Another journal

I think one can do pinned here? Or "sticky"?? Anyway, I just went and cleaned up some weird code that the linkback from my WP plugin was doing and figured that I should note: more often than not, what you see here is just mirroring my blog-blog! But I do reply to comments here, obvi, the posts just *originate* mostly from another place.

In the spirit of putting some useful things right up top, here's a the intro from my Tumblr, where I am the most active:

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I go by B most often and if you are wondering how to pronounce my handle/name, this post right here has visual and aural examples, thanks to a wonderful podficcer ask.

I’m all over the internet because I’ve been here a long time, see my link page for the regular places. Tarot card stickers can be found here!

I’m also on AO3 as bzedan as well because the fact that I’m very googlable has yet to be a problem with work.

Emily enjoyed her ability to dilute herself in work. Mornings at the coffee shop were busy with regulars and sudden influxes of teens renting central air for the price of a house coffee. For most of her shift, Emily was able to push off thoughts of Abby, Michael’s plan and Tanis’ concerns. The summer barista, home early from college for break, manned the counter while Emily laid out the work schedule for the upcoming week. She gave herself the morning shifts. During the summer it was easier to dip into the Sidhe in the evening. Whoever sat watch, bridging the gap between the mundane world and the Sidhe, wouldn’t have to sit in the unshaded yard during the hottest part of the day.

She stared blankly at a page of a crossword puzzle book on her break, startled when she drew on her cigarette to find it’d gone out. A year gone in a week. When she’d last talked to the hare, only a day had passed in the Sidhe, during two weeks in the mundane world. She needed to look at Michael’s numbers. If the ratio of time was oscillating that much there was a strong possibility something very wrong was happening.

Back behind the espresso machine, none of it mattered. Emily could pretend to be Amelia Anderson, 33, a genial coffee shop manager who looked young for her age and lived in a well-maintained, if slightly abandoned, trailer park.

Walking home, she thought about the genius of her aunt and the others hiding in a suburban trailer park. Nobody gave a second thought about what happened behind the enclosing trees. People who didn’t live in ‘real houses’ were too depressing for most people to dwell on. That was fine. It gave them an island of peace in a world of nosy neighbours and judgemental PTAs.

Emily stood at the entrance to the court, next to the sun-faded sign. Michael was meticulous about up-keeping the grounds, but there was still a sense of long-abandonment that hung over the trailers. Emily tried to remember the way it was when she was growing up—children running around, adults on porches, easy familiarity. Even after the adults returned to the Sidhe, there’d been life. They’d lay out in the grass, or half in the shadow of the arbour, while one of the kids familiarised themselves with their birth rights and heritage. She’d set up tents in the summer so they could play at camping, running power cords out and playing old video games on a little TV while moths threw themselves stupidly at the screen.

Shaking her head at nostalgia, Emily went to her trailer and made a sandwich, bringing it out to the hammock on the porch. Michael and Ian wandered over before she was done and they sat in the chairs they always sat in, Ian’s cat following him and twining around Emily’s legs.

“I mean, do we need to go in after her?” Emily broke the silence, setting her plate on the ground and tucking her feet up. The cat delicately sniffed at the crumbs and crust, then licked the plate. “What if something bad happened to her?”

Michael shook his head vehemently. “How could we do that? One of us sits watch for what—days? In shifts? Otherwise, you go in the Sidhe, you don’t know when you’re coming back.”

“I know.” Emily set her jaw. “But I can’t be worrying about Abby. It’s my responsibility to make sure she’s okay.”

“What’s wrong with Abby?” Tanis stood on the porch steps, looking at the other three, worry in her eyes.

“Tanis!” Emily shaped her face into a smile. “We had a thing we were going to do, right?”

“Yeah, you were going to take me out to eat, so I figured I’d meet you here.” She looked at Ian and Michael. “But if there’s a family emergency—” she trailed off.

“No, it’s. Well, sort of. But dinner won’t make a difference and I am happy for the distraction.” Emily patted her pockets to check for her wallet and took Tanis’ arm, leaving the boys and the cat on the porch.

“Drive or walk?” Concern still lined Tanis’ face.

“Let’s drive, you pick where.”

Their little town had a few decent restaurants, but for going out Tanis and Emily tended to drive the next town or two over, where there were more options and the draw of novelty and distance. Tanis automatically piloted the very sensible, very purple, car her parents bought her in high school to one of their favourite burger places. As she drove, she tried to get Emily to tell her what was going on.

“So, you guys haven’t heard from Abby lately?” I thought you got a letter from her like a week ago.”

“Yeah, but with customs it’s not like she sent it a week ago.” Emily’s voice was distant, aimed at the passenger window.

“Have you tried calling her? Wait, she doesn’t have a phone, right?”

They parked and Tanis set the child locks so Emily couldn’t get out. Softly resting her hand on Emily’s arm, she asked again. “Emily, what is going on with Abby? Do you need to go see her? Where is she in Central America again?”

Emily’s shoulders fell. “She moves around. Listen, baby—let’s have dinner and then we can go on a drive and I’ll tell you about it.”

“You’re going to make me wait through dinner?”

“Yeah,” Emily smiled weakly, “please?”

