Dog days

Well, I’m writing about a blizzard when it’s 90 outside (32 degrees Celsius, and it is only 9 am). My main characters are working through a northern boreal forest called the Devilwood on their way to the Northland city of Thornehold, the seat of Erikson Gray’s maternal grandfather. It is an exercise in juxtaposition.

When I started working on Noonday in the North, book three in my Absolution of the Morning Star series, it was February. Back then, it was easy to envision blowing snow and frigid temperatures as the scene out my living room window was much the same. Now, six months later, in the dog days of summer, not so much. I’m pushing forward, though. I pop on an ambient noise Youtube video of a blizzard and try to put myself in my characters’ shoes as they slug through waist-high drifts. It will likely be winter again (or at least close) when I finish Noonday in the North, so snow and cold will be first and forefront in many of my readers’ minds, so I have to get it just right. They won’t know or care that I was shirtless, sweating, and panting while writing these winter scenes.

The dog days of summer- that’s a strange phrase. So, what does a writer do? I look it up. Apparently, it’s a set moment on the yearly calendar. For 2022, it is July 3rd to August 11th. It carries over from Roman times and corresponds to the period the sun occupies the same region as Sirius, the brightest star in the sky and part of the constellation Canis Major- hence, dog days of summer. It is typically the warmest part of the season in the Northern Hemisphere. Anyway, I digress.

It has been in the 90s all week with no rain. We live close to Boston and its heat bubble, so we’re doomed to watch those afternoon thunderstorms dissipate before reaching us. This part of Massachusetts is in “severe drought.” By how my yellow grass crackles when I walk on it, I believe it. Throughout the world, this has been a record-breaking summer. Though, many of you probably already know that as you, too, suffer. A good swath of the US is in extreme and exceptional drought (https://droughtmonitor.unl.edu/). The UN estimates that 2.3 billion people are currently facing water stress. Scientists are touting doom and gloom, and politicians on one particular side of the aisle are saying, “that’s ridiculous,” as their bank accounts swell. Ah, what a time to be alive.

My wife and I are both economic and environmental people, and air conditioning is neither of these. We have held out as long as we could, but with the forecast proclaiming a high of 97 today (35 Celsius) and with the temperature not dropping below 90 until 7 pm, our little AC is finally going in the bedroom window (it is currently 88 in there and rising). We enjoy the fresh breeze that blows from the ocean through that window, and our AC is loud and feels artificial, so this is a sad time for us. My wife is also Chinese and cold wind is feared and despised in traditional Chinese medicine. But, it’s either cold wind or heat stroke. Mother nature is not playing around.

Every year, my wife and I look forward to the Mulberry season. There is something joyful and primal about nursing on the teat of mother nature. We put on crappy clothes, apply sunblock and bug spray, and venture into the scant city wilderness in search of these lovely berries, buckets in hand. You’d be surprised how many of these magic trees are around a city- entirely overlooked by most. We eat as many as possible in the season and then stock our freezer for smoothies. Our stores typically last until the following season. On a good trip, we can gather about five pounds of antioxidant goodness and, by the end of July, have ten pounds in our freezer. We return from our adventures, hands stained blue, and feel fulfilled with our treasure hunt. But this year, not so much. We had one good run of full buckets, a few half bucket trips, and then disappointment to see the berries gone and trees withered. Apples, too, are not doing well this year, with trees dropping their fruit early to survive- so much for our fall scavenger hunt.

Being a writer forces me to observe my word- whether it’s human behavior, the ebb and flow of the seasons, or the feeling of mulberry syrup on my fingers, I have to be attuned to the world. What it is telling me is troubling. I think that many of us have lost touch with nature. We see the news and say, “yeah, it’s hot and dry,” but then switch on the AC and turn on the sprinklers while we go back to watching the drama of the January 6th hearings. Stop for a moment and look up. Look where we are- COVID, Monkey Pox, the Ukraine war, insurrection of the capital, rise of authoritarian rule, recession, inflation, rolling blackouts, wildfire, historical temperatures, and drought. I write dark fantasy, so I know all about doom and gloom, but these days truth is scarier than fiction. I can’t help asking, is this the end of days?

Well, back to writing about snow. I suppose it’s poetic to dwell in the artic as the world burns- but I miss the calm before the storm with temperate summers and a freezer full of mulberries. Don’t focus on it, Scott. Use it for inspiration- set book four in a desert waste after the empire falls and famine strikes the land. Good idea! *scribbles a note.

Cheers!