Thought Candy

My granddaughter Shelby (who turns seven this February) spent another weekend with me, and on Saturday night, I took out my basket of Care Bears, spread the toys over my bed, and Shelby fell in love. She’d never played with Care Bears before, and it was love at first cute for those adorable plushes.

I also opened my little orange sparkly bag of Hindu murtis, and let Shelby play with those as well.

I took a picture of them in front of my keyboard, so you can see they are quite small —

And then here is a crisper photograph of my five murtis, with better detail —

As you can see, these are tiny metal statues of Hindu deities. I used to have a few more, but sometimes people ask if they can have one and I’ve let a few leave my possession over the years. I have Hanuman, the monkey god (he has the monkey face and long tail). There is my beloved Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, with his gorgeous elephant head. The goddess Saraswati, playing the lute. A slender Buddha murti (which could also be Shiva or Vishnu or Rama — I bought these murtis at an outdoor table in Ladakh and cannot claim to be an authority on Hindu deities — I would like to call that statue Rama but the simple clothing and circular head frame make him more Buddha-esque than Rama). And then I have what is perhaps a Lakshmi goddess — but with the less-than-stellar quality of these metal castings she might be a Durga.

My favorite Hindu deity is Kali, but the table I purchased these murtis from did not have a statue of her —

Goddess of Power, Creation, Destruction. The Black One. Destroyer of Evil. Force of Time.

Often depicted with wild rolling eyes and a long red tongue, wearing a necklace of demon skulls, holding severed heads, bloody weaponry, standing atop corpses (and often Shiva’s prone body) — this goddess speaks to my soul the way no other deity ever has. When I look at pictures of Kali, something tight and small and scared inside me relaxes and breathes, making me larger and infinite. In some beautiful alternate world, I grew up worshipping this goddess, praying in an ancient wooden temple full of incense and passing around bowls of fresh blood.

Blood sacrifice has long been associated with the worship of Kali, and while I understand that people might look at this goddess and feel revulsion, I don’t see anything about her iconography or worship that is any more disturbing than, say, Christians “drinking the blood” and “eating the body” of a deity called Jesus Christ. Religion is full of elements that outsiders often find bizarre and disgusting. I grew up with Christianity, so the idea of “eating God” was very much normal to me, and I do love Jesus a lot. Christian hymns and prayers are woven all through my history. But if I had to pick any one deity to worship, then I would say my soul belongs to Kali.

Like so many people, I’ve always struggled to identify myself with a single label when it comes to my spirituality. While many millennials check “none” in the self-identity box of religious affiliation, I would rather check a box marked “all.” Christian? Yes. Buddhist? Yes. Hindu? Yes. Agnostic? Yes. Atheist? Yes. Muslim? Yes. Pagan? Double yes. The only spiritual label I could never check is “fundamentalist,” because there are hideous things in all religious texts that I could never interpret or support in a literal, fundamentalist way. Things like slavery, caste, stoning women, and killing non-virgins. But the spirit of compassion and joy, pain and dark truth that runs through all religions — absolutely, I love them all.

In August, I started attending the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Durango, fell in love with the church, and have been a regular presence in the building on Sunday mornings ever since. This morning, I signed the membership book, and officially became a member of the UUFD.

Inside this house of fellowship, I can be an “all.” And no one tells me I am weird, or stupid, or that I’ll burn forever in Hell. Because I know many Christians who continue to warn me that only Satan would whisper in my ear that I could love any other form of divinity if I love Jesus Christ. While I do appreciate that so many people want to save my soul and make sure I “get into Heaven,” I need to be allowed to love all religions, as well as atheism and agnosticism and humanism, and express my love for life in all ways. And the UUFD allows me to do that. The sermons are expansive and open, and encompass all faiths.

As a child, I often found attending church to be awkward and painful, something I’d never choose to do on my own — but my granddaughter Shelby freely chooses to attend the UUFD with me. On weekends she stays the night, she wakes up extra early on Sunday mornings, she’s so eager to go. And today, Shelby was *really brave* and went off with the other kids, to the children’s room, rather than sitting with me for the sermon, as she normally does. I was really proud of her, and she had a great time singing and dancing with the other children.

You might think I promise Shelby ice cream, or bribe her in some way, but she gains no extra goodies as a “reward” for attending church with me. She could stay home and play, or sleep in, or watch cartoons, and life would be exactly the same for her. It amazes me that any almost-seven-year-old would be so eager for church that she’d wake up thrilled for Sunday service, and turn down watching cartoons to spend two hours at fellowship — but such is the magic of children.

Shelby did take two of my toys with her to church today —

A Little Caesar finger puppet doll (“Pizza, pizza!”) and one of the two finger puppets I took with me on my first trip to India, in 2001. (These two dolls are seen photographed with a yellow Rainbow Brite sprite, a teddy bear, and some Care Bears in the background. My big plushy heaven.)

Shelby chose to leave Little Caesar in the car, and took only the girl finger puppet inside. Reverend Katie, greeting us at the door as we entered, noticed Shelby’s doll, and said, “I really like your doll,” and Shelby didn’t respond because she is often quite shy.

But as we walked into the fellowship, I thought about Shelby playing with my murtis and Care Bears Saturday night, how she was inventing stories about “ancient gods” that involved fashion choices in clothing, food, and who should be friends with each other — conducting her own play while I worked on a manuscript — and then I thought of Shelby choosing this particular doll to take with her to church, my black nappy-haired finger puppet who’s spent 15 years in my company. I realized I’d said nothing to Shelby about these possessions of mine, and only gave her the names of the murtis (Hanuman, Ganesha, Saraswati, Buddha, and Lakshmi), not any lessons in religion or how those murtis are used in worship, and I’d said nothing about Kali, my favorite of all the deities —

And yet, here was Shelby, making her own choices about what she was drawn to in her play, and I thought of these innate drives we all have within us, the recognition we each have for our own loves, our own truths, our own joys.

Children keep us awake, and open, and remind us that we are all born with ancient wisdom inside us. We are holy and profane, we are perfect and deeply flawed, with hearts and minds in constant motion, our bodies full of sacred music, harmonies and energies that power our lives.

(Unless, of course, I wake up without coffee — in which case, I have no sacred music inside me, I just look like this psycho — )

I call that my No Coffee Selfie.

Today though, I had coffee. No need for anyone to run in terror.

After Shelby and I came home from church, while we were waiting for lunch to finish cooking, I was reading a book on the couch, Shelby was playing with the plushes again, and she brought Little Caesar over to tell me that he has “curly man hair on his chest.” I said, “Yeah, he’s like Grandpa Greg,” because my husband has lots of curly man hair on his chest.

And I thought of how funny life is, concerning what we see in the world, and when we see it. Perception is as tricky as memory. Shelby had spent all that time playing with this doll, and then suddenly noticed the man hair on his chest. In so many aspects of our lives, we can look at something and look at something, and still not see every detail. I do this all the time as an adult — my limited perception is something I become more and more aware of each year that goes by. To me, this is another beautiful aspect of children — they remind us that we all do this, and always have. There is tremendous compassion involved in accepting that fact.

As the sun set this evening, and I drove Shelby home for the night, I thought about the wild abundance in the world, how life can be so squalid and hard and difficult, full of agony and pain, and yet it’s always giving, just giving and giving, a profusion of energy that never stops moving, whirling and roiling in the most intricate patterns.

I often forget that, then remember, forget again, and remember.

But I do always try to be thankful. (When I remember.) That was my New Year’s resolution this year — to greet all setbacks and hardships, large or small, as gifts, and to acknowledge them with two words: thank you.