Tanis sighed. “You’re lucky I love you.” She leaned across the console and gave Emily a kiss before unlocking the doors. “I’m getting the most expensive thing.”

“This is a burger place; the most expensive thing is probably gross.”

“It’s the principle, woman.”

---

This post is part of The Consoling Divide – Serialised. See the archive and overall content warnings here, and find more of my writing here. I’m over on both Comradery and Patreon, if you feel like supporting my creative endeavours. If you’d like to subscribe to this story, here’s a handy email box for you:

Read a LOT more books this month than last, thanks to a friend telling me about The Tyrant Philosophers series by Adrian Tchaikovsky. It was exactly what I needed–a big ol’ world and quite a few books to sort of shake off the enjoyable plod of (good, but also, involved) non-fiction.

The Storygraph reviews for my top three books:

Pretenders to the Throne of God by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Aaaaah is there anything like watching all the pieces of a story come together?!! Once more we see old faces in the new skins (and names) of their new home, and learn new characters to love and revile. You can almost hear each puzzle piece click into place as the story marches on.

I had to wait a bit for this one to be released from hold and it was all the more delicious for it. This is the penultimate book in the series and ooooh boy it’s all coming together. The plan, for me, is to read the last book when it comes out, then listen to them all again on audio book, which I’m told has a solid voice cast. There are so many moving pieces in this series but they’re all gears turning to quite the end.

Radiant Star by Ann Leckie

Listen, listen. Every addition to the Ancillary universe is going to rip. Leckie does something fun and fresh and interesting with each new entry, and because each book has its own voice and ideas and priorities it fills the world out like a cat stretching out comfortably.

The world of this particular book is weird and messy and absolutely fucked, and frankly might well have been on that path before the Radch, though their interference very much helps it along. It’s delightful.

There is limited shelf space in my home, but a couple years back I bought the first three books of the Imperial Radch series so I could have them on tap and this newest addition has me itching to re-read. I love a crumbling empire, I adore how Leckie writes weirdos and bureaucrats and the mess of politics.

House of Open Wounds by Adrian Tchaikovsky

What a ride. Picture an island of misfit toys only it’s a camp hospital in the middle of a war, and they’ve just acquired a new member who has the fairy tale youngest son luck of being kind to animals (little gods) and more or less being a bit wet and trying his best.

The acknowledgments thank a panel where someone brought up magical healing, which sparked this story and I thank them too, the concept is delved well here.

If I had to pick a favourite of the Tyrant Philosopher series so far it might be this one. Clicking around I saw someone suggest M*A*S*H as a comp and that is: pretty spot on. I mean, war (never changes) is truly horrible and that’s a constant in this series, even when it’s funny, but the way magical healing works in this is rather brutal as well.

I really particularly admire how some characters are threads through this series, drifting to the edges or moving to the core of the story. Some fray and fade, some are abruptly cut, new threads are woven in.

You’ll note in the graphic up there that I read a print book, well that is a lie, let me explain.

So, Greener Than You Think I picked up because Mike Davis mentioned it in the section about LA being destroyed in fiction, at the end of Ecology of Fear, and seemed to really get a kick out of it. Most of the other stuff I’d seen or read, or it seemed like it sucked. I found an ebook on Libby then was horrified to learn, on opening it, that it was one of those “ebooks” that is really just a PDF. Which is impossible to read on my tiny ancient phone.

I poked around online and hooray hooray, Project Gutenberg has a lovely edition of it that I grabbed instead. It’s a mean little book. Because it’s a Gutenberg, I wasn’t sure how to input it properly into Storygraph so I’m just living with the bad data point. I enjoyed this from the Project Gutenberg transcriber:

The text intentionally contains non-standard contractions, unhyphenated combination words and other informal styles and spellings, which, except for minor typographical errors, have all been transcribed as printed.

It sure does. But it’s still easier to read than the ebook I checked out of Battle Royale. But, what is fun is the point in a book where the weirdness of the language just sort of becomes What It Is and you stop noticing it (sort of the whole conceit of Russell Hoban’s Riddley Walker).

My holds queue shows a book landing soon, then I’ll release another non-fiction from suspended hold and one more dive into the cool info that takes me one william years to read mines.

The birthday dinner was small. Ian, Michael, Tanis and Emily comfortably fit around the probably antique and possibly priceless table Michael kept in his dining room. Michael had had his hand in online auctions since his teens and boasted 99% positive feedback across an innumerable number of reviews and a half-dozen sites. When she’d first returned, his skills had helped Emily get the no-longer-made Polaroid film she’d used to bribe the hare into vouching for the children’s place in the Sidhe. She’d learned enough from him about what the internet had become in her absence that when cute, hip companies started making instant film again she figured out how to buy it online on her own. Michael told Emily he was proud of her, adding “You’re now at grandma web-using levels, instead of caveman.” Michael was kind of a dick.

He was also something of a foodie and had slowly refit his trailer with a better kitchen. The gleaming new appliances somehow still vibed with the antiques and vintage furniture he’d fallen in love with instead of flipping for a profit. He served baked macaroni and cheese, the same thing he’d made five years before, when they would all cram around the scratched old table Michael’s parents had once used.That had been the first time he’d made up his own recipe and Emily thought it was as delicious then as it was now.

