Listening To The Waves


I watched the sun come up this morning on the Oregon coast. It’s been twenty years since I’ve done this, and the last time wasn’t nearly as peaceful. Last time, there was a hellish ride through torrential rain, dodging a rattling truck pulling a camper with a leaky waste valve, and suffering through mild pharmaceutical hallucinations. This time? Yes, much more restful.

An old friend is getting married today, and I saw some faces around the campfire last night that I haven’t seen in close to fifteen years. There was a little video last night, in tribute to the groom, and it was interesting to see a number of people give tribute to this guy who have known him some time, and to realize all of their history has taken place in the time between. And yet, two minutes after seeing each other again, we fell into old routines and the easy laughter was still there.

Funny how things change both so much and so little.

Anyway, the coast is still there. I had wondered.

Waffle Coffee

Book Talk

Little Zee came with me yesterday to the mobile office and charmed everyone. Having a precocious five-year with the biggest blue eyes EVAH tends to endear you to the baristas. She dubbed my “to-stay” drink “waffle coffee” due to the caramel drizzle pattern on top. I’m going to order it that way from now on. “One waffle coffee, please.”

I discovered there’s a tool for importing Livejournal entries to WordPress, and so I’m pulling over the LJ entries and creating a vast swamp of an archive. Mainly because I’d like to keep the content from LJ, but it is getting tiresome to deal with a) the persistent ads that keep interrupting me from doing admin duties over there, and b) the only ones who seem to still be on LJ are spammers. So, over the next space of time, I’ll be tagging and categorizing those entries. I suppose I could also find the old Moveable Type blog archive and import that too. Just to be thorough. We’ll see. It all sounds like avoiding writing to me, but there’s a certain desire to maintain this archive as I do–every once in a long while–find myself looking for a reference that I know I blogged about once upon a time.

I finished Lars Kepler’s The Hypnotist last night. A grueling read, and part of the exhaustion was simply that it hit all of my buttons, but the pair also managed to ratchet the tension nicely without ever going overboard. There’s a number of plot elements that get discarded a little too casually for my liking (as well as a couple of annoying issues with the flow of information), and I never quite felt as satisfactorily connected to the characters as I did in Steig Larsson’s books, but overall, it was a mighty fine read.

Scarlet Imprint’s Red Goddess continues to perch on the edge of my desk, and I’m snatching bits and pieces out of it as I have time. Peter Grey has a nice rhetoric that is inflammatory enough to keep you engaged, but not so fiery as to be overbearing. Plus he calls out Christianity almost immediately for stomping all over existing Pagan structures and lumping them all under the heading of “Devil Worship,” which gets a +1 from me.

Summer Is Here; It Must Be August, Finally

Book Talk

Summer–those extended days of cloudless skies and heat–eventually arrives in August, it seems. I grew up in the desert, where summer arrived three days after the wild flowers bloomed in the mountains, and it always throws me that “summer” is always half over before the days turn successively hot. “Successively” is the key word here. We tend to have a half day of rain just as you’re getting ready to mow the lawn.

And we’re fully into the dog days already. Even the cat is too worn out by the sun to put up much of an argument when I shoo him back indoors. Motivation is difficult to sustain, and interest in anything other than wondering when the ice cream man is coming ’round is hard to dredge up. The words, they come slowly in the heat. A good time, perhaps, to go through the old stacks of paperwork that need filing or shredding, or to finally get around to alphabetizing the library. Or even figuring out where everything is. Back in the day, I remember how confounding it was that our European Overlords took August off. There is something to that, I think.

The Rouge edition of Scarlet Imprint’s Red Goddess is out, complete with a lovely cover by Christopher Conn Askew.

The Red Goddess was Scarlet Imprint’s first publication, re-released now in paperback form for those who missed getting their hands on Her the first time around. It was a mighty roar of an arrival, this one, and as Peter Grey says in his introduction, it isn’t necessary to be an old hoary hand at Magick in order to find something new in this book. You simply had to be “young, raw, hungry, and passionate.”

In the summer heat, when motivation comes slowly, one could do worse than to rediscover their muse. Though, as Grey notes, “in the end the words will not count.”