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January Notes: Cooking, Reading, Writing

Snowfall outside, but hot tea and a snug blanket within. Quiet, and the space and time to write and read and think. And also to cook. Some lists for the month so far: New recipes Tried Traditional Vietnamese Pho , as presented by the infallible J. Kenji Lopez-Alt of Serious Eats. There is a good pho place about 20 minutes from my house, but being able to eat this soup without ever leaving the house (on a frigid January Michigan winter night) is the absolute best. All the steps are worth it. Yes. Char those onions and ginger! Parboil the meat! I used a combo of oxtails and beef shanks. Heaven. The next day my kids' schools were canceled due to snow, and they were thrilled to have pho again for their lunch (yes, the soup is better the next day). Oyakodon .  Recipe from the website Two Red Bowls. So very very simple to make. Chicken and custardy eggs simmered in a sweet, salty sauce and served over rice. It's warm and comforting and perfect for winter. Onion tart...

Best books of 2015--my recommendations

The year draws to its close tonight, and I'm joining others with my list of favorite books read in 2015! Fiction, nonfiction, novels and short story collections. . . I didn't read as much as I would have liked (I never do) but these are the ones that stayed most powerfully with me. Fiction Novels Best Novel— Pen Pal by Francesca Forrest The best novel I read this year was a hard-to-pigeonhole, slipstreamish epistolary novel self-published in 2013. I first heard of Francesca Forrest when I came across her lovely short story, Seven Bridges , in the archives of the digital magazine, The Future Fire . Pen Pal is her first published novel (I think). It is gorgeous and affecting. These are the first lines: Dear person who finds my message, I live in a place called Mermaid's Hands. All our houses rest on the mud when the tide is out, but when it comes in, they rise right up and float. They're all roped together, so we don't lose anyone. I like Me...

December publications!

I am happy to announce two new stories out this month. " Moon Story" was published in October in the fall issue of Mythic Delirium . It is now available for free reading online as the featured December story. It is a fairy tale about questing, about growing up and letting go, and yes, it takes place on the Moon. A magical Moon of  "snow and ice, of frozen lakes and deep blue shadows." Also bats and rats. The featured poetry of this month, "Star Fishing" by Shveta Thakrar and "Jupiter Dis(mis)ed" by J.C. Runolfson beautifully round out the celestial theme. Read the entire fall issue--it's all great stuff! My second story this month is "Knife and Sea," a little flash piece in the winter issue of Mirror Dance . This is also a fairy tale, but decidedly darker than "Moon Story." The winter issue of Mirror Dance is always devoted to flash fiction, poetry, and pieces that straddle the definitions of poetry and prose. Darkne...

On not writing and the creative life

I came across this piece by novelist Daniel Jose Older on not writing every day. And my heart cheered Yes! Yes. Yes to the nth degree. Earlier this month I had space in my schedule. School for the kids had started; I had no medical writing assignments in sight. I will write , I thought. Who knows when I'll have this time again? I had nothing to write about. No story in my head. No matter—don't other writers just sit at the blank screen and stuff just pours out of them? Don't they say that if you just sit your butt in the chair and force yourself then the words will come because it's just work and willpower and moving those fingers on the keyboard? Doesn't everyone say shitty first drafts and just keep going and just do it --? I tried. It was a disaster. Because sometimes, as Daniel JoseOlder writes in his essay , the story you're working on just isn't ready to be written yet. Because, as he says, "brainstorming is part of writing...

On memoir and things I have no experience of—A review of "Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life" by William Finnegan

I know nothing about surfing. I've never stood on a board. I've never even seen surfing done in real life (I've spent most of my life in the American Midwest. And even when I lived in Los Angeles for college, I somehow never met any surfers). Yet it came into my head to write a story that involved surfing. So I read a lot. I was interested in big-wave surfing, so I read Susan Casey's book, "The Wave." I read a lot of journalistic accounts. I watched videos online. And eventually, probably inevitably, I stumbled upon a two-part article in The New Yorker. The article is titled " Playing Doc's Games" by William Finnegan, and it was published in 1992. It is famous among surfers. The surf magazine The Inertia called it " possibly the greatest surf story ever" and a writer at The Surfer described it as "the best written piece (all 39,000 words of it) ever penned about surf culture."  I am not a surfer. Yet Wi...

Future Fire Fundraiser! Link to new interview!

The I ndiegogo fundraiser for The Future Fire is down to the wire, with only 38 hours to go! Go visit and donate to support daring, progressive, beautiful short science fiction and fantasy! As part of The Future Fire's 10th anniversary celebration, there is also a new interview with me about my writing.

F**ck Winning

I stumbled across this piece, "Fuck Winning," by Albert Burneko while skipping about the Internet (as you do) and read it, just read it. Because yes, fuck winning, fuck the tournament system, fuck the ruthless competition/winner-takes-all/Hunger Games that is coming for us all. We don't need to beat down our kids; the world is going to do that soon enough. We don't need to teach them that only "winners" are worthwhile; that life is to be measured in trophies and salaries and prestigious job titles and tangibly shiny medals; isn't the world going to teach them all that without our help? Here is the passage in Burneko's piece that closed my throat:   As I write this, my two young sons are running around a grassy field where I can watch them. They have balloons stuffed under their shirts; they are crashing into each other with their big balloon-bellies and making weird monster noises and giggling so hard they can’t speak; the sun is in the...