Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Food of the Gods
Hub and I buy most of our groceries at the local Asian market because they're cheaper, tastier and more unpredictable than the ones at the regular chains. Every week or so we make the drive to get long skinny Chinese eggplants, chubby striped Mexican zucchini, leeks, chard, pod peas, Thai basil for pesto, as well as Malaysian cream crackers and coconut biscuits. Recently the market started carrying different kinds of mochi, and we bought lots of the matcha (green tea) variety, having loved it since Japan; but last week we discovered mango. Surely the kami favored us that day.
Just opening the box and breathing in the fragrance was heaven, and those little bundt-cake shapes were so adorably cute. Then it only got better: the most tender fresh glutinous rice wrapping , satiny to the teeth, just sweet enough, enrobing an ambrosial smooth mango conserve. I could have scarfed the whole 6-piece box in a sitting, but had to leave some for Hub.
I'm almost tempted to start a food blog.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Finding It Everywhere
Chilly, chilly winds blowing
Lovely spring coming soon
I wear my body like a caravan
Gipsy rover in a magic land
Misty mountains where the eagles fly
Lonely valleys where the lost ones cry
I had a little letter full of paper
Inky scratches everywhere
Always looking, looking for a paradise island
Help me find it everywhere
~The Incredible String Band, 'Ducks On A Pond'
Bleak and gray as the weather's been, I managed to snap a picture of the daffies in my yard whilst the sun was shining. It's hard for me to exercise patience at this time of year, but I take heart in knowing that the days will grow ever warmer, and this terrible winter will die at last.
I've been more active on Facebook lately, because it's a warm feeling to have friends. Although I'll always be a nomad in my heart, and the lyrics I've quoted above have many meanings for me, it's a pleasure to rein in at that Internet caravanserai.
The Kind Gods now has 211 downloads at Smashwords since I posted it a week ago, a response I never expected. I'm working at completing another short story, Everafter Acres, which I'll probably send off to e-zines for consideration because street cred counts, but the instant gratification of Smashwords was what I needed in this gray interval between ice and awakening.
Since its publication only a couple of months ago, The Ryel Saga has sold hundreds of Kindle copies, but so far has only a single Amazon review. I'm of course delighted with it because it's five stars and from the well-known critic Red Adept; I just wish it had more company!
CK
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Cutting Diamonds
Did the old gods really die? A warrior seeks answers at the burial-mound of his greatest enemy.
The story has only been up since last night and already has 60 downloads, all of which are of versions not as good as the final cut, which bothers me. I don't want anything but my best to show. Fortunately the cover, which I also made, is exactly as I wish.
CK
Monday, March 01, 2010
All Me, All Now
I've also redecorated my website, A Writing Life. Colors and format continue to be spare and restrained.
CK
Monday, February 08, 2010
Catching the Glow
Sunday, November 22, 2009
The Soul's Secrets
Vibrates in the memory. ~Shelley
Recently, a discussion board I frequent asked its members what sorts of music they had on their players. I looked over my Sandisk files and made a list, starting with what inspires me most.
World and ethnic: Milongas, taksims, kizombas, fados, cumbias, rumbas, reels. Klezmer, gitana, Griot, gidayu, sirtos, llanera. Gamelans, kotos, ouds, sitars. One of my most favorite songs is Baaba Maal's 'Lam Tooro,' that always makes me think of swaying camel-back on the Silk Road.
Baroque: Bach, Corelli, Couperin, Rameau, Purcell, Handel, Hayden, Lully, Monteverdi, Scarlatti, Telemann, Vivaldi. I'm wild about harpsichords.
Renaissance: Dowland, Frescobaldi, Machaut, Monteverdi, Gibbons, Praetorius, Gabrieli. I collect versions of Dowland's lute song "Can She Excuse My Wrongs."
Ambient: Air, Michael Hedges, Pierre Bensusan, Shadowfax, Enigma, Sasha and Digweed, Paco di Lucia, Ottmar Liebert, Strunz and Farah, Infected Mushroom, Jazzanova, Gotan Project, De Phazz.
Blues: King (Freddy, B. B., Albert), Musselwhite, Mayall, Clapton, Guy, Hammond, Hooker, Sumlin, Wells, Allison, Vaughn, Mahal, Mo'.
Jazz: Chet Baker, Charlie Mingus, Cal Tjader, Jack McDuff, Ponty, Corea, Metheny, Davis, Monk, Keith Jarrett when he isn't vocalizing.
Celtic: Altan, Lunasa, Celtic Nots, Liz Carroll, Natalie MacMaster, Slainte. I'm pretty picky with Celtic, and like it modal and traditional.