Who or what am I thanking? Anything, everything. The universe. God. Goddess. The two merged together into one body. Energy. Shadow and light.

I can’t promise I’ll remember to say thank you all year. On the last day of January though, the resolution is still very much on my mind. One month into 2016, and I’m still reaching for this goal.

So much of life, I view like this image —

Bodies in motion without a stage. And the older I get, the more I admire it all.

When I remember, that is. When I’m walking that fine line between perception and memory, and looking for truth in the margins.

Happy New Year, everyone! It’s officially 2016 now, and here’s hoping all my blog readers have a beautiful year ahead!

Now that I’ve finally put away all my wrapping paper, bows, packing tape, and holiday cards, and we’ve all survived the Nonstop Fun Ride O Family and Friends that is December, I’m back to writing again — fueled by cups of hot coffee and free music on YouTube.

I must also admit that writing is far more fun than contemplating my finances, which is always a bit hazardous after the holidays.

My first day of January 2016 turned out to be kind of strange. In a bit of a scary way, which often turns into humor, or grace, or at least something interesting. So I thought I’d tell you about it, for all of my readers who also greeted the New Year with a bit of scary today. It’s nice to know we have company when things get weird.

This story starts with a gift. For Christmas this year, my mom bought me a present — a long-sleeve black shirt with a Christmas print of a nighttime city-scape. But when I tried the shirt on, the material swamped me, and when I checked the tag, I discovered the shirt was an extra large. Since I buy smalls and mediums these days, an extra large was just too much fabric for me. My mom was really sad the shirt didn’t fit, but she’d provided a gift receipt, and assured me I could exchange it for another.

The shirt came from Christopher & Banks, which isn’t a store I’ve ever shopped at before, but I went in today to make an exchange.

A half hour later, I found a cream turtleneck in a size small, and it did fit, perfectly.

However.

When I looked at myself in the super-bright store light, in the huge mirror of the changing room, I discovered I have a lump in my breast. The thin material of the turtleneck made the lump super obvious.

I did what most people would do when confronted with a large lump in a body part while standing in a retail store changing room — I stared at it for a few seconds, wondering, “What the heck?” Then I inspected the lump with my fingers, and discovered it’s not fleshy tissue, but a bone cyst.

Some people get bone cysts. I have one on my right leg, on my shin bone. Have had it for ages.

Now I have one on my chest, on the side of my sternum. I have a rather knobby skeleton, and I do have distinct knobs on both sides of my sternum– now one side is just bigger than the other.

There aren’t always reasons for bone cysts. But in this case, I think this one was caused by a car accident. In 2010, a man lost control of his truck, crossed the center line, and hit me head on. It was not my best moment. I had two passengers with me, writer friends, and we were all hurt. My bone cyst sits in the exact place where the seatbelt crossed my chest.

I’m also not quite the same size I was in 2010. On my torso, overall, my bones show a bit more. So couple a bone cyst with a more skeletal look, and voilà — you have me in a store, realizing I cannot buy a cream turtleneck unless I want to show off My Sexy Lump, which is really to say a bone cyst in your boob is not sexy at all, it’s rather scary, and I ended up trading in the extra large shirt for a scarf, which requires no changing room to try on.

In my sci-fi novel, Mark of the Pterren (which I’m finishing the final proofread for right now), a character named Lincoln suffers a bone cyst in his wing. (Actually, this is in the second book in the series, sorry. Small spoiler alert!) I wrote the second pterren book in order to revise the first novel, and now I’m glad I gave Lincoln such a horrific injury that he ends up with a Bone Cyst From Hell. Poor guy has to have his removed, or he can’t fly again, and that is a godawful surgery to go through if you’re a pterren.

As to my current writing project, I’m working on a vampire novel right now. And I LOVE IT.

There is a dryad named Chuppi in this story. Dryads are tree nymphs, and I like this picture of a dryad a lot —

Isn’t she lovely? I hope Chuppi gets a speaking part in my novel — I use this picture as inspiration for my subconscious mind, hoping I can figure out a way to give Chuppi a role in Act II and III of this book.

My working title for this novel is called Hymns for a Goddess but I know that won’t be the final book title. There is a lot of religion and magic in this story, a lot of action and plot. I’m hoping to share my first chapter soon. Once this book is finished, I can turn my attention back to my mer story (merpeople story). And I’m really excited to write Draft Two of that book.

In the meantime, there is coffee and music, and recovering from holiday shopping —

And if you had something scary greet you in these opening hours of 2016, then I send you my warmest thoughts and prayers, my compassion and love, for the humor and grace to overcome fear. I have great faith that 2016 will be a beautiful year. Full of failures and trials, wonder and pain, adventures and gifts. And gratitude. Gratitude to be here right now, alive on this planet, with you.

So keep that superhero cape tied into place round your neck — because big things are coming — a whole new year of big things — 2016 has arrived, here we go!

On Thursday, November 12, I had an adventure. I drove Queen Elizabeth (my car, freshly vacuumed) to Boulder, to see fiction author Rainbow Rowell. It was awesome! And here is the proof that I’m not making up lies in my blog posts —

Rainbow was fabulous. The whole event was spectacular — author events are just WOW. SO fun!! I adore author events.

I was lucky that my sister was able to go with me, as well as my friend Adriana, and her daughter Marina. (We all rode together in my freshly vacuumed car.) Adriana was actually the reason the trip even happened — she was monitoring the book tour dates for Rainbow, and caught the announcement when the Boulder event was scheduled, and tickets went up for sale. Adriana also made sure we attended the reception as well as the author talk at the library. I slugged two huge servings of hot chocolate heaped with cream at this reception, which is the sugar equivalent of me boozing it up. That hot chocolate was YUM.

Here is a picture of Marina with Rainbow —

I know I took other photos of people with Rainbow (Laura and Adriana both posed with her, and I took a photograph of a really nice librarian named Denise, from Longmont, who we met at the event), but these were the only two pictures I nabbed with my own camera. (Also, I should point out that my camera is ancient — but you can probably tell by the mini-size of my blog photos that I’m not working with a smart phone here).

Because we attended the reception, we were the first folks to get our books signed —

That’s a picture of Rainbow signing one of Adriana’s books. (If my photo was bigger, you could read her name on that title page.)

Meeting Rainbow in person was an effervescent experience — she is sweet, smart, funny. Super kind. Super witty. Her jokes are the joyful variety, the type of statements that prompt listeners to immediately think, “Yes!!” or “Me too!!” amid laughter.

She’s an author who bubbles with life. A person who exudes warmth and vitality. Even if she weren’t a bestselling author, Rainbow Rowell still has an essential charisma that’s wonderful to be around, made up in no small part by how incredibly gracious and humble she is.

After the event, my group and I spent the night in Boulder, and in the morning, we had breakfast with my friend Sandy, who lives there. I forgot to take a picture at breakfast though, so you’ll just have to trust me that this really happened. We dined at a place called the Walnut Cafe.

Then we visited the Barnes & Noble before leaving town, which I DID take a picture of —

Behold my party crew for this trip — my sister Laura, Marina, and Adriana (left to right). Bookstore lovers, Rainbow Rowell lovers, fellow weirdos who pose as normals in the real world — I couldn’t ask for a cooler group of lovelies to make this adventure with.

Before the reception on Thursday, we also took a stroll down Pearl Street, and visited the Boulder Book Store downtown. Which was super great, because I LOVE that bookstore. This Barnes & Noble wasn’t far from the Walnut Cafe, so it was a shopping trip of convenience as well as a fix for the ever-present book-lust writers suffer from.