Tanis held up her glass of whatever Michael had decided paired well with mac and cheese. “Happy birthday, lady. Thank you for letting me share as much of your life as you do.” Her smile was so spontaneous that it was impossible to tell if she was being passive-aggressive or not. Knowing Tanis, Emily decided her feeling was genuine.

The boys also raised their drinks. The barely underage Ian’s was conspicuously non-alcoholic, which meant he’d probably spiked it.

“To the family you make!” Ian cheered, Michael chiming in. It’d been their motto for years. Emily felt a swell of pride. She’d done all right with these kids. She saw a brief flash of sadness pass across Tanis’ face.

Dessert was perfect. Tanis took a picture of it with her phone, Michael fidgeting about how it looked on the plate.

“Mike,” Tanis was the only person who got to call him that, “why don’t you go to cooking school? You like this stuff enough.”

“I already went to school.” He grabbed up empty plates and set them in the sink. “Two whole years, I’ve a businessy degree and everything. I think you saw me graduate, even.”

“Combining that with cooking though!”

“Eh, I’d rather just enjoy it. The cooking, not the businessing. Selling things online makes me so angry I almost ramp around to joy. And,” he held up a hand to stop Tanis’ reply. “I love money. Anger also keeps me warm. So, I do the online selling and only cook to give me a taste of human happiness.”

Tanis laughed. “Okay Michael, you win. You’ve got half a year before I pick at your life choices again.”

Ian and Emily exchanged glances. They knew the truth behind what Michael was saying. But they were well-practised in changing the subject, something which was easily done by taking their after-dinner coffee to the porch to enjoy the balmy spring night.

Tanis ended up in Emily’s lap and the boys made surprisingly discreet exits, though they could still hear Michael washing up inside.

“I’m sorry I had to nag on you on your birthday. I felt like such a jerk during my whole run.” Tanis leaned her head on Emily’s shoulder.

“It was something that needed to be said.” Emily shifted her head so Tanis’ hair was tucked under her chin instead of in her mouth. “I’m sorry I’m not more open about stuff.”

“Have you thought more about what I said?”

“You asked me this morning, Tanis. I’ve got to think about it.”

“Really think about it, not just say you are?”

“Yeah, will think about it for reals.”

“I will absolutely destroy you if you’re a liar.”

Emily looked down, bringing their faces close. “Likely threat.” Her fingers were in Tanis’ hair. “I do not fear you and your feminine wiles, puny mortal.”

***

After Tanis left, Emily walked from her trailer to the arbour in the shared courtyard. Charred and missing chunks of lattice, it was decorated with both fresh and fake flowers that ran the spectrum from fading to decay. Today’s newest blooms were dandelions and Queen Anne’s lace, the result of Michael’s yard work.

A couple of years earlier, Emily and Michael installed a fake street light in the common yard by the arbour, so they could stop using lawn torches. Emily also thought of it as an ironic literary reference, at least as far as she understood irony. The LED bulb in the lamp shone surprisingly bright, glinting off of Michael’s glasses and pale face where he sat at the base of the arbour, half in-half out of the arch.

“Dawn and Tank called a little bit ago, wishing you well. They got you a birthday present, apparently.” Michael shifted where he sat, trying to find a comfortable position. “But, they don’t know if they’ll be able to get time off in September.”

“Shit.” Emily sat near him, out of the arbour’s shadow.

“Well, it’ll be Tank’s senior year and Dawn is working full time, trying to figure out her master’s degree.”

“Yeah, I know. It’ll just be the first anniversary that everyone won’t be here. Mathilde is in another country, but I was hoping for Tank and Dawn.” Emily sighed. “How are the time debt studies going?”

“Eh, from what info you and Ian have got me, there’s no real pattern or sense to the ratio of time passing in the mundane world to the Sidhe.”

“Figures.”

“Hey, Emily,” Michael cleared his throat. “I want to start renting out units.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s wasteful, everything sitting empty. I mean, I know we don’t need the money.”

“Yeah, not with the accounts you guys inherited, or the envelope stash.”

“Right, but I’d like my position as court manager to be more than making sure you and Ian get your checks to me on time or tidying the lawns.” He frowned. “It’s like play acting. The kind a person does during the end of the world, in some sad attempt to pretend others still exist.”

Emily shook her head. “You read too much sci-fi.”

“You know what I’m saying. It’s creepy here. Everyone is growing up and moving on. Tank and Dawn aren’t going to come back here when they’ve finished school and neither is Hannah. Then you have Abby and Mathilde off in their own worlds.” Michael pulled at the grass while he spoke. Even if Emily was physically his contemporary, she’d known him since he could first remember, bookending his existence. “I’m happy enough here, but going through the motions feels too much like what the Folk do.”

“Dude. That is not comparable.”

“It is, Emily. And I feel like an enabler, helping you maintain this bubble of safety between worlds.”

“Fuck you, Michael.” She wiped at sudden tears, but her voice came out firm. “If that’s how you feel, then fucking fine. I’ll sign what I have to sign if you do three things for me. First, figure out how to maintain the arbour while still shielding it from strangers. Second, you will not rent the trailers any of you grew up in. That leaves you six units free to do whatever.” Emily stood, flecks of mown grass sticking to her bare legs.