Classical and opera: Beethoven, Chopin, Rachmaninov, Bartok, Dvorak, Satie, Debussy, Faure, de Falla, Tchaikosky, Schumann, Schubert, Puccini, Verdi; not much Mozart. I have a huge fondness for Beverly Sills and Joan Sutherland, and collect versions of favorite arias.
Bluegrass: Ranges from old (Bill Monroe, etc.) to new (String Cheese Incident, Bela Fleck). I collect versions of 'Salt Creek,' and my favorite so far is the guitar duet with Doc and Merle Watson.
Rock: Eighties alternative (stuff that never made it to the commercial airwaves, alas), Motown, Fifties classics, Sixties icons (Stones, Who, Hendrix, etc.), Seventies punk.
Friday, November 06, 2009
The Art of Ending
As the old saying goes, "Great is the art of beginning, but still greater is the art of ending."
It's always good to know when to quit. In anticipation of winter, that clean, sere season, I'm paring down the superfluities in my life, striving for less junk in every form, and more time spent profitably; never getting too comfortable, and traveling as lightly as I can.
Still, as seriously as I take this life of mine--since we know not the day nor the hour when everything will fall apart forever--I never forget to have fun. At present I'm putting the finishing touches on a new short story, dedicated to Anne Braude who was more generally known as Talpianna, that wryly explores what happens after Happily Ever After. I'm sorry she won't be reading it.
CK
Monday, October 26, 2009
Pourvu!
My Kindle sales for the past few days have been in the three digits, and I'm delighted. This post commemorates my books' current status as bestsellers in the top 100 of the entire Fantasy category. Ranks change hour by hour, but shining moments are priceless. I thank everyone who's reading me.
Last week the Ryel Saga was included in Barnes and Noble's eBook catalog. I'm so glad I'm no longer sacrificing trees.
CK
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Safely Gathered In
The passage of time should have its celebrations.
I took this picture at a local grocery last week:
Friday, October 16, 2009
Where I Am
Lately the graph would show a marked upswing. Ever since my birthday--September 1, the start of my personal new year as I noted in an earlier post--my Kindle book sales have surprised me. In the last month, 130 people have bought my works on Amazon. Very soon, Barnes and Noble will be carrying the e-versions of my books via Smashwords, and I'll have the chance to see if it's really true that good things rise to the top.
More welcome news: although I've been out of the loop for a while, today I received an invitation to attend a fantasy con as a guest professional. It made me remember the wonderful times I had at Norwescon and WorldCon, and convinced me that it's time I got out more. Finally.
CK
Sunday, October 04, 2009
The Price of Light
Monday, September 21, 2009
Twig By Twig
Tomorrow marks the autumnal equinox, officially the last day of summer. For the past many years I've viewed the event with regret either bitter or resigned, but this one's different. This winter I'll be warmed by memories of harvest and the promise of even greater growth to come.
Some time ago while writing in a forum I invented a character named Yin Qi, an imperial concubine called Autumn Grass by the other court ladies in mocking reference to her advanced age (she was thirty) and inferior rank (she was of very minor nobility, from the barbaric northern steppes). What inspired her creation was a picture by Shibata Zeshin, c. 1870:
The first time I ever saw this exquisite image, the original of which is worth a trip to New York where it lives, I instantly recalled Archibald MacLeish's riskily precious wish that
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind—
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
In a story I've submitted to a flash fiction journal, I describe the moon through a warrior's eyes, as a shield of gold dented from countless blows. [Note: the story was accepted, and can be found on this blog at https://carolynkephart.blogspot.com/2022/01/short-fiction-kind-gods.html.]
It is always best to fulfill old dreams before moving on to others. Then on to everything else, uncounted pages else. It doesn't matter, the passage of the equinoxes. I will move as the moon climbs.
CK
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
The Lady and the Mage
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Hot Off The Presses
There are a few corrections that will be made in the next day or so. A phrase in the first paragraph should read "Whenever his behavior became simply too appalling."
Another short story, 'The Kind Gods,' will hopefully be hitting print fairly soon. And I've finally gotten around to finding the right ending for another yarn that I've been fussing over for ages, 'The Heart's Desire.' The two couldn't be more different: one is a Vikingesque afterlife dilemma from a warrior's perspective, and the other's set in an all-too-near future involving a government scryer and her discovery of the ultimate secret language.
I'm having fun.