In Barnes & Noble, I bought a book of poetry by Billy Collins, who writes such gorgeous poems, I get weepy.

At the Boulder Book Store, I bought a book for my sister, and some small presents for Rainbow. And Marina gave me a Totoro pen, which is like having a magic wand, only better.

Here is a picture of my new awesome pen, as well as my Billy Collins book, a copy of Fangirl my sister bought me (one of the best books EVER!!) and two sprites (which were not purchased during this trip, but what is life without sprites?) —

Another RAD aspect to making a trip with Marina is the fact she can play the Sailor Moon theme song on her phone, and everyone who knows the words can sing along to it really loud, and rock out with dance moves that are Epic Dork Level Ninety — and how can you beat that for thrill? Maybe other people go on wild trips to Vegas for fun, but for me, singing Sailor Moon in the car is Total Win.

On the way home, I had a chance to stay an extra night in Montrose, with my brother and his wife and their baby, and we went out to Denny’s for breakfast on Saturday morning (and here is the proof of my truthiness) —

That is my *super* cute nephew, Tommy. Erika is rocking her gorgeous leopard print shirt, and Lee is sporting his pink Colorado Love hat. He wears that hat everywhere, because he’s awesome like that.

And if you’ve never watched the Sailor Moon theme song before, then welcome to my 13-year-old self’s dream come true favorite anime cartoon (oh who am I kidding? this is STILL my favorite anime cartoon!) — Moon Prism Power!! I worship this show with all the love in my heart, it’s pure joy.

Snow arrived in Durango last night. About twenty miles north of town, trying to drive home to Silverton through the mountains, my mom’s battered truck started fishtailing so bad, she turned around, drove to my house, and stayed the night. My house has been such a busy place lately, with comings and goings — and I just wish I had things like donuts and Folgers coffee on hand, when my mom is here. Donuts and dark roast Folgers coffee are the stuff of her happiness.

The sight of snow reminded me of this picture I found while I was working on my cover for Mark of the Pterren —

It’s from Getty Images, which sells stock photos online, so this picture is kind of ruined a bit by the tag. But still. Snow, stars, mountains. This is a photo from the Arctic, not Colorado, but it’s so crazy beautiful, I just needed to use it to represent winter.

Some pictures would be better labeled “God” than “Arctic image,” don’t you think? Because that’s what I see when I look at this photo. Divinity, timelessness, energy, magic. God.

My mom arrived around 11:30 last night, and I was in the midst of scrolling through Facebook posts at the time — and yesterday, Facebook blew up with the Red Starbucks Cups drama, and this ongoing saga of the War on Christmas in the United States. If you’re unaware of the red cup Starbucks drama, then just let Ellen DeGeneres fill you in — she summarizes what’s going on perfectly in this video.

Red cup lunacy aside, I’ll be on the road myself tonight — driving to Montrose, and then tomorrow morning, I’ll be getting up really early, and driving to Boulder.

My husband is worried. The snowstorm has cleared here, but he thinks I’ll be driving into one heading to Boulder on Thursday, and he wanted me to cancel my trip. I said, No way.

Because I’m going to see this lovely woman —

Rainbow Rowell!!

Isn’t she so stinking CUTE?? Look at that adorable smile!! What the heck is a snowstorm, when someone like this is waiting on the other side of the mountains?

Rainbow Rowell is a young adult author of AMAZING books.

These two books are my favorites of hers — Eleanor & Park and Fangirl — *especially* Fangirl. Oh my, how I love Fangirl. The love, the love, the love. Joy pressed in paper. That is Fangirl.

And I did read Rainbow Rowell’s newest book, Carry On.

My friend April, better known as my Reading Angel, because she reads all my first draft chapters, which are crap, and she helps me to make them less crappy — my Reading Angel sent me a copy of Carry On last month, and we read it together.

We were crazy excited about this book because it follows the fanfiction story from the novel Fangirl — a same-sex love story modeled on Harry Potter, featuring a wizard named Simon, and a vampire named Baz.

I devoured Carry On in two days.

I find I just adore reading about boys falling in love with each other. I have a great many things I love in life, and boy love stories are definitely one of them. Now I just need a YA author to write a novel like Carry On, or Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, but starring two girls falling in love with each other instead, and life will be cherries jubilee.

I know, I know — I should just write one myself — agreed. I feel so behind in my writing life, with all these books I want to write, and the demands of real life, and everything else.

And speaking of writing — I *did* work on my mer novel last week. And it was fabulous work. I enjoyed it. But I had a critique meeting Thursday night, in which I discussed my vampire book, so after my meeting that night, I went back to my vampire novel. And that book consumed my whole weekend.

Well, almost my whole weekend. On Friday night, I attended a showing of the brilliant documentary, Waking the Mammoth, by Larry Ruiz, which played at the Durango Arts Center here in town. You can watch the trailer and read more about the film here.

Since I’ve been reading so much climate change literature, and consuming information about the massive amount of extinctions currently taking place on the planet (and I’m especially horrified with what’s going on in the ocean), this film was heartening to watch Friday night. Larry Ruiz is a friend of my husband’s, and this is the second documentary he has made — I highly recommend this film to anyone to watch, of any age level.

The film was followed by a presentation by renowned author Craig Childs — and that presentation was equally wonderful. I still haven’t read House of Rain, but I did pick up his newest book, Apocalyptic Planet.

Obviously, I just can’t get enough of End Times literature. I’ve never been a fan of the rapture, or the divine destroy-the-world-in-vengeance idea a lot of religions tout. But human-caused climate change *is* causing huge problems, and I’m not the only one freaked out by what’s going on. And the thing is, human beings are not going to destroy the planet, so the phrase “Save the Earth” is pretty silly. It’s not the earth we need to save, but ourselves. We are currently on a path of extincting ourselves, as well as the majority of life on this planet. The future projections of climate change caused by greenhouse gasses is totally, totally scary.

Humans are hopeful creatures. (And I am a hopeful creature.) So of course, we’re going to do our faith-in-the-future thing. Wishing on stars, and all that.

But holy cow. Holy cow is this scary. What’s happening right now.

So how about we agonize about red Starbucks cups instead, yes? So much easier to b*tch about snowflakes and elves decorating our lattes, rather than what we’re doing to the earth’s atmosphere, burning fossil fuels and dumping garbage everywhere.

Climate change features in my mer novel, and my vampire novel, and my beta-readers know that “pollution” (both physical as well as ritual pollution) is the driving force of my novel Mark of the Pterren. Environmental issues didn’t power the plots of my first two novels, but they sure play big roles in my current ones.

Oil giant Exxon-Mobile was recently subpoenaed by New York’s attorney general, in an investigation of whether the company has intentionally downplayed the risks of climate change. This story broke weeks ago, and was featured in a PBS Frontline documentary. A summary of the need for this investigation featured on the PBS NewsHour last night, and you can watch that video here.

It was hard for me to watch this NewsHour report last night. Really hard. I found myself shaking, my heart racing, tears in my eyes, close to sobbing.

I don’t need a court case to know that Exxon-Mobile committed fraud. Anyone with a brain can look at the documents that have been released, and see the truth.

At the end of the report, I stood up and pointed at the TV, yelling, “You’re going DOWN, Exxon-Mobile!! You’re going DOWN!!”

If there was ever a corporation that deserved to die, that corporation is Exxon-Mobile. Like the lying tobacco companies, Exxon-Mobile has done abhorrent things in the pursuit of astronomical profits. But no one on earth has ever done anything so evil as Exxon-Mobile. We’re talking about mass extinction here, including the mass extinction of humans, when we talk about climate change. When we look at what the science is showing us.

