I’ve got a new story published with CBAY books, “Bread and Bones” in the Giants and Ogres anthology. It was actually out two weeks ago, but between sick pets, a stream of visiting family, and a minor incident involving a toaster I forgot to post here, and made the announcement only on the old Twittersphere.
I'm pretty proud of this one - first PAID publication. I'd make it rain (drizzle, at least) but I had to buy food. I'll invoke old rain gods for the next one . . . I suppose I could still toss some baby spinach in the air, but it seems like a terrible waste.
I’d be pretty tickled if you read it (buying a copy or borrowing one from a friend, I’m not picky). The story is a little spooky, and a little sad. Please tell me what you think; reviews help more than you can imagine for a publication. Also, if you just want to compliment me directly (because it will just be good things, surely <nervous laugh>) I’m usually on twitter at least once every morning, and is a fast way to get in touch if you want to say hi.
To move on with!
We moved again! To Montreal, this time. We packed up the car, and left DC at the end of March, stopping over shortly in New Hampshire so that J--- could get some of his things from his family home, and say hello to some friends. He flew up early, and I waited until lease day. So, on April 1st, I packed up the car again, alone this time – but for two mistrustful angora cats, and an oblivious goldfish and drove north to our new home.
It was really muddy and a bit snowy when we got here (Montreal in March, after all), now it is sunny and red brick and lilac-tree lined. It's the adorable sort of neighbourhood that should have a theme song, and that theme song would be a proper early-90s theme song with lots of piano and some smooth jazz sax thrown in so you know that the place is a little funky. We live in the Plateau, and it's freaking cool. Literally the only way to describe the Plateau is cool – it’s literally one of the only ways to describe Montreal in general, so being in the Plateau is sort of cool squared. And we’re in a cool part of Plateau (my luck has never been this good for apartments). So, really it’s coolness cubed here. There’s probably an algorithm to describe this place.
My biggest struggle is getting my French up to snuff, and finding regular employment; even Shakespeare got to get paid, son. (Thank you, marriedtothesea, for years of quoting this).
But at least there was lots to keep me occupied when we moved in: the previous tenant (name of Chazz, I believe, and he deserved it) left the place in a bit of a state. I don't think a counter had been wiped, or a floor swept/mopped in the two years he had lived here. There were just garbage bags left in the living room. The cupboards were sticky in ways that cupboards should never be sticky (little tendrils of goo lifting up with my hand when I touched it levels, like he had coated them in honey for some arcane reason.) We found a package of scrubbing sponges and cleaners under the kitchen sink, unopened. They had lived a pretty idyllic life alongside Chazz, the halcyon days.
I love our apartment now, and perhaps because more than any other place I’ve/we’ve ever lived it feels like it is ours. The bonding of the DEEP CLEAN might have done it, but mostly I think it was the painting. Painting walls with the colours you chose creates such an intense sense of ownership it should be studied in university psychology classes.
To end with!
Current writing soundtrack: Lorde, “Pure Heroine” (Because I can’t get sick of this album)
Currently reading: Bone Clocks, by David Mitchell
(Because who doesn’t love an extended universe and a fight against shadowy malevolent evil?)