“And last?” Michael tried to make eye contact, but quickly looked away.

“Eat shit and die.”

Ian almost tripped over Michael as he exited the arbour.

“Dammit, dude, that wouldn’t happen if you stuck your head in once in a while.”

“I don’t like it in there, also, it’s boring.” Michael mumbled his answer by rote.

Ian took in Michael’s tone and Emily’s stance. He shrugged. “Obvs this is a great time to bring this up, but nobody’s heard from Abby in a bit.”

“How long is ‘a bit’?” Emily’s voice was dangerously soft.

“At least a year.”

“A year?! I was in the Sidhe last week.”

Ian looked startled. “Who sat watch for you?”

No one, I just half-popped in to check on things and tell the hare about one of the new instant films.” She stared both of the boys down. “I need no judgement from either of you and yes, I did ask after Abby and got some mail from her that was recent.”

“There was mail?” Ian looked more worried than Emily would have expected.

Michael peered up at her. “How often do you do this?”

“It was private.” Emily stamped her foot. “And dammit, guys, back off. I’m not going to commit suicide by Sidhe. The issue at hand, other than Michael telling me I’m a nervous, manic episode waiting to happen—”

“Oh, c’mon now.”

“Is that Abby hasn’t been heard of by anyone in a year, her time. The longest she’s ever been out of contact is two months and that was when she first joined the dryads.” Emily folded her arms tight against her chest. “Is there any word of her forest, or the kingdom they’re in?”

Ian shook his head.

“This is bullshit.” Emily looked at the arbour. “Also, it’s late and I open tomorrow.” She turned to Ian, who reflexively took a step back. “What’s your schedule?”

“I’m off tomorrow.”

“Fine. We’ll figure this out when I get home after work.” She stalked back to her trailer, leaving the others in the cold light of the street lamp.

---

This post is part of The Consoling Divide – Serialised. See the archive and overall content warnings here, and find more of my writing here. I’m over on both Comradery and Patreon, if you feel like supporting my creative endeavours. If you’d like to subscribe to this story, here’s a handy email box for you:

We picked up these adorable melons at 99 Ranch at the mall (can I say, living near a vibrant and thriving shopping mall that also has a grocery in it absolutely rocks), and I was soooooo excited about it.

See, Chase has a more limited selection of foods available, so things like melons and apples are their treats. And I’m awful at remembering we even have melon around to eat, so getting each of us these little personal size guys was a delightful treat. Honestly, we actually only had half of one each, because that’s still a lot of melon for one go.

I sit with my little bowl of melon, having decided to forgo the Tajín, since I wanted to enjoy it plain. Yet, there’s still a kind of… spiciness? Something. Acidity?

And I know what that means. But, I do finish the bowl.

After, my tongue now feeling a bit raw, I confess to Chase that I might now be allergic to cantaloupe and start looking up some info. Did you know that if you have hayfever, then you could eventually present with oral allergy syndrome? It’s also referred to as pollen food allergy, which really does sum it up. Cooking and properly peeling food can reduce or remove symptoms, amazingly. It’s really just your body being a little whiny baby about similar proteins and those proteins are nicely destroyed by heat, or removed by peeling for some foods.

I’d been having an allergy-kind of feeling in my throat for a bit a week or so prior to this and, looking at the assorted fruits and veg that can trick the tongue I now realise that was all thanks to the cucumber in the salad we’d been having. I’m livid!! I only recently learned to like cucumber!!! It could be worse, mostly I just get Angry Tongue and a bit of throat ick. And, if I am good about avoiding the trigger foods it will stay that way.

At least my beloved zucchini is something I eat only cooked, please never leave me, zucchini.

Anyway, we still had the other melon and Chase just cut it up and I have taken the not-quite heroic amount of antihistamine I normally take (but hadn’t been recently, as we’re in a bit of a pollen slump and also I need to get more). I have had TWO pieces and I’m going to wait a while and see how it all shakes out. I don’t think it is going to end with me suddenly being able to eat cantaloupe, however.

The Winter queen and Emily faced each other on the low rise, a body on the ground between them. Emily’s sword, drawn and shining, surrounded them in a bubble of light buffeted by swirling snow. For all the carnage that had led to this moment, it was a rather picturesque one. Emily had a fleeting memory of one of Michael’s stupid retro fantasy calendars.

“Child, if it soothes you to think you belong in a Vallejo painting, go ahead. This has been a stressful time, losing your friend and all.” The Winter Queen smiled, hiding her teeth behind knife thin lips.

“If you’re going to fuck around in my head, get your facts straight. I was thinking about that style of painting, not that I belong in one.” There was something like disappointment in Emily’s voice.

The Winter Queen shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She mimed looking at a watch, shaking back the thick, blood-stained furs to glance at her empty wrist. “We’ve been here a while, have you decided yet?” She kicked at the body lying at her feet. “My prize is starting to freeze.”

Emily forced herself to relax, lowering her sword. Her arms hurt. “If that’s what it’ll take, then fine.” With a deep breath she stepped closer, her bare toes touching the corpse. The Winter Queen reached up with small, cold hands and cupped Emily’s face firmly.

“Let me have it, Amelia Anderson.”