The decades of billions upon billions in annual profits for Exxon-Mobile, and other fossil fuel companies, corporations that pay no taxes, and receive billions of dollars in subsidies, corporate welfare, even though these are the most profitable companies in human history — these profits have caused the deaths of millions of animals, millions of plants. Seismic testing, drilling, oil spills, trains exploding, derricks blowing up, the toxic wastelands of extraction sites, the poisoned water, the ruined earth. And the deaths of thousands upon thousands of people. The massive storms, the droughts, the wars being exacerbated by drought. The domino effect of trashing the earth, when renewable energy exists. But Exxon-Mobile didn’t care. Money. That was all that mattered. Money, money, money.

Public outrage is brewing, I can feel it on the horizon. Outrage against Exxon-Mobile, and all these fossil fuel companies. Like the outrage against the lying tobacco companies in the 1990s. I know it’s coming. I know that a corporation that has behaved as badly as Exxon-Mobile will be called to account for its actions in the court of public opinion. And public opinion won’t be fooled.

Like the effect of the film Blackfish on SeaWorld, which saw attendance numbers plummet since the release of that film, and has now decided to phase out its orca shows by 2017, Exxon-Mobile has an ugly future ahead. The divestment movement is building. Growing. Surging ahead. Green energy is moving, spreading, finding new places to take root. The lies Exxon-Mobile spread to repress renewable energy are coming to light.

Exxon-Mobile is going down. Down, down, down.

And as that corporation dies, human beings just might have a chance. Not to save the planet, because earth is earth. Earth will be fine. Earth doesn’t need us.

It’s our children we need to save. It’s ourselves.

It’s the day before Halloween, and for weeks, Durango has been host to fall weather. Flat silver skies, chill wind and cold rain, a golden leaf-spangled earth from the branches of aspen and cottonwood trees, a few maple reds added in for good measure. A ground lace full of color. The deep smell of wet soil, the sharper scent of coming winter. A time when the outside world roils with change.

It’s been a time of change inside my home, too. My husband’s son vacated the guest room, and moved in with his girlfriend. I’ve missed having him here, and have missed his young daughter, Shelby. Which might explain why I’m still working in my bedroom, on my mini desk, rather than relocating “back to my office.”

Mark of the Pterren finally has a cover now, too —

I hope readers like it — wings and fire are such dominant images in the story. I think my graphic designer did a beautiful job.

The book is still awaiting a final line-edit, but I’ve already paid a $75.00 deposit to my ebook formatter, 52 Novels. They’re a great company to work with, and I recommend them to any writer like me, who finds the thought of learning how to convert a Word doc to a Mobi file a terrifying idea. The stuff of my nightmares, right there.

Today, I spent the morning working on my mer novel, editing the result of a breakthrough with the story that felt like a long time in coming.

For a number of reasons, I’ve been plunged into despair while writing this book.

You would think, since it’s fantasy, that writing this book would be fun. And sometimes, it is. There are moments of joy.

The research has been brutal though. The climate change research. The state-of-the-ocean research. At the beginning of October, I read the first two-thirds of this book —

Song for the Blue Ocean, by Carl Safina (1997). Which is a beautiful book. Full of amazing research, and brilliant writing.

But as I read about the clear-cutting that took place in the Pacific Northwest, how timber companies ruthlessly (and pointlessly) annihilated over 93% of the ancient forest of Washington and Oregon, and sent trees over a thousand years old to China to pulp into filling for disposable baby diapers, I just broke down. At one point, I was at the dining table with my husband, and I just started sobbing, and Greg was like, “Maybe you should stop reading environmental stuff. Like, just stop. I hate seeing you cry.”

Greg was out of town the night I watched the first Democratic debate. When Bernie Sanders was asked what the greatest challenge facing America is right now — he didn’t even hesitate with his answer, spoke with conviction as he said, “Climate change,” and I jumped up and just stood there, shaking, so full of emotion, I couldn’t even breathe right. After the debate, I went online and donated another $50.00 to Bernie’s campaign, in addition to other funds I have pledged — (which is really Greg’s money, as I have no income right now. So I should say, Greg donated another $50.00 to his campaign).

We wish we could give Bernie more. I love that man so much. Here is a picture of me, sporting my Bernie shirt —

I thank God for Bernie Sanders. Every day.

Though I still need to finish Song for the Blue Ocean, I started a different nonfiction title this week —

Arctic Dreams, by Barry Lopez (1986) — another environmental examination of wildlife destruction, and our changing relationship to the land, focusing on the Arctic Circle this time. Arctic Dreams won the National Book Award, and like Song for the Blue Ocean, it’s a long book to read, with difficult subject matter, but the research is excellent, and the prose is deeply rewarding. So far, I haven’t sobbed. That’s been a relief. I feel like my heart gets wrenched out of my chest and stomped on sometimes, but I haven’t had that moment of putting-my-head-down-and-bawling like I did for Safina’s book.

I finished reading the section on polar bears last night, around one in the morning. The section before that featured the muskox, and the muskox is so extremely fascinating, I really want to visit the Arctic now. Like, so bad. I want to see a wild muskox. And walk through an ancient forest of tiny trees. And witness a landscape as sere as a desert, with ice replacing the sand and sparse earth.

Yes, I know about the tar sands, and the massive collapse of Arctic trees in the melting permafrost due to global warming — things Barry Lopez doesn’t write about in this book, because they hadn’t happened yet. But there was already plenty of bad news in the Arctic by 1986 to feature in his book. Not that this book is a romp of negativity — neither Barry Lopez nor Carl Safina are pessimists — but they write of the world without flinching, and the behavior of humanity takes courage to read about.

So in the grip of my environmental despair, I ended up feeling very down about my mer story. The “villain” of this story is climate change, the novel features a “building” kind of opening, rather than a high-action scene many Young Adult fantasy novels start with — and I had this horrible feeling like I’d already failed. I have 15,000 words left to write, and I felt like, “Why bother? This book is terrible. No one wants this book. Just burn this manuscript and move on.”

Over the past week, I did mentally kill this book several times.

And in the meantime, I started a new novel. A vampire story I’ve been waiting to write for years. And I love my vampire novel. I even found a way to make climate change a big part of my vampire novel, so I could continue writing about the greatest moral dilemma the world has ever faced, the looming crisis I can’t turn away from and ignore.

I’m so excited for this book, so in love with it, I can’t wait to share the beginning here — on my blog — so my readers can see this project. This book has been a long time in coming, and it has the good fortune of being the fifth book I’ll write — and I can tell when I work on it, how much sharper I am at cutting words, paring down sentences, being ever more concise and savvy about word choice.

Then this morning, after giving myself a full week of vampire chapters, I went back to my mer novel.

I edited my beginning four chapters again.

And I found a place in my heart that still loves this book. Something in me that still thinks this story is noble and beautiful, even if it doesn’t open with “a high-action chapter.” Even if it just begins with a boy in his bedroom, a boy who can’t sleep because he’s afraid.

And — worst of all for a YA fantasy — the “villain” of this book isn’t an anthropomorphic manifestation of evil, chuckling with glee while the protagonists suffer, but is simply the ugly thing called human-caused climate change that many people reject, deny, or just prefer not to think about —

Even so. I have these two kids, a pair of teenagers named Rowan and Solei, and I have to finish their story. They’re not facing down an evil magician, or a rogue sorcerer bent on destruction and power, or a sea witch trying to steal their souls, or a ship captain intent to murder and maim and take over the world —

The antagonist of this story isn’t so cut and dry. In fact, this novel does everything that guarantees it’s ill-suited to the YA fantasy genre.