CK
Friday, August 28, 2009
Flowering Fortunes
This could well be one of the best creative years I've had in a long time. Last week, the rights to my two novels reverted exclusively to me, and I've decided to make both books available solely as digital versions for the time being. No sooner did they appear on Mobipocket the other night than they began generating sales. Today, Smashwords (which carries my short story 'Regenerated') sent me an e-mail announcing their affiliation with Barnes and Noble, for which my books will apparently qualify. My short story 'Last Laughter,' to appear in a few days as part of the fall issue of Silver Blade, will be yet another birthday present.
I'm now working on combining Wysard and Lord Brother into a single volume as they were originally meant to be, including in the text all the passages that fell to the cutting-room floor because of page constraints in the paper versions. Many other projects are competing for my attention, though, and I'll try to give them all quality time.
Among those projects will be a story dedicated to a friend who recently passed away. Anne Braude, better known as Talpianna to the numerous acquaintance that cherished her, affected my life more than her gentle whimsical nature would have ever taken credit for, and I know I'm not the only one so privileged. Namaste, Anne.
CK
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Coming Soon...No, Really
Now it's a decade later and I'm tired of feeling guilty. Making Wysard and Lord Brother available for the Amazon Kindle has gained me many new readers and I'm very grateful, but only guys like Homer get away with just two books to their credit. Yes, there were reasons, some of them dire, for my lack of output, but that was then. I have four novel manuscripts in varying stages of completion, and they will be completed, but I was hankering for the sweet taste of some immediate recognition, so to that end I dusted off a short story that had been moldering in my skull for years, finished it, and sent it out into the world. 'Last Laughter,' a fable involving a wicked court jester and his comeuppance, will appear in Silver Blade Quarterly at the end of this month. It's a free read, and I welcome comments.
Lots more to come. Finally.
CK
Sunday, August 02, 2009
On Shining Brightly
When speaking of reflection, I don't mean the current hyperactive obsession to make oneself an object of dedicated perpetual scrutiny. There is nothing more limiting than self, and when it comes to the things of the mind, people desperately need to get out more. It's crucial for the betterment of the world, which is quite literally dying for a dose of sublimity. The worst of what we are is being exalted. Popular entertainment is mining our baseness and reaching rock bottom. Most of what purports to be uplifting is doing it for the dollar, and is cloying and condescending. It's bafflingly, appallingly childish, this joy in kicking over what was built with care, in smearing and scrawling, in the gleeful obsession with the low and the vulgar.
When a toddler tries to run out into the traffic, it's testing the gentle caring arms that will pull it back into an embrace that is meant to sustain as much as restrain. The current state of societal arrested development both annoys and disturbs me, but more babysitters isn't the answer. We need to be better parents to ourselves, and grow not only up, but outward. We need to quit stuffing our selves with junk and defacing our minds and bodies and deliberately putting ourselves in harm's way simply because there's no one there to stop us. Little children are precious beings full of promise; why should that be any less true all their lives?
CK
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Way Of The Sword
Having enjoyed the 2008 Japanese public television drama Atsuhime (described a few posts down), I moved on to Musashi last week, expecting the same gorgeous, decorous inaction. I couldn't have been more surprised...or thrilled. Musashi takes place in a man's world, where the way of the sword is exalted and all other considerations are deemed secondary, if not worthless.
Musashi, the story of Japan's legendary fighter, began as a nearly 1000-page novel written by Eiji Yoshikawa in 1935, and has gone on to sell 120 million copies and inspire 36 films. Watching the 50-hour televised version (2003) is like enjoying the novel as it had been conceived, in serial format.
I knew I wasn't in the Shogun's Ooku (women's quarters) any more when the story opened with the aftermath of the Battle of Sekigahara (1600), and the young soldiers Musashi and his friend Matahachi struggled their way out of heaps of dead bodies steaming in the cold dawn. The action follows the novel with faithful attention, all the performances by the numerous cast are flawless, and the gritty realism, especially coming after Atsuhime's courtly decorum, is often startling. The lead is played by a rivetingly charismatic young Kabuki performer, and the rest of the cast make up a Who's Who of Japan's acting talent.
So far I'm at Episode 28 and have witnessed every kind of desperate peril and deadly combat, along with tender devotion, offhand lust, remorseless hatred, gnawing inner anguish and hilarious broad humor, all amid striking scenery, engagingly ramshackle towns, and those exquisite interiors, rustic, regal, or religious, that Japan is famed for. The plot teems with ronin, thieves, magicians, brigands, ninja, madmen, warrior monks and nobles. The women range from demure maidens to brazen harlots, vengeful hags to dauntless warrior-lasses. The swordplay's constant, vicious, and uncannily graceful.
