Kage Baker loved celebrating Lammas. High summer and Harvest combined. The exotic apple stand up one of the canyons above Avila Bay was finally open, and every day thunderheads floated out over the blue, blue Pacific. If we were going to have summer thunder storms, this is when we got them – and for Kage, those were God’s fireworks. We’d sit in the dark living room with cold cider to hand, and watch lightning strike down into the sea, and listen to the soundtrack from Frankenstein until the power inevitably went out.
Good times, man. Good times.
Today is August 1st, which is Lammas as ever was. It’s also the birthday of one of Kage’s favourites among her characters – the Dread Gard, born on a hot evening of thunder-weather, when the sky was grey …
July is finally gone. It’s been a slow walk through Hell for me, and I feel better just knowing the damned time is gone. I need a calendar change, a demarcation point, a change of season – also, Coke Black and iced coffee.
I haven’t been posting this July, Dear Readers, because it has been a slow walk through Hell and it’s better not to inflict those on other people. Especially ones you like. Creativity has curdled, my diabetes is being fractious, my agent keeps promising action but nothing has happened yet, two stories got rejected, and someone told me to stop referencing Kage because she no longer mattered. Also, the world in general has been decaying like an aged pumpkin.
All this means that I have essentially died during July. And no one likes a wrathful ghost. Writing daily blogs would have entailed dragging you all through a slow-motion emotional breakdown. I decided to refrain from that self-indulgence.
But now it’s Lammas, and August, and I can see September from here if I climb on a stump and jump a little. Much better. I have an appointment with an endocrinologist later this month. My new batch of Mullah coffee beans got here on time. I have plums and pluots and something new and celestial called a “chummy” – which is a hybrid of plums and cherries, or claims to be. Tastes like one, anyway, which means it is like kissing a young god … highly whoopee.
So anyway, I plan on resuming writing this month. If anyone is still listening, I hope I can still turn a phrase to please. If not, I shall shout hopefully into the abyss until someone answers.
As they say, the good side of hitting bottom is that it’s easier to head back up.