But to finish the story, I have to risk writing a book no one wants. Or a book the industry doesn’t want, I should say. I’m lucky I have friends who’ll always read the stories I write. I just keep hoping I’ll pen something I can sell, sooner or later.

Maybe my mer novel will strike out, the same way my other books have. So be it. Writing is just a weird thing that way. You keep on believing in it, even when you know you’re not following the flashing signs with the arrows that read “THIS way for SUCCESS!”

As Steve Jobs said, sometimes you just stay foolish and hungry. And that’s pretty much where I am in life this week. Very foolish. Very hungry.

But despite my heartache with my work, the sun came out today, and there was some bright blue sky intermixed with the pre-Halloween raindrops. And I’m rockin’ my Bernie shirt, sipping hot coffee, enjoying an egg sandwich and slices of goat cheese, and I might be hungry sometimes but I’m certainly not starving. Even if I’m not on the well-marked path of success, I AM on a path, and it’s as full of tricks and treats as any other.

Also, merpeople. My path has lots of merpeople on it. For the time being.

I’ve had the opportunity to see a number of excellent documentaries the past few weeks, and I wanted to share the titles of two of them with my Thought Candy readers, in case anyone else might be interested.

One especially powerful film has been Why We Fight, a 2005 documentary about the rise of the U.S. military-industrial complex.

This movie was advertised on a DVD copy of An Inconvenient Truth, (the Al Gore film about climate change), which was how I discovered the movie exists. I was very fortunate that the Durango Public Library owns a copy of Why We Fight, which meant I didn’t have to fill out an Inter-Library Loan request. Viewing this film meant a simple walk to a library shelf.

My son-in-law moved in a month ago, and will be staying until he finds a new place to live, and he watched part of this movie with me. So did his six-year-old daughter, Shelby, who was with us that weekend, though she mostly colored and played with her tennis shoes. My sister was also with me that night, and she watched the entire film with me.

Later, after a very busy weekend of taking Shelby swimming, and park visits, and impromptu lunches with big groups of friends, I found myself awake late Sunday night, and put this movie back on. I watched all of the deleted scenes, then each special feature, and then watched the entire movie again with the director commentary on.

(I love it when movies come with director commentary options — I get addicted to them, and can watch them repeatedly. The director commentary for the 2007 film 3:10 to Yuma is a particular favorite.)

President Dwight D. Eisenhower famously coined the phrase “military-industrial complex” in his farewell address to the nation, in 1961 — but he originally wrote, “military-industrial-congressional complex” in his speech. He deleted the word “congressional” because he didn’t want to damage his working relationship with Congress, by seeming to insult them right before he left office. But Eisenhower’s speech was prophetic, frightening in its truth, and we are now living in the nation he warned we would create.

Why We Fight is a hard movie to watch. Anything that examines why the United States invaded Iraq in 2003 brings up so much horror that despair surges through me, overwhelming despair. I would tell you this film made me sob, but that doesn’t feel accurate, because this movie hits me in a place that is so full of pain, it’s beyond tears.

It’s not news to anyone that President George W. Bush and his administration lied to Congress and the American people, that the administration manipulated the country into invading a country that had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks on 9/11.

But there were pieces of history in the film Why We Fight that I’d never been exposed to before, and the movie held me riveted.

Unlike the Vietnam War, the American public was deliberately shielded this time around from seeing the pictures of women and children we’ve mutilated and destroyed with U.S. bombs, Iraqi elders and boys and small babies, young men and women attending school, so many of whom died when our so-called precision bombs landed on their homes, parks, and non-military buildings instead.

Of the 50 precision airstrikes the United States launched in the first six months of the Iraq War, not one hit its intended target. Despite all the administration’s claims (at the time) to the contrary.

To me, this movie is an example of the truest form of patriotism, when people are willing to see — really see — what their country has done to the innocent citizens of another nation.

Why We Fight made me want to do something to help the Iraqi people one day. One day when such a visit might be possible, both from my economic standpoint today, and from the continuing warring and fighting in Iraq we see on the news every evening. Like Vietnam in the ’60 and ’70s for my husband’s generation, the horror of what was done in Iraq was done on my watch, during my time alive as a citizen of the United States. Many American citizens went to Vietnam after the war, to build schools, to provide prosthetic limbs for bomb victims, to give free medical care, or even purchase artistic tools like canvas and paint to allow Vietnamese people to make art.

Those Americans tried, in whatever way they could, to say, “I am sorry. I could not stop this senseless war. What is broken is shattered, and can never be returned to what it was before the invasion. But I never forgot your humanity, your babies and children being destroyed along with you, and I carry this terrible guilt. You’re not responsible for healing my guilt, but I’m responsible for trying, in whatever way I can, to say I am sorry.”

So if I ever move to Iraq, live in an Iraqi community, wear a headscarf, attend mosque, volunteer in a school or youth program, you’ll know why. To me, I am all people — I am the bombers who dropped every bomb, the U.S. citizens who cheered for the war, the White House administration who lied to the public, the military officials who knew they were being lied to but still went along with the war, and the innocent people who found themselves sitting in kitchens and gardens, nurseries and hospitals, while bombs rained down on their heads.

I highly recommend Why We Fight to everyone. It’s an excellent film, and it’s won many, many awards.

I was also able to watch a PBS Frontline documentary yesterday, a 2009 film titled Poisoned Waters.

This film focuses on Chesapeake Bay and Puget Sound, which are both in extremely critical condition due to pollution. In the case of Chesapeake Bay, animal waste from factory farms is being dumped into the water, at larger and larger rates every year, creating aquatic areas known as dead zones where NOTHING can live.

Dead zones are as hazardous to human beings as they are to plant and animal life, and the dead zones in Chesapeake Bay continue to grow and spread, killing everything in their path.

In Puget Sound, the problem is also industrial waste, but not from industrial agriculture — this pollution is from the industrial waste from Boeing, the aircraft manufacturing company. Boeing has dumped so much industrial waste into the Duwamish River, which feeds directly into Puget Sound, that the plant and animal population of the Sound has absorbed deadly amounts of PCBs.

A PCB is a polychlorinated biphenyl, a synthetic organic chemical compound of chlorine attached to biphenyl. (Thanks, Wikipedia!)

PCBs cause cancer, and they were banned in the United States more than three decades ago.

PCBs continue to stream into the Sound though, both from the sediment in the Duwamish, as well as in runoff water from Boeing. There is such a high concentration of PCBs in Puget Sound that the orca population, the killer whales that live in the Sound, are dying off. In 2009, when this movie was made, there were only 86 orcas left alive in the Sound. They give birth to malformed or stillborn calves, the adults have toxic levels of chemical waste in their tissue, and many that survive into adulthood die young from cancer.

Worse than all of this industrial waste, however, in both the Chesapeake Bay and Puget Sound, is stormwater runoff from cities and suburbs. The film’s examination of stormwater runoff was the most harrowing, as urban/suburban sprawl — (unchecked development, the spread of strip malls, concrete jungles in roadways and buildings) — is leading to a pollution level that equals and/or surpasses the pollution of industrial farms and industrial waste. The film also showed several recent measures to help these two major estuaries by fighting against unchecked growth, or the urban/suburban sprawl that continues to devour farmland and wild habitat in this country — and what environmentalists have discovered is that, really, voters don’t give a sh*t about “saving wild animals” or “keeping our waterways clean.”

