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Archive for the ‘Bugs’ Category

Tips for Surviving the Apocalypse: Featuring Nyx

Good morning, dystopic peeps!

GOD’S WAR, the first book of the Bel Dame Apocrypha/God’s War Trilogy has been out of print since late last year. The publisher is re-issuing the books in mmp with updated, streamlined covers – just in time for the launch of the new story collection, Apocalypse Nyx!

Because Nyx really is the hero we need right now.


Tentative re-issue schedule:

GOD’S WAR: May, 2018



INFIDEL: September, 2018

RAPTURE: November, 2018



Get ready! (I am!)



Eat Your Bloody Steak. You’ll Like it: Eight Years of War, and Writing, and Bugs

Last night, J. cooked up a bloody rare steak. It was the first rare steak I’d had in a long time. I’ve been known to prefer my steaks mooing. We raised cows when I was growing up. I’m a happy carnivore.

But as I cut into raw, meaty inside this time, my stomach seized. My gorge rose.

I could not eat it.

When one of my dogs recently came home from a cabin getaway in the woods with a massive tick on her ear, my reaction was not, “Oh, cool!” it was “Wow, that’s incredibly gross. Can we get that thing the fuck off right now?” And when we held our other dog down to treat the far more advanced and engorged tick we found on her backside a week later, I spent the rest of the night flinching at every prickle on my skin and scratching at my scalp looking for vermin.

I’m not a squeamish person by nature. I spent nearly two years in Durban, South Africa living in a flat infested will all manner of nasties. I have a “you’re fine” mentality when it comes to blood and trauma. It’s easy, for me, to shut everything down until a crisis has passed and then emote afterward.

But I have also been writing about war, and blood, and bugs, and meaty wounds crawling with maggots for over eight years now. You might think it was the writing itself that put me off dinner. But in fact, it’s not so much the fake war and fake bugs I write about that got to me. It was all the research I did to create worlds that evoked those things in a way that felt squicky enough to readers to be lifelike.

This started back when I was researching my Master’s thesis, and reading transcript after transcript from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings in South Africa. If you want to get easy access to firsthand accounts of atrocities, it’s a good place to start. After that it was Rwanda, and Darfur, and the second World War, then Iran, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia and ancient Assyria and Babylonia and then just War in general. So I was reading firsthand accounts of exactly what it was soldiers and civilians did in wartime – and had done to them. I was reading about repressive regimes, bloody gender politics, and then, mixed in with all that, learning a great deal about all the wonderfully terrible things done to us by bugs and infectious diseases before the rise of penicillin. It was one horror and atrocity after another, and though that work was vital for me to go through in order to paint something halfway believable in fiction, it got to me.

For a few years during and after writing my thesis, I could no longer put up with senseless violence in film. At all. I walked out of movies. It was worse when I was living in Durban, where the constant threat of very real violence meant that violence in film was not an escape from reality, or a thrill, or something different – it was just more of the same, only grotesquely, gratuitously so. I felt like nobody actually sat down and thought about what the consequences of that type of violence really were. Torture porn movies that have no interest in examining what it is we become when we commit that type of violence – and what the consequences truly are – held no interest for me. I actively sneered at their creators. Fuck them and their cushy Hollywood day jobs.  What did they know about the threat violence, and sexual violence, in a country where one in three women are raped (and one in four men admit to having raped, often multiple times) and one in three people has AIDS? Screw you, hippies.

Writing about fake grievous head wounds and maggoty stews was a vacation by comparison to reading about the real thing. But even so, eight years of immersive writing and research about all the horrible things people do to each other can get to you. You start to think a lot about power and violence, and if that’s really our natural state (it’s not. It takes a great deal of effort to make people into reliable killers at close range – from a distance, though, with someone else taking the blame, it’s very easy. Which I find quite fascinating) and who we’d be with different social mores and expectations about what violence meant, and what it signified, and what would happen if we severed the strong cultural link we have between violence and power.

But those thoughts are the sort I hash out in novels, on paper, or in my head, and those aren’t the things I see or notice. What I notice is an inability to eat rare steak, an aversion to needless on screen violence without consequence (especially against women), and a revulsion for bugs that’s all together new to me.

This writing biz changes you. The abyss, and all that. But far from becoming “immune” or “desensitized” to violence, reading about real violence done to real people gave me a much more heightened sense of what violence means. It made me think about what we’ve done with it, and what we continue to do with it, how it changes us, shapes us, and how we live with what’s left behind.