†

Emily checked again that all the lights were out, gathered up her things, then took a deep breath before setting the alarm and leaving. She stood outside the coffee shop, listening to muffled beeps as the light on the panel inside switched red. She hated closing.

A hand on her shoulder made Emily jump, turning quickly with arm half-raised, heavy purse in hand to swing. Seeing the familiar short mop of hair shining gold under the streetlights, she let out a controlled sigh. She dropped her arm and the purse dropped limply, brushing the ground. Ducking her head under the strap, Emily settled it across her chest, bringing her face back up with a smile.

“You scared me, Tanis.” Emily touched her lightly on the arm, trying to negate the earlier threat, pretending that her heart wasn’t still racing.

Tanis smiled lightly. “You’d think I’d have learned by now how easily you spook.”

“Shyeah,” Emily scoffed. “After what, three years?” They walked down the short main street, holding hands.

“To the day, woman.”

“Oh god.” Emily flailed her free hand. “I am the worst.”

“Worst girlfriend, maybe.” Tanis stopped, pulling Emily close. “But you’re pretty great otherwise.”

***

They spent the night at Tanis’ apartment. In the morning, over coffee, they had another one of the relationship non-conversations that were becoming a frustrating habit.

“I know you like your privacy.” Tanis pulled on running clothes between sipping her too-hot coffee and giving Emily concerned looks. “But.”

“But what?” Emily was still lying in bed, a mug resting on her stomach and threatening to spill while she watched Tanis dress. “I just don’t think we need to live together right now.”

“Or ever.” Tanis sat on the edge of the bed to put on her shoes.

“Dude, harsh.” Emily grimaced. This was becoming an actual discussion.

“Listen, I know your situation is weird. I’ve known you a little bit of a while now and I’m no idiot. Also, you’re not exactly superhero level at hiding things.” Tanis shifted, reaching to take the sloshing full mug off of Emily’s stomach and set it on the bedside table.

“Clark Kent couldn’t hide shit with those glasses. I think everyone was just humouring him.”

Tanis shook her head and leaned over Emily, touching noses. “I love you, Amelia Anderson. Even though you have weird friends that you live with in a deserted trailer park. I love you even though you disappear sometimes, have insomnia and kicking, screaming, nightmares. That’s all part of you, it’s all bits of who you are. I want to know you more, to share the bad things you keep bottled up.”

Emily bit her lip, keeping her breathing measured, the burning threat of tears locked down. Tanis kissed her, then sat up, grabbing the coffee and setting it back on Emily’s stomach.

“Just think about it, please.” Tanis paused in the doorway, a compact silhouette of curves and muscle. “And happy birthday, Miz Thirty-Three.” She left Emily her smile and the light sound of her footsteps.

Struggling against the covers tangled around her legs, Emily sat up enough to down the coffee in a few deep gulps. She’d forgotten it was her birthday. Which was probably why she’d also forgotten their anniversary, again. She made the bed and washed her mug. Brushing a tawny-olive hand over the cloud of dark hair escaping from two stumpy braids, she sighed and walked back home to the Royal Oak trailer court.

Emily was nowhere near 33. Because she had been born almost three and a half decades ago, it was what her state identification said, so that’s what she told people. They’d compliment her, saying she looked like she was only in her twenties. Every time it pierced something inside of her, fighting against her automatic polite smile and flattered “thank you”. What could she say? “Oh, well, fucking around in fairy world for a couple of months while a decade goes by ages you, but not ten years’ worth.”

Every birthday was a reminder of years lost, a million possible lives she could have led. Emily scowled, angry at herself. Each birthday was also a reassurance that the family she’d created and the people she’d raised were worth every day that disappeared.

Ian was on his porch, drinking coffee and smoking, squinting into the already warm morning sun. When she’d first returned to the court and was raising the kids, Emily hid her smoking, worrying about influencing their habits.

Eventually, Dawn pulled Emily aside and told her not to worry. “Nobody smokes any more. You can’t even do it in bars. And anyway, if one of us wants to, we will. I mean, you’re our guardian, Emily, and we love you, but you’re not our parents.”

She’d been right. The only one of the bunch who smoked was Ian and he’d been doing it since before Emily returned from the Sidhe. Ian was weird, though, which was probably why he still lived at the court.

“Hey, you want a cup?” Ian called as Emily walked up. She skipped up the steps with the ease of practice and fell into the chair she always fell into.

Lighting a cigarette as Ian poured coffee into the mug he’d brought out for her, Emily marvelled at how long she’d known him. He’d been born just before she’d turned thirteen, finally feeling comfortable taking care of babies, no longer worrying that she’d drop them. The youngest of the first wave of Royal Oak court kids, he’d rounded out her babysitting watch to five. When his sister came along two years later Emily had felt like an expert. She watched the kids after school and on weekends, doing her homework while arbitrating fights, teaching letters and watching the babies become people. When she’d returned to the mundane world, it’d been a sixteen-year old Ian with a sad excuse for a moustache who’d recognised her and re-introduced her to the kids she’d known as infants.

“It’s not too hot to drink.” He crushed his stub into the ugly clay ashtray somebody had made in grade school.

“Yeah. I was just thinking.”

“You always get all mopey around your birthday.”