What voters care most about are increasing taxes and increasing time spent in traffic. Urban/suburban sprawl leads to major increases in both. Sprawl means increasing taxes, and increasing traffic jams.

So when environmentalists showed the public how unchecked growth is bad for people, then people voted against those things. In large numbers.

But when environmentalists showed the public pictures of dead zones and dying wild animals (even those beautiful orcas!) — people were like, “Shut up about nature already, and f*ck off. I don’t give a damn about hippies, saving the earth, or these mutating, cancerous, and dying fish. F*ck the fish. F*ck killer whales. What about my paycheck, huh? What about my bottom line?”

It makes me feel so distant from the human race, when I hear people say such callus things, when I know there are so many people who aren’t interested in the environment, who don’t care about poisoning/killing the wildlife — until someone points out that humans are also being affected by the toxic waste in the water. Or that our taxes are increasing every time we allow growth to continue unchecked, just so some corporate business can take advantage of cheap land prices far from a city center, and then force the city (the taxpayers) to pay to expand roads and infrastructure to accommodate the new building.

I’m grateful to all the conservationists, the environmentalists, who understand intuitively that what is bad for Mother Nature is also bad for human beings, regardless of the “what about me??” facts and figures. Because that’s always been my point of view.

And THANK GOD the environmentalists and conservationists continue to fight so many small, local battles, using the tools of human nature to protect the environment. Because I need a world with clean water, clean soil, clean air, and wild animals. We all need those things. Even if some of us look around at the world, and can only say, “I don’t give a flying f*ck about nature. I need to NOTpay more taxes. THAT’S what I need.”

Okay then. Thank God protecting the environment means both. Because the earth is in deep, deep trouble. And I have a news flash for those “f*ck the fish” people: human beings cannot survive if we kill the earth. And we’re doing a mighty find job of destroying the entire planet right now. Every year, it gets worse.

Conservationists are engaged in the fight of our lives. They fight for the fish, and the plants, and the crabs, and the frogs. And they are fighting, every one of them, for each one of us.

Friday, September 25 and Saturday, September 26 was the sixth annual Durango Public Library Literary Festival, and it was AWESOME!!!

Literary fiction author and screenwriter Tom Perrotta was the keynote speaker on Friday night, and he was absolutely marvelous!!

I read the New York Times review for his 2011 novel, The Leftovers, when it debuted, which is now an HBO TV show going into its second season this fall. I regret that I still haven’t read the book yet, but I purchased a copy Friday night, and Mr. Perrotta signed it for me. He added a personal message, too, which makes it even more cherished.

During his presentation, Mr. Perrotta read brand new material from a novel in progress, which he said is two-thirds completed. The scene involved a young man narrating information about his family and his past, centered on his autistic young stepbrother, and the lengths his father and stepmother must take to care for and love their autistic son.

The scene was beautifully written, deeply moving, touching in the very best way, and I hung on every word. Before the end of the selection, Mr. Perrotta choked up, which I found extremely endearing, as did my friends seated around me. During the Q&A session that followed, it was clear that everyone in the audience had been affected by the passage, and I know I’m not alone in wanting to buy this book as soon as it’s published, in late 2016 or early 2017. Because wow, the pages Mr. Perrotta read aloud were simply fantastic!!

The next afternoon was the first-ever Local Authors Extravaganza, and I was one of the local authors chosen to participate.

I regret that I didn’t advertise this event on my blog beforehand, though I did talk the event up on my personal Facebook page, as well as in emails with two book clubs I participate in, and the local group of authors/writers in town I oversee.

The reason I failed to blog about the Local Authors Extravaganza is that, to put it bluntly, I was terrified. Full of a deep and endless dread. The kind that felt toxic if I thought about it for more than two seconds, so I did my best not to think about it at all. Like my protagonist Mary Jane in Love and Student Loans and Other Big Problems, I embrace and love my gift of denial whenever my terrors set in. And they were incredibly potent for this.

The Extravaganza event was a luncheon in which eight local authors each visited a table of diners for seven minutes, gushed about our books and how wonderful they are, then a bell dinged and we would stand and go to the next table. We started the table rotation at 12:06 p.m., and 56 minutes later, the event came to an end.

Why was I so terrified? Well, I’ve been told more than once that my books are not good, in emails, messages, as well as in conversation, and I know reading is subjective — not everyone is going to love the same kind of story — so “talking up” my work can be painful. No matter how much I tell myself that I have to cheerleader my work, cheerleading personal art is difficult, and I am like the majority of writers who find marketing myself to be a huge challenge.

It’s just a self-esteem thing, I totally understand that. But knowing something intellectually is no guarantee that your emotions are going to “get smart” and stop being scared — and fear is fear. It’s debilitating, and it’s really hard to out-think it sometimes.

On Wednesday last week, three days before the Extravaganza, I realized I couldn’t keep ignoring the fact that the event was almost here, so I decided to dress up as Wonder Woman that day. I bought a Wonder Woman costume last summer, for the sole purpose of helping me advertise my work, and the time had come to go with it. Time to put on my costume, stop being scared, and just be proud of my writing, my self-published novels, and promote my work as something worthwhile to read.

My friend Julia Hastings-Black, who attended the event to advertise her brand new book, Cocktails at Dinner: Daring Pairings of Delicious Dishes and Enticing Mixed Drinks, took this photo of me right after the luncheon.

The event was such a success!! I had a great deal of fun, and one woman named Sarah made it a particularly special day for me. I posed in a picture with her, and she bought my book, and told me she was sending my work to her family members to read — “This book is traveling everywhere!” she said, full of joy — and if it’s possible for human ears to hear angels singing in their celestial heaven, then that is exactly what I heard every time Sarah opened her mouth to speak — angels singing and singing and singing.

I realized, on Saturday morning, right before I went to the luncheon, that this Wonder Woman costume doesn’t fit me anymore. It’s so massively baggy and kept threatening to fall off — but luckily, I suffered no Janet Jackson moments, and my superhero cape distracted from the bagginess — huzzah for capes!! I paired the outfit with black cowboy boots, which are Greg’s, and the boots flopped around on my feet like duck shoes — but I’m sure that added to the appeal. Wonder Woman in black cowboy boots, as my friend Michael Carson said, is “so American.” It was also well-suited to the wild west of Durango.

Michael attended the event to advertise his vampire humor novel, Beauty Is for Suckers, and after the luncheon, I drove us back to my house, where we ate sandwiches, watched some music videos, and then I asked Michael to give me his book speech. (Much like my last-second decision to wear a Wonder Woman costume, I did ZERO planning ahead for what I wanted to say at each table — I just let the words come to me spontaneously — but other authors prepared in advance, and Michael had memorized a book description to present at each table.)

Michael’s book speech was genius!! I told him I thought it would make a fantastic book trailer, if he wanted to create some art and video to go with it. If Michael creates a book trailer based on his Extravaganza speech, I will definitely be sharing it on my Thought Candy blog!!

After that, Michael and I walked the river together, reading the first three chapters of another book advertised at the event, a YA (Young Adult) novel titled Burn Girl, about a 16-year-old girl named Arlie who ends up orphaned in Durango.

Then Michael and I attended a poetry reading at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church here in town, and my friend Sharon Mehesy read three of her poems. They were beautiful poems, all about the power to change your perspective, and thus change your life — much like my drama in preparing for the Extravaganza!