If we really want to teach people why going to war is a bad idea, or how torching their neighbors isn’t nice, maybe we should stop harping on video games and actually teach a history class that shows them what violence really does to people. Our squeamishness for teaching the bloody reality of history is what makes us so removed from the violence we support, and perpetuate. We love to show the spectacle, but never the consequence.

My favorite ads before the movies begin are the ones from the U.S. military. It is the perfect venue for them. I watch gunbuilders use Xbox controls to power turrets and I think, “That’s perfect.” Because we, as a culture, have no interest in sensitizing people to real violence. It’s why nobody teaches us about the past, and why we continue to disinvest in education. The less we know, the easier we are to control.

Eat your bloody steak. You’ll like it.


No Refund for Bugs

I spent last weekend off the grid at a cabin in Hocking Hills. Packing up four adults, two dogs, and a 2-year-old may not have been the best idea we ever had, but it worked out.

Before I came out here to Ohio, the whole “cabin in the woods” horror movie cliché thing was foreign to me. I *lived* in the woods. Why on earth would I want to rent a cabin in the woods? And why would I want to go somewhere without a cell phone signal?

But now that I’ve lived in and around cities for the last six or seven years, and since developing a terrible Twitter addiction, the cabin idea started sounding really great.  Half an hour from the nearest town with no wireless internet or cell phone signal? Boy does that sound divine.

The first day we got in, my friend Stephanie spied a note from management that said, “Thank you for visiting our cabins! Please remember that you are in the WOODS. There are BUGS in the woods, and though we make every effort to spray for bugs, you will see some insects in the cabin. It’s important to remember that there are NO refunds for bugs.”

And as night descended we discovered that there were, in fact, BUGS, which delighted my dog-who-thinks-she’s-a-cat to no end. Caterpillars, regular moths, giant moths, june beetles, flying ants, black and orange centipedes, several kinds of spiders, plumes of mosquitoes, and massive deer ticks. The place was not infested, mind, the bugs simply… well, they were merely additional residents, spied occasionally lurking in bathrooms, and riding the wind in from the outdoors through neglected doorways and catching rides on dogs and toddlers alike.

My surprise at the sheer number and variety of bugs, despite having grown up in the woods myself and living in subtropical Durban, South Africa for a time got me to thinking about how easy it is to get disconnected from life outside of both urban and suburbia. We forget about how mundane it is to wash ants out of our hair and pick ticks from our legs or shake out sheets before going to sleep and shoes before putting them on.  These are everyday details that are also easy to forget about in fiction, and it occurred to me that this is likely one reason that so many fictional societies look as cleanly polished as a daytime sitcom.

There are a good many details that go into creating a place. The water out there tasted strongly of sulpher, which, to my palette, actually tasted a lot like chlorine, and made the stuff barely palatable. At night, it actually got dark. I mean, really dark. Deep, black, there-is-shit-gonna-get-you dark, and totally still. In the morning, all I heard was birds (and the happy running toddler, of course). And there was nothing to occupy our attention online. It was all reading and cooking and playing card games.

I see a lot of people fail when it comes to creating places, and I’m not always sure why that’s so. If you can’t afford to travel, you can get all the sense of place you need from reading (good) books about places that are unlike your own. Maybe we don’t read enough and spend too much time watching TV about the same places, so everything we write about has the bland feel of television. Maybe we forget how weird and scary and buggy the world can be. Some of my favorite reactions to God’s War were from people who were creeped out by the bugs. I’m creeped out by bugs, too, but man – how did people who can’t stomach roaches ever live outside? How do you live anywhere but the mythic fantastical scrubbed-street assumption of this particular time and place?

Because boy oh boy, let me tell you – in life, there’s no refund for bugs – and if we’re making real living, breathing worlds, there are likely going to be a hell of a lot of them.



Is it a good sign or a bad sign that I haven’t actually sat down and figured out which bugs do what and how and whatfor on Umayma until I starting writing book 3?

Ah well. There’s a spreadsheet now.

My Crazy Book Bugs Are REAL SCIENCE!

Escherichia coli (E. coli) can give you a severe case of food poisoning or, with a little genetic engineering, a useful plastic. Scientists at San Diego–based Genomatica, Inc., have announced success in manipulating the bacteria to directly produce butanediol (BDO), a chemical compound used to make everything from spandex to car bumpers, thereby providing a more energy-efficient way of making it without oil or natural gas.

So when do I get to be labeled a hard SF writer? heh heh