Emily shot him a look. “The word is contemplative and I believe I have good reason.”

“For sure,” Ian nodded sagely. “I just mean I should have remembered.”

“Well, I forgot it was my damn birthday until Tanis reminded me.”

“And that it was your anniversary yesterday too, I bet.” He grinned and ran a hand through the thick, dark hair he kept long, because it attracted girls.

“Shut up, Ian.”

They sat companionably in silence, gazing out at the empty trailers. There were thirteen all together, about half of them double-wides. After the adults had returned to the Sidhe to reclaim their place, everyone had tried to continue living in the homes they’d grown up in. But it was too eerie, with half the trailers completely abandoned and the rest echoing with memory. Even if most of the kids were in high school, they were still children in the end. They eventually crowded into three units, throwing dust covers over the furniture in the rest of the trailers before locking them up.

Once in a while, somebody would need something from their former home and a group would get together to go diving into the past. It was mostly a sad affair. Only Emily, Mathilde, Ian and his sister Hannah stayed in their family homes. Mathilde had been twelve when the adults left and she still held a grudge against everyone for it.

“Heard from Matty?” Emily finished her coffee, throwing the silt from the French press over the railing.

“You mean, has Hannah heard from Matty and decided to share that fact with me?”

Emily snorted. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I guess she’s doing some mini-tour of Europe between semesters, saw no reason to come back here instead.”

“Yeah, Matty wouldn’t.”

When Mathilde had graduated high school early and gone off to one of the score of colleges courting her, she’d selected a school as far away from the Royal Oak trailer court as she could get. The three other court kids who’d gone to four-year colleges had all picked something in the same state.

“Hannah should be here in about a week though.” Ian stretched terracotta-brown legs into a beam of sun, casting a shadow on his curled-up cat, who looked up angrily before tucking its nose back down. “I think she’s finally run out of notable natural landmarks to visit.”

“What was her latest postcard—a bunch of redwoods?” Emily stubbed her cigarette and stood.

“Yeah, which reminds me. She sent one for us to forward to Abby. I can take it with the latest batch of film tonight, if you want to sit watch at the arbour.”

Emily’s groan matched the creak of the stairs as she left. “It’s my birthday, Ian. Get Michael to do it.”

“Aw, he hates sitting watch.”

“Tell him it can be his present to me.”

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This post is part of The Consoling Divide – Serialised. See the archive and overall content warnings here, and find more of my writing here. I’m over on both Comradery and Patreon, if you feel like supporting my creative endeavours. If you’d like to subscribe to this story, here’s a handy email box for you:

I’ve backed myself into a corner with too many small projects eating just nibbles of time that end up being most of the pie, if you know what I mean. So, here I am again on the weekend doing a blogpost when I prefer to be posting mid-week. But that’s FINE. And you know what, rather than a tab cleanout/link roundup, I will just be like: Hey could you read my book?

It’s not out yet, mind you. That’s the catch. It starts serialising tomorrow and I’ve been basically planning for that all year. You can get it in your inbox, follow it on RSS, or just go to the page for it and read the chapters as they arrive.

All the sections are queued up to land in the late morning, Pacific time, every Sunday from tomorrow until late April next year which is WILD. Thank you, WordPress post queueing system. I love to queue.

I even have queued up the social announcements for the updates, thanks to PostyBirb. And to keep myself remembering to do the thing you need to do where you bump your posts to make sure they aren’t lost, I made pull quotes for each section.

There’s a spreadsheet for this project, because of course there is.

So, I found posts on Tumblr that were not mine but were aesthetically “it” and logged those. The intent had been to OC tag them but then I decided not to and just reblogged as normal. The idea was like?? “Dressing the room.” Like underlining some tropes and themes.

And then a sheet of “op” posts that came to mind while I was doing the pre-serialisation edit. Musing on themes, etc. This is my fave:

But overall, I forget to post? Like, to the point a friend told Chase “tell B to post more,” lol, lmao. Anyway, here was my attempt: a thoughtfully planned out series of vibe posts.

The main sheet though, that I’m honestly proud of, helped me keep track of what sections were called, their URLs, when they were queued for, what sassy little thing to say in the promo post I’d be queueing, what the pull quote was (so I could do proper alt text for the images), word count to make sure it fell within Bluesky limits, etc.

You can’t tell yet but the lines will grey as the dates pass.

Anyway!! That’s me. That’s what’s going on in the background while I grumble over learning Decker and write another book that hopefully won’t take me ten years, and accidentally put off writing the next newsletter, and try to learn knitting, and get into sewing my own clothes again, and, and, and.

Because I love giving myself too much to do, I joined the NeoTwiny Jam. I was looking for a writing jam, a friend of mine had found a cool one last year on Itchio and I was hoping to do the same. I don’t have the capacity for a game jam, not really in general and not with the handful of other things I have going on (serialising a book, writing another one, angrily teaching myself to knit). But the NeoTwiny Jam is just: make an Interactive Fiction game that is no more than 500 words (not counting code, etc.).

It’s not limited to Twine, so while I was playing previous years’ entries I looked up what engines or programs folks were using and encountered Decker. It’s influenced by HyperCard, which is what caught my eye particularly. I first encountered HyperCard in fifth grade, and I don’t think I finished anything but it set a seed in my mind about the things one could do with computers besides write on them. The look of the program was familiar to me, because I often spent library time playing Spelunx, which is an enigmatic little thing that is barely a game so much as an experience.