But I'm enjoying Musashi most because the underlying theme is love, the kind that makes great sacrifices without regard to self, denying one's own happiness for a greater good. Miyamoto Musashi only gradually becomes a hero, owing his transcendence to the wise and gentle people he meets in his wanderings, who teach him that without beauty, life is meaningless, and that the creation of beauty is man's best employment; that the way of the sword is an empty, futile path. The final showdown looms, but I'm taking the story slowly, savoring a world that seems alien to the point of fantasy to my Western eyes, and yet so fundamentally, placelessly, timelessly human.
How I wish I could read the novel in the original! Ah well, perhaps next life.
The portal to all of Musashi's online episodes is here.
CK
Friday, June 12, 2009
Terry And The Bumrolls
(Information about my other writing can be found here. Happy reading!)
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I love costume. Not mere clothes, especially not the current mode best described as Goodwill Meets Frederick’s, but beautiful dress-up garments. The other night I watched Alfred Hitchcock's To Catch A Thief, and the gold lamé gown worn by Grace Kelly at the climactic ball, baring superb shoulders and trailing acres of glittering panniered skirts, had me palpitating far more than did the film’s famed rooftop chase.
Gorgeous dress is part of the historical periods I prefer, which explains my particular fondness for 1400 to 1700. Few clothes are more becoming to both genders than Van Dyck’s, but I’ll admit that late Elizabethan togs are the last word in bizarre. They distorted the body in freakishly perplexing ways, and getting into them was a major feat. William Harrison, writing in 1577, long before matters got totally out of hand, railed in Holinshed’s Chronicles:
“…then must we put it on, then must the long seames of our hose be set by a plumb-line, then we puffe, then we blow, and finallie sweat till we drop, that our clothes may stand upon us…In women also it is most to be lamented that they doo now farre exceed the lightnesse of our men …What should I saie of their doublets with pendant cod peeses on the brest full of jags and cuts, and sleeves of sundrie colours? Their galligascons to beare out their bums and make their attire to sit plum round (as they terme it) about them? Their fardingals, and diverslie coloured nether stocks of silke, ierdseie, and such like, whereby their bodies are rather deformed than commended?”
The 1570s were the heyday of the bumroll, a stuffed fabric ring worn under skirts to give the illusion of wider hips, and hence a smaller waist. I’d never really gotten up close and personal with a bumroll until 2002, when I attended WorldCon in San Jose. Among the con’s plethora of parties was a crush given in honor of Terry Pratchett by the Costumer’s Guild. (I call it a crush rather than a bash, because in consideration of Mr. Pratchett’s following among very young persons, there was no alcohol present save for the whacking big snifter of brandy that the guest of honor, dapper in a crimson velvet Edwardian smoking jacket, held in one hand as he greeted his guests.) The Guild’s membership was, as I recall, entirely female, and I inadvertently stepped on many a brocaded train as I mingled, sipped the innocent punch, admired the Discworld chess set that was to be auctioned off, and asked the costumed ladies about their garments, which were beautifully made and often exquisitely whimsical. The gown I recall most was an Elizabethan farthingale that combined two contrasting aloha-shirt fabrics, red and blue, worn with a choker necklace composed of a row of tiny plastic palm trees sewn onto a velvet band, jutting out fronds first. The young woman wearing this piquant confection was silvery blonde, slim, lovely and charming, and it was she who enlightened me as to why her skirts belled out with such angular symmetry, inspiring the title of these reflections.
Later on in the Virgin Queen's reign, for reasons not readily explicable, the simple bumroll evolved into a vast wheel big enough to break a cutpurse on, the bodice elongated into a point that makes today’s viewer wince to behold, sleeves swelled into blimp-like enormities, ruffs reared up behind the head like the back of a peacock chair, and, given the scant hygiene that prevailed, waking life must have been close to unbearable. Below is a portrait of Her Majesty rigged out in this bizarre and mercifully short-lived fashion. (Regarding WorldCon, I’d made Terry Pratchett’s acquaintance the day before the party, and a rum encounter it was; bittersweet to recall, now. I’ll write about it soon.)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Unexpected Treasure
To the Chinese, the peony was queen of the garden, a sentiment I share. I can't grow roses because the deer eat the buds, but I add to my peony collection as much as I can. So far all I have are the bush varieties that flaunt their splendor far too briefly, but a friend recently told me that there's a tree version which yields longer-lasting flowers. I shall find, select, and plant straightway, to enjoy at next year's springtide. Mono no aware is an increasingly painful sensation as time passes, and All Now is becoming more and more my slogan.
CK