The Durango Public Library Literary Festival is one of my favorite events every year, each one special and memorable — and this year’s Local Authors Extravaganza was unique for SO many reasons — not least of which is the fact that the library did so much to host and promote this event. The Durango Public Library is such a beautiful place — from the people who work there to the design and location of the building itself — and local writers like me are extremely fortunate to have librarians who promote and support authors to such an extent. A lot of planning and effort went into making the Extravaganza such a success, and none of it would have been possible without the tireless work of such an amazing library staff. I can’t say enough how wonderful Sandy Irwin and Abby Lambert are, as well as everyone else who rolled up their sleeves to make this year’s Literary Festival such a fantastic event!!

Literacy is the first superpower — sharing that message was the reason I bought my Wonder Woman costume in the first place — and libraries are where superheroes keep all their costumes, invisible jets, tools, and supplies. How small and miserable our lives would be without them!

Huzzah for free books!! Can’t get enough of them!!

Labor Day has passed and September is in full swing — when the world overflows with pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin spice Facebook memes mocking the pumpkin spice craze, and Pumpkin Everything in home decor, candle scents, even fashion accessories.

Not that I dislike punkin!!! — but this time of year does make me reflect a lot on trends, and why trends exist, and how our brains are wired to fixate on things such as status, group identity, cohesiveness, and common goals.

As Steven Quartz, co-author of the nonfiction book Cool: How the Brain’s Hidden Quest for Cool Drives Our Economy and Shapes Our World, wrote in a recent essay for the PBS NewsHour —

“Feeling esteemed and respected by others is a basic and universal human need that makes possible the human bonds that underlie cooperative human social life. It’s no surprise that it taps into the brain’s most powerful reward systems.

Viewed in this light, I think a good way of thinking about consumerism is as a way of converting income into the lifestyles that allow us to create and engage in diverse social groups that satisfy our need to belong and to feel respected, esteemed and valued by others.”

The essay is titled “Why Buying Things Makes You Happy” — and it’s a short, interesting read.

In my twenties, when I lived in Ouray, my husband and I would drive to Montrose each weekend to purchase our groceries, and one of my biggest pleasures in those days was having enough money to buy a latte at Starbucks. Ouray does not have a Starbucks, so splurging in Montrose felt like a big deal. Even so, rare was the weekend when I could afford a latte.

I knew buying that latte meant a lot more than sipping an uber-sweet, trendy drink. Purchasing elaborate coffee in a white paper cup meant I bought a piece of identity — a group identity. By clutching that Starbucks logo, I joined, for those moments, the group of people who can afford to spend more than four or five dollars on a cup of sugared caffeine.

And that felt important to me. To be part of that group.

I no longer feel a desire to belong to the Starbucks latte group, though lattes still seem way more fun to me than flip nights at the bar, smokers lounges, or joining the NFL.

I’m still human though, still feeding my brain’s primitive reward system, and I have a new status now, as a climate fiction writer. A few days ago, my friend April shared this book with me, so I now know that climate fiction — or cli-fi, as it’s called for short — is an actual thing —

The book is titled Loosed Upon the World: The Saga Anthology of Climate Fiction. It’s a collection of short stories about climate change written by a group of very talented authors. The book’s release date is September 15.

In the past month, I’ve completed two short stories about climate change. One was written for Glimmer Train, and one will be submitted to the Writers of the Future contest, a writing contest one of my critique partners shared with me last month. This contest is free to enter, and I encourage everyone who writes science fiction, fantasy, and/or dark fantasy, to check out this contest and make a submission!

And for those of you who want to take action on climate change, consider signing up for the newsletters of 350.org. The organization hosted a big event this past week, part of their lead-up to the international climate change summit in Paris this December. The event was live-streamed, and can be watched here. I love watching this video, love the connection of knowing there are so many people in the world promoting social justice as well as clean energy, which is exactly what 350.org stands for.

And if any of you want to check out the piece of flash fiction I submitted to Writer Unboxed, based on the contest image prompt of a covered wagon, you can find that piece here. All of the short stories are submitted as comments in the link, and many of them featured time travel and historical switcheroos. If you visit the site, please click “Like” for any story you enjoy — thank you!!

I hope to be able to share the first chapter of my next novel with you all soon! It will still be a YA (Young Adult) fantasy novel, but it will also be climate fiction, and that makes me feel anxious and despairing, but also hopeful and strong.

More of my friends have expressed interest in joining me on Sunday mornings at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Durango, and if you live in the area, I’d love to attend with you! At today’s service, fellowship members brought vials of water gathered from all over the world, and we poured the water together into a ceremonial river of unity beside the altar. A lovely ritual, embodied by a community of open and loving people. I’m so glad this Fellowship exists in Durango.

So here’s to another beautiful week in September! May the Pumpkin Everything be with you!

On the night of August 1, 2015, I was staying up really, really late, working on my new novel, when my eyes became too tired to stare at a Word doc anymore. So I went online, to browse around and read interesting things, and discovered a flash fiction contest on the website Writer Unboxed.

The rules for the contest are simple — write a short story that is 250 words (or less) about the picture provided as the story prompt. For August, the picture was an image of a gargoyle, titled “Gideon.”

I thought this photograph made a great prompt, and even though it was well after midnight, and my eyes were tired, I opened a new Word doc and created an entry. You can read all of the entries for this contest here, since writers enter the contest by submitting their short stories as comments.

I promoted this contest to my critique group partners, and I encourage anyone/everyone who has an interest in creating flash fiction to submit! September’s contest opened this morning, and you can read about this month’s contest here. The image prompt for Round 9 is a covered wagon —

I admit, I don’t find that picture nearly as exciting as the little gargoyle, but such is life. The deadline for this contest is Saturday, September 12, 7:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.

My flash fiction short story for “Gideon” didn’t final in the contest (or win), but I thought — hey! I can always share my work on my blog — which feels like this secret club of readers I have, my cherished blog subscribers. People who believe in me, inspire me, my team of supporters who want me to make it one day, sell a manuscript, find an audience for my work, and be able to make an income from my scribbles.

There are days when having a blog is my favorite haven, this place where I come to speak and share ideas with my secret club. Because while anyone can read an online blog, not everyone subscribes to them, which makes blog subscribers a special kind of awesome.

So, thank you, subscribers of Thought Candy, for giving me a place to share a piece of flash fiction!

While I’ve written earlier this summer about how much climate change weighs on my mind, my flash fiction submission didn’t deal with that subject. I did finish a short story about climate change for Glimmer Train, a prestigious literary fiction journal, and I’m working on a new short story for a sci-fi/fantasy contest called Writers of the Future. This fantasy story involves fairies, and takes place in the Bakken oil fields, in northwest North Dakota, which I’ve been reading about quite a bit the past two weeks. In June, I watched this video segment the PBS NewsHour aired about the high death toll in the Bakken, and the story obviously stayed with me, and haunted me, because the horror in the Bakken provided fertile ground for my new fantasy story about the terrors and destruction of climate change.

Last night, I found myself reading more about the Lac-Mégantic rail disaster in Canada, which occurred on July 6, 2013, when an unattended 74-car freight train carrying Bakken crude oil destroyed half the town of Lac-Mégantic and killed 47 people. Parts of that town are a permanent disaster area, and can never be rebuilt or occupied again. It is believed five people were completely vaporized in the blast, as no remains of their bodies was ever found. Bakken crude oil contains high levels of hydrogen sulfide, a gas that is flammable, corrosive, poisonous, and explosive, and it is believed that the hydrogen sulfide content in the tanker cars contributed to the strength of the blast.

