The Magic Nutshell

It's edible gourd season! Did you know that some of those cute little pumpkins that people stack in decorative heaps at this time of year are also delicious and stealthily nutritious vegetables? This fall, my family and friends have devoured over 25 of these tricky treats, which volunteered out of last year's decorative gourd compost! These are mini tiger stripe pumpkins, which have a mild and nutty flavor, pale greenish insides without that distinctive "pumpkin guts" smell, and a wealth of petite seeds delicate enough to roast without shelling and snack on like popcorn in front of a spooky Halloween movie. Pumpkin flesh and seeds are super snacks packed with vitamins, minerals, and fiber, and they're so yummy and festive that my family gobbles them up like any comfort food. Mini tiger stripes are the perfect size to stuff with stew, breakfast sausage and eggs (pictured above), or a wholesome treat like apple pie filling (pictured below).     You can buy tiger str

I am thrilled to announce the surprise release of my first novel! Leirah and the Wild Man: A Tale of Obsession and Survival at the Edges of the Byzantine World is now available for pre-order. Leirah dreams of stealing a Viking longship, hunting pirates, and freeing the world's thralls. As if by magic, the dragon boat of her fantasies appears at her backwoods homestead, and a crew of seductive outlaws invites her to join them in terrorizing the rich with disguises based on the monsters of local folklore. But Leirah fears their secretive interest in her favorite brother Aven. She takes him and flees on an epic journey down the length of the Danube, from the Black Forest to the Black Sea, through the gates of Constantinople, and into the last stronghold of the Goths.   on sale October 23, 2021 (hardcover)   and   November 11, 2021 (ebook) Nook Kindle   I released this book softly, with no marketing or distribution arrangements made in advance, so you will not find it already

Good news! I have accepted the death of my most cherished lifelong career dream, and that means I am ready to release my debut novel exactly the way I want to: full of blood and other juices, rich historical detail about places you've never visited in another book, a large cast of complex characters entangled in complicated relationships, historical authenticity beefed up with a healthy disregard for biased conventions, and an all-absorbing plot that moves at its most effective pace. Leirah and the Wild Man glides forth destined for a fate of cult classic, not bestseller. Let's... push... things... forward. (Shout out to nostalgic muse Mike Skinner of The Streets and his legendarily underrated Original Pirate Material .) Here she comes, my thirsty darling, like the Lady of Shalott floating off to her glorious doom after a fever-hot vision of Lancelot torched her will to stay locked up and safe in her tower. She won't live happily ever after, but she'll look flawless a

A few days ago, I wrote about the irrational anger at death that I discovered lurking under my grief and fear . Then I saw this poem by Gabrielle Calvocoressi, and it broke my heart open in a different place. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Gabrielle Calvocoressi (@gabbat) It is said in pop psychology that sadness lies beneath anger, but in myself I find layers of both, one upon another over and over again, glued together with veins of sticky sweet frustrated longings and backed up affections and other feelings wedged here and there untidily, which cannot be easily peeled apart and healed. I suspect that most people are like me in that way, more or less, and so they have patterns of mixed up emotional tissues unlike mine, in other disordered arrangements. Last week I realized once again, as I must do from time to time, that I am a coddled pet of this world, with so many privileges that a sense of entitlement sneaks up on me whenever I forget how a

When I see her, she looks like Santa Muerte dressed as the Virgin Mary in those robes designed after Isis' in an iconic Byzantine pose. So, she looks like Santa Muerte, who is what else but a pretend skeleton dressed up as her. I always thought her appearance--her gender even, and her anthropomorphism--were personalized just for me, based on my own arbitrary cultural associations and life experiences, that everyone else must see her differently, because she is actual disembodiment itself, but sometimes I read or hear a similar description of her by someone who has never met me, and my fragile flesh breaks out in goosebumps. She is always here, no matter how we dress her bones, whether we appreciate her or not. neon art by Martin Creed I met her in a Mexican meat market once, and she stole my breath. I choked on my own disbelief. She has no eyes, but she has frozen me with her gaze from inside the blank stare of a neglected child, the deadened flesh-mask of a drug addict, a loved on