Obviously, HyperCard did not open up some world where I became a game designer or coder or anything (though it’s something I like to play with!. But it was fun, and it softened the earth of my mind to make it something that HTML could grow in, when I encountered it much later (in college, because that’s when LiveJournal was a thing). And that was a garden I kept returning to, in bits and pieces, to now, as I teach myself SQL for work and piece together formulas in Excel.

Or, you know, teaching myself to make games.

Computers were something in my primary and grade schools, were mostly absent in middle school and in high school were primarily used for baby’s first emails (from a hotmail, on the library PCs) or learning Photoshop on candy-coloured iMac G3s. We had a home PC, but it was for writing, mostly, or playing Chip’s Challenge, for which we had a notebook of codes (from our auntie, who’d beaten the game), and maps (drawn ponderously as we played).

Decker is different from HyperCard, but it’s familiar in a way that smooths the bumps of learning a new program some, ah, three? decades later. I’m having fun! I’m plotting my game out on grid paper, like I often do before taking something into a spreadsheet or VSC. I’m excited to have found something with such a solid limit that is also so familiar (500 words, just like my yearly Flash Fiction run), so I can’t over-scope the thing. Too much, anyway.

I only read FOUR books this month, and not that much else (short story-wise) which is thanks to reading two non-fiction. I said this in the latest newsletter but I get distracted reading non-fiction books. I see something interesting and want to look up more about it! Chase has been teasing me about the quantity of non-fiction I’ve read this year, which isn’t that much really! I’ve read eight non-fiction titles this so far year and I read eight last year, but I suppose the year isn’t done yet and there’s more nonsense out there for me to read-learn about.

The Storygraph reviews for my top three books:

Ecology of Fear: Los Angeles And The Imagination Of Disaster by Mike Davis

Fascinating and thorough, I spent as much time looking things up that Davis mentioned as I did reading this book. In the nearly thirty years from publication to no, so much has changed and so much remains the same.

This month I finally read a Mike Davis book, instead of having bits told to me, or seeing snippets! City of Quartz is big on my to-read and I would have gone for that, but Chase read the first bit of this one and was like “you need to read this actually.” Davis’ opening section touches on the ecosystem of Los Angeles County/Southern California (not! deserts! it’s a Mediterranean climate, which is a rare and beautiful and weird thing!) and the bounty of life here. Have a taste:

The biodiversity of Mediterranean regions is, in fact, only second to that of tropical rainforests. California lone has more than seven thousand native plants, nearly a third more than Texas, the next most species-rich state.

Like yeah to be fair California and Texas both have a lot of landmass, but also both feature some unique confluences of climate that create wild little specified biomes. Anyway, the whole book could have been about the ecosystem and I’d’ve been delighted but it ranges from forest fires, some City of Quartz city-growth aligned stuff, tornadoes (not! uncommon here actually!!), and finishes off with a look at LA being destroyed in fiction–which is clearly where Davis had a Very Fun Time.

Escape from Pompeii: The Great Eruption of Mount Vesuvius and Its Survivors by Steven L. Tuck

A very thorough and thoughtful look at possible and probable survivors of the Vesuvius eruption and what we can understand about their lives, communities and the response to the disaster.

This is such a well laid-out book. It’s like a dissertation or paper, proving step by step the paths of survivors from the Vesuvius eruption through their impact on the communities they fled to. There’s bits where its very like the “begat” books of the bible, as Tuck’s methodology is comparing inscriptions of names, most of which are funerary. But then suddenly you’re learning about a family with a bunch of very business-forward women who are identified partly thanks to their support of the Temple of Venus. Or the family that was The garum family.

This book I picked up thanks to encountering some article (not this one but I’m sure also from around 2024) and placing a request on the book before it was published. Hmmm, maybe I am becoming a non-fiction reader.

The Body by Bethany C. Morrow

Hoo-Wee, what a ride. The barbed wire teeth of a Type of church and expectation of marriage the tightrope walked to the unexpected but inevitable end.

I could have *sworn* that I’d read this thanks to someone’s recommendation, but as it wasn’t from the one person I thought it was I’m lost to guess which source put it into my orbit. It was!! Icky!! Fascinating and a fun horror to read but didn’t leave much of an impression for me (which is fine! sometimes one just wants to take a ride). I think maybe particularly yucky for folks from specific Church type backgrounds with controlling families.

There was only one other read in April, but it was an audio book, however, here’s the grid:

Boy oh boy, I have never heard someone have as much fun narrating an audio book as Max Meyers narrating The Works of Vermin by Hiron Ennes. They do the voices! They sing!! They chew the scenery and if you’re of a specific age you can hear the ’90s anime voice acting influence. Big big recommend, glad I decided that Chase would enjoy this and that I’d like to reread it in audio with them.

I’m well sick of non-fiction right now but a pal has recommended a series that looks very available for checkout so I’ll ideally be cleansing my palette with a big ol’ hunk of genre in June.