It is just absolutely heartbreaking to me, that we are drilling and fracking, pouring carbon dioxide and methane into the atmosphere, while so many workers in the industry are maimed and killed, with horrifying accidents like the one in Canada on top of this death toll — just for petroleum and gas, when we have other, safer ways to power our world. People should not have to die for electricity. The cost of fossil fuels is so high, so incredibly high — not just in a future world killed by climate change, but in the here and now, in the ruin and death toll of extraction.

Facing the horror of fossil fuels continues to power my fiction, and I feel very much like a caterpillar spinning a chrysalis, because the writer I’m becoming is not the same as the writer I was.

In the meantime, here is my flash fiction piece for Writer Unboxed, based on that photograph of the gargoyle above. My story is titled, “Entente.” Hope you enjoy!

“Entente”

Sticky scents of wild ginger and freesia twined through the open screen windows, while I surveyed the boxes left to unpack, then noticed David striding over the yard. Shoulders back, whistling brightly, and swinging a sledge. He disappeared in the brush like a Sumerian warrior, anticipating mythic destruction.

I found him deep in the woods, swatting mosquitoes before he took aim with the hammer, his skin as damp with sweat as my own. He grinned when he saw me.

“What are you doing?”

He lifted his chin toward an Oregon ash, overgrown with manzanita and woodruff, a ring of dark pine farther in like a secret.

“You see it?” he asked.

Atop a small pedestal, worn and tarnished with age, perched a stone gargoyle the size of a tabby. Stubby black horns crowned a jinn’s smile, the unscaled demon wings as smooth as a dream.

I glanced at David again, this time in reproach. “Why would you—”

But he left without a word, his mouth tight with fury.

That night in bed, David faced the wall. He threw off my hand when I touched him.

I said, “You don’t have to smash everything.”

I said, “You could have divorced me.” His adultering wife.

We sweated in silence, each pretending to sleep.

In the morning, David kissed my cheek and went for a run. I dressed, made the bed. Skipped downstairs to make coffee.

The gargoyle’s head lay on the burnished counter in pieces. Shattered, still smiling. Like us.

Today was my first-ever visit to a Unitarian Universalist Fellowship service, and I absolutely LOVED it!!!

Before I share that experience, let me take a moment to explain why I decided to start attending Sunday morning fellowship services.

In the past two months, I’ve read so much about climate change, ocean acidification, and the mass extinctions currently underway, that I’ve made some permanent shifts in my life, and searching for a local community of environmental activists has been one of the changes I’ve undergone.

One group I now follow online, via newsletter and Facebook feeds, is 350.org. This organization is led by Bill McKibben, and I became aware of his group after hearing him speak the night before the Climate Change March in New York City in September 2014. Naomi Klein also spoke at the Talk Before the Walk, which you can view here if you’re interested. I’ve been reading Naomi Klein’s most recent book, This Changes Everything: Capitalism versus the Climate, and fortunately, I came across this video, in which she discusses and summarizes parts of her book.

Bernie Sanders also spoke at the Talk Before the Walk, so this video was doubly interesting to me for that reason. Like many liberal progressives who support socialist safety net programs for the poor and disenfranchised, the elderly and the disabled, and children from all walks of life, I’m in love with Bernie Sanders. I want to make this t-shirt for myself, after I discovered this design online —

I just adore Bernie so much. I have two brothers who are in love with Donald Trump, who would love to see Donald Trump in the White House, and my husband has several close friends who also love and support Donald Trump. I understand why the mainstream media is focusing so much on his campaign — since, from where I stand, he is definitely the most talked-about and beloved Republican candidate among people I associate with, my family members and oldest friends — and then here I am, on the other extreme, in love with Bernie.

Regardless of how deeply divisive politics can be, I love my family and friends, and I don’t ever like to fight over political views. The biggest reason I watch the PBS NewsHour is the lack of vitriol expressed on that program. Anchors and guests must all follow a code to be civil and calm, no matter how high their passions might run. I will never know everything about how the world works, but one thing I do know about anger is that rage is rooted in fear, and it’s hard to find truth in fear. Fear bends people, puts them into survival thinking, makes them see threat and danger instead of opportunity and grace — and truth needs the opposite to thrive. Truth needs courage, and fearlessness — and anger and rage don’t often foster that kind of dialogue.

Fear is useful though — I would never say fear and anger don’t serve a purpose. But in journalism, I need level-headedness and calm, so I can come to my own conclusions about issues. I need peace to weigh facts, take in new information, and sift through my own emotions on difficult subjects, rather than have a news anchor express their own angry feelings while delivering a broadcast.

So this is me right now — worried about climate change, wanting to join up with people who are also deeply worried about climate change, but when I checked Meetup.com, there were no local climate change groups for me to join.

I thought about starting my own climate change group on Meetup.com, since I run an authors group called Writers and Scribblers that people use Meetup to find.

Then I thought — wait! — there is a Unitarian Universalist Fellowship in Durango. They fly a gay pride flag outside their building, have a beautiful wooden facility, with a tall ceiling and lots of light streaming in, big cushy chairs, an altar where a flame burns — I’d been in this building once before, for a book signing hosted by Maria’s Bookshop last November, so I decided to check out their website.

The following is printed right on their homepage:

Welcome to the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Durango

“This congregation has had a successful history of lay leadership, thriving as a home for open and welcoming liberal religion. Here is a place where both newcomers and long-timers alike can worship, experience spiritual growth and learning, and strive to make our world a better place. As a living tradition, we are encouraged and expected to be the arbiter of our own beliefs, and this congregation is a good illustration of that, as we include liberal Christians, neo-pagans, natural theists, atheists, agnostics and Buddhist practitioners.”

Any spiritual group that embraces agnostics and atheists and pagans — accepting of all — is definitely my kind of group! And the fact that this congregation wants to help “make our world a better place” — well, that sounds exactly like the kind of group I was looking for.

This morning’s service focused on race and racism, and the Black Lives Matter movement, and the history of privilege in the United States. In her address to the assembly, Reverend Katie Kandarian-Morris quoted James Baldwin, and Ta-Nehisi Coates, and gave a brief history of the origin of “Jim Crow” as a label for segregation — and I felt such amazing peace and contentment and happiness, being present in a place full of people who are thinking about, and discussing, such subjects together.

During one part of the service, people were invited to come to the front of the room to share their joys. At another time, children were invited to come to the front of the room to hear an address delivered just for them. After the service, everyone was invited to gather outside and talk freely, and then we were all invited back at 11:30, after a half-hour break, to share our reflections on Reverend Katie’s address.

I met a woman named Barbara, and a woman named Norma, and also chatted briefly with a woman named Donna who is married to a local author I’ve met at the library before. A woman named Kathleen mistook me for a college student, and wanted me to join the youth group — but I am 35, long past my college days, and my Writers and Scribblers group meets at the same time of the month as the youth group.

Everyone was so friendly, and open, and kind, and hearing people share their individual joys, and express their own thoughts and feelings on race and racism, brought me the same peace and contentment as Reverend Katie’s wise words.

I also drew a great deal of comfort from the fact that Reverend Katie is a woman. Women’s bodies are sacred to me, most especially because we are all created — at great personal cost — inside the womb of a female body, and I love hearing and seeing women in leadership roles, especially when they are guiding spiritual groups.

I took home a membership packet, to learn more about joining this Fellowship, and plan to return next Sunday. Anyone local who would like to join me — please let me know! The services start every Sunday at 10:00 a.m. and the building is located right in town. As the webpage for this organization makes clear, everyone is welcome. It’s a place of peace, curiosity, and openness, and I’m looking forward to going back.