More Writing

I wrote quite a bit last night, but here's an excerpt from today's creative attempt:

"Her mother stretched out her arms in the light coming in the window, and Roj could see the emptiness her mother felt, even though Roj was no longer a baby -- it was the emptiness of a mother's arms whose child had died, gone far beyond recall or touch. Roj ached for her, for the loss of a child; ached with her, wishing that her own arms had ever held a baby. Here, as with Matt, there was no consolation, not one, for her death."

January 6, 2011: Simple Graphic

I was playing a game of Spider Solitaire this morning, and when I had won the game, I interrupted the fireworks display at the winning of the game, and had a hard look at the graphics.

There were some visuals that I wanted to try to reproduce, so this is today's creative effort.

In addition, I completed another chapter of After Life yesterday, only to find tonight that I had made a technical gaffe and had to re-write the whole thing.

I'd complain, but that is what creativity includes. Recreation. Yes, I loved it, especially the newly-added kicking-open-a-door scene.

January 4, 2011: After Life

I began writing this story as a 2009 NaNoWriMo effort, based on a flash of a dream I had.

As the story developed, however, I fell in love with it, and at 30,000 words or so, refused to hurry it or stuff it with empty word count. I bagged on NaNo, intending to work on After Life through the winter. I didn't do that, but the time away from it gave me a chance to daydream about what was going to happen, and I did get back to it. Most nights I write some more on it, most days I think about it to the exclusion of all other creative projects. Since I wrote "some more" again last night, I thought I'd share an excerpt. Not exactly what I wrote last night, as that would be a spoiler, but some scene I really liked ...

Candace Rogers ("Roj") is dead, but still trying to save the life of her boyfriend, Matt Trapester. Garrison is her crooked boss.

They were in Lodi in a matter of seconds, in an instant. Obviously there is some advantage to following an angel, Roj thought. The cafe was before them, Garrison within, and a person sharing a table with him who had an athletic bag at her feet. "It is filled with money," Desai said.

"Lovely," Roj replied. "Did he give it to her, or did she give it to him?"

"She has brought it to him," Desai answered.

"She smokes. I can smell her. She must have a lighter on her somewhere." Roj floated about the woman, sniffing, sensing, even without her senses, sensing. With gentle surreptitiousness, she eased a butane lighter from the woman's purse, and then began to slowly, oh, so slowly, to unzip the bag to expose the money, quietly so that the woman and Garrison would not notice.

"You'll keep that Pest off our shipments," the woman said in a commanding tone of voice to Garrison. "We still think he ought to be under ground, you know."

"He's off the force," Garrison said. "Totally off the deep end. Nothing he can say will hold in a court of law, the psychiatrist assured us of that. And we have a couple people making sure he has plenty to drink, at the bar he likes, and at home."

"You bastard," Roj snarled. "I've been too easy on you."

"Roj. Garrison's people have been giving Matt liquor to keep him from being killed. Listen to that."

"Why would Garrison change his mind? Because Max was getting too strong for him? I don't care why. Watch this."

The athletic bag full of money was open. When Garrison and his contact looked out the windows of the restaurant to the west, Roj took a bottle of olive oil from the setting of the empty table next to them and upended it into the bag.

Near the windows, a woman in an expensive tweed suit knocked over a carafe of red wine with an inadvertent wave of her arm.

Roj took the opportunity of the convergence of waiters at the window table to quietly drag the bag of money several yards away, give the oily packs of bills a quick toss like a salad, and then light the mass on fire.

At another table, a woman screamed as she saw the flames, drawing gazes back from the broken glass and red wine and clumsily mopping waiters. Both Garrison and the woman gaped at the burning athletic bag for an instant before shouting, "NOOOO!" in an impromptu duet. While Garrison dragged out his jacket and began flogging the bag, Roj flew to the ceiling and plied the lighter on the sprinkler system sensor.

The waterworks came on, diners screamed and ran for doors, and the manager ran into the room calling 9-1-1 and pointing at Garrison, trying to put out the flames, and his lady friend, who simply stared, her lower jaw dropped in disbelief.

A police car screamed into the parking lot, lights blazing. Two officers ran towards the front doors. "God dammit!" shouted the woman and sprinted, even in high heels, for the kitchen.

"Stop her!" screamed the manager.

Oh, and Desai is an angel. I love playing cops and robbers.

Once Again: January 3

This is the cover image for the Piker Press story "Old Sugar."

I started with a reference photo of a drawing on rock in Macao, and sketched it with soft pastels (which crumble horribly in this damp weather). It still looked kind of rough-hewn, so I "poster edge' filtered it in Photoshop.

I think I'd like to work on the original some more one of these days, but at least today, I actually did something besides write.

Which I continue to do, working luxuriously slowly on a novel called "After Life." More about that later.

Chimichurri

About a year ago, our friend Angelique had the Haverim over for a pot luck. Her husband Hugo was going to be grilling beef ribs, and while we sat around sipping wine or beer, she brought out some appetizers. There was a platter of chips and veggies and dip -- isn't there always? -- and a platter of sliced tomatoes with mozzarella cheese melted over it, topped with chopped basil. Scrumptious!

But then she brought out the dish that made me fall in love: small bread slices accompanied by a green pesto-looking sauce she called "chimichurri." I could not get enough of the parsley-garlic-olive oil mixture. It was heavenly.

I tried to get her to post her recipe on Facebook; I tried to replicate it from what she told me. However, it was only yesterday that I figured out how to make a comparable chimichurri.

After researching numerous recipes on the web, and remembering the taste of Angelique's version, I came up with this:

Chimichurri

8 cloves of garlic
1 cup packed flat-leaved parsley (cut off the stems)
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil (and maybe a bit more, to suit your taste)
1 - 2 tbsp red wine vinegar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper

Chuck all of it into a food processor and let 'er rip for as long as it takes to make the stuff into a bright green slush.

Serve over meats, pasta, veggies, however you like. Especially offer it as a spread for fresh bread.

Variations include adding basil, or onion, or hot peppers, or cumin.

So very good, truly a work of art.

Poppies sketch

So, so very soon, the California poppies will be blooming.

With the aforementioned watercolor brushes, and a few passes of colored pencil, I finished this little bit of play tonight.

I held the pens with their flexible, brush-like points and felt an unaccustomed sense of jealousy; I got watercolor pens for Christmas (and I am grateful and pleased with the gift) but Alex got a graphics tablet for her computer, and she has been arting up a storm with it.

I've borrowed it a couple times, and oh, the things one can do with that beast! The future is unclear ... I may be able to use it while she is at work, and we three will co-exist peacefully, or I will have to get my own.

In the mean time, my daily creation has been either for writing, or cooking, and I've been a negligent blogger about it. It's only with the last two days of amazingly clement weather that Lillian has been yipping at me to work in the studio so that she can safely play out in front of the house. I am the guard dog who watches over her with the garage door open. It is better light for the studio, after all.

Brush Strokes

Alex gifted me with some flexible-tip "watercolor" pens at Christmas, and I only just began to play with them.

The black brush-strokes were first, then a few green. Then I thought of centaurea, and how much I liked them in my wildflower garden of 15 years past. I added blue.

The yellow bits were just for some color balance.