It’s funny, because I’ve had this blog for ages and ages and have gone through bouts of regular blogging between spells of nothing, so there are bits here that I am sure I set up with great intent and then promptly forgot about. Like there’s a whole “Links” section to make a blogroll I can drop into the sidebars etc? I have a permanently in-progress Links Page, yet I kind of want to also utilise the neat built-in option, even though I feel like I have more than enough going on in my sidebar.

The links that are in the WP built-in for the blogroll are all so old. It’s wonderful how many people in them I still know, have followed from site to site. Who I still send holiday cards to. What a time capsule. I link to my shared Google Reader.

I feel sometimes like I’m trying to relearn things I used to know. Commenting on other people’s stuff, searching out other people’s work. Make the world you want, etc.

I think, its a bit? I am jealous of some of the more basic, or hand coded, or “classic” blogs folks have. I love building a site! I have too many things in general going on though, so finding the time feels like a promised struggle. At the start of each year I plot out goals (small, medium, large) and my multi-planner system has been now honed to break things into digestible parts so I actually do accomplish all these (small, medium, large) things I want to do. So maybe next year I’ll make a ~fun~ site.

For no reason other than breaking up this post, please enjoy this side-by-side from my texts-to-self of a photo I took at the aquarium and a speed paint I did from it.

Anyway for fun, as we’re coming up on the middle of the year why don’t I indulge myself in seeing how many words I’ve written:

Fiction

I am writing something longform and if we’re only looking at words on the page, not supplementary worldbuilding stuff, that project got some 9,705 words in this calendar year (there’s a total of some like 37k, but other projects have eaten into my writing time).

For Flash Fiction February 2026 it looks like I knocked out 16,747 of words across 28 flash pieces (more stats here).

I haven’t done more than make loose notes on other fiction this year so far, which is! fine! obviously!! (or I wouldn’t be using exclamation points). I have actually some non-fiction and fnanfic goals this year but we’re not there yet.

Other

In blog posts this year I’ve racked up 12,178 words of posting weekly. The big thing here is I’m trying to just, you know, post. Like not always About A Thing. I am making it About A Thing here because whatever, but I am trying to just blog like a normal person, like the person I once was who blogged.

Over at the newsletter, somehow it’s only 10,113 words across six months of monthly newsletters, it seems like it should be more? But I think the photos make it feel bigger.

I’m not going to count my Patreon/Comradery posts (of which I’ve made 30 so far this year), because those are like, emails basically.

And the total is

48,743, which is both a lot and not much. This year I’ve also broken a book up for serialisation, sewn clothes, finished a quilt, finished a big metadata project (would you believe that the post about that is one of my longer blog posts). I love stats but I have to be careful because they mean nothing but numbers are so tempting to quantify.

Anyway, this is my mid-year check-in of like: I am doing things actually. I like the things I’m doing. It’s good, actually, to want to do more and do better because what a hell it would be to have nowhere to grow.

I’m rather behind, in many things I suppose right now, which is fine! It’s fine. I’ve had full (and lovely) weekends recently and was hoping I could have something nice and restful and fruitful this long weekend but that’s not how it’s going to shake out which! is! fine!! So let’s just have a tab cleanout for the blog post this week.

human.json, as it is described on GIT “A lightweight protocol for humans to assert authorship of their website content and vouch for the humanity of others.” It’s very interesting and seems straightforward and easy to implement.
status: moved to REF: Web & Computer

Corridor Crew’s video on Disney’s sodium vapour effect process, which was represented in my phone by a tab that was a search on DDG for “mary poppins special effect background.” I can’t even remember why I was looking for it, it certainly wasn’t to watch a video essay? I wanted to know what it was called, I think? In finishing the search sat undone until now I also found a post saying they did not find the prism, or otherwise disputing the stories around the prism.
status: whatever caused me to care has passed, but I did find what it was called hooray

Schrodinger’s Cat Burglar, from Abandoned Sheep, over on Steam. My sibling has been streaming this and it feels like Portal 2 with cats from the trailer.
status: added to my Steam wishlist

Harvard Sentences, which are “sample phrases used for standardised testing of Voice over IP, cellular, and other telephone systems.” I suppose the “quick fox jumps over the lazy dog” of sounds, then. Fascinated by this, not sure I want to test my voice against them, but I love their existence.
status: moved to Sounds

Game accessibility guidelines, with why/how, three levels of guidelines, an Excel checklist download. And, of course, the guides. Important stuff to know and have!!
status: moved to WIP/REF: Gamewriting

Webcomic Studio, a hub for reading and publishing indie webcomics.
status: moved to LINKS: Websites (Retro/Coding)

taylor titmouse’s guide for improving your itchio store page, this is a great guide and although I’m doing some of it on some things on my Itch, I’m not doing all.
status: moved tab from mobile to main computer, in my “to-do” window

The following I am just adding into a new bookmark folder I am calling “puzzles” so I can just open it and stop leaving tabs open:

• 2025 (make 45 groups of 45)
• Tiled Word (crosswords but you build the words)
• Reunion (letter tile world building, there are two small animals, I’m bad at it)
• Uncrossy (crosswords but you take apart the words)
• Trizzle (like a match three but with specific level ups of pieces)
• Blossom (make words from a selection of letters)

Okay and that’s the lot! Blog streak not broken and tabs cleaned!!