsterdam and came to the United States as a small child. Her father was a diamond cutter, and diamond cutters were in great demand in the diamond district of New York City. She grew up around the block from Jacques Cohen, who later in life changed the family’s last name to Coe, and whose father also was a diamond cutter who emigrated from Amsterdam. They would marry, have three kids, and then divorce, bitterly, at a time when divorce was not really something people were supposed to do.
I kept it wrapped up even after we returned to the States. My plan was to open it once we were in our new house, which is what I did. It now sits in my office window, catching the late afternoon sun. And it reminds me of so much. That trip to Italy, which marked the beginning of my personal recovery from the trauma of losing Alex. That day in Venice, which was gloriously fun. The conversation with the kind shopkeeper, whose love for and pride in his father was palpable throughout our exchange. More, that little glass piece is an image of winter, and it sparkles like a gem when the sun hits it. It reminds me that even after a long cold winter, a time of grief and pain, there is always new life and the joy of a new spring.
A cliché, to be sure. But as with so many clichés, it’s rooted in truth.
What qualities make a villain compelling? I intend to dive into that. Who are some of my favorite villains? I’ll get into that, too. But let me offer a few quick points up front. I don’t think much of the all-powerful-evil-through-and-through villains one often encounters in the fantasy genre. Sauron, for instance — the evil god whose world-conquering designs lie at the heart of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings — is, to my mind, a very boring villain. He’s really powerful, and he’s really, really evil. And yes, he’s cunning, which is a point in his favor, and he’s scary (or his minions are). But beyond that, and unless one has gone back and read all his backstory in The Silmarillion, there isn’t really much to him. He lacks dimension and complexity.
Some of my favorite villains from my own work? Quinnel Orzili from the Islevale Cycle (Time’s Children, Time’s Demon, Time’s Assassin), Saorla from the second and third books in The Case Files of Justis Fearsson, and, my absolute favorite, Sephira Pryce from the Thieftaker books. Yes, she later become something other than a pure villain, but that was basically because she became SO much fun to write that I had to find a way to keep her around and relevant.
My favorite villains in the work of others? I already mentioned Brandan of Ygrath. John Rainbird, from Stephen King’s masterpiece, Firestarter, is a terrific villain. Smart, brutal, and yet also human. In Catie Murphy’s marvelous Negotiator trilogy there are two supernatural “bad guys,” Daisani and Janx, whose personal rivalry threatens the fabric of the mortal world. Their mutual animus and their own needs and desires humanize them and make them terrific foils for Magrit Knight, the series’ protagonist. And I would add that a certain writer I care not to mention in light of recent revelations has created some truly amazing villains. Too bad he wound up being a villain worthy of his own undeniable storytelling talents.