Glorious Lexicography

I plunk my ever-widening derrière into the seat at my desk and pound away at the keys on a nearly daily basis. I fill with verbiage letters to friends, three blogs, a couple of networking sites, and, thus far, nineteen books in varying forms of pajama-undress. Often I concoct scenes while hanging the laundry or driving somewhere.

Now and then I have a chance to contemplate what I do. At times discouragement looms on the horizon as I obsess over how many people aren't reading what I have to say. Why is it a single dad writing about dating woes or a style maven talking about the right purse with the right outfit get thousands of readers and I with my wild variety have only a dedicated few? Why do I have such a backlog of orphaned books waiting for publishing parents?

I shrug. Perhaps I'm doing it wrong. Perhaps I should be offering style tips (laughable as I'm the poster child for frump) or helpful relationship hints (also laughable since I'm still trying to forge a way through the marital ice myself) or non-stop blog hops and raffles. Maybe I should spend more of my time courting those 'parents' who will love my babies as I do.

Or not. At best they'll have to share the trip. This chair is where I live. This is where I stand, mental pith helmet firmly strapped to my head, hiking boots laced securely, as I gaze out over the vast escarpment, past rank on rank of whispering trees to the purpling mountains beyond. If you want, you can join me on Mars or a tour of the smoke vents at the bottom of the Marianas trench. We can go barrel racing or shoot aliens in deep space. My latest book will involve synesthesia.

Welcome to my world. Now get your SCUBA gear and your snowshoes and let's go.

Fade to Red

I climbed slowly down the ladder, bouncing a little at each step. The suit was ponderous, but I had worked out; I was ready for it, I hoped. First day on Mars. I wanted to stretch my arms and breathe deeply--which of course I couldn't.

As I hit the ground, I kicked up a little skiff of vermilion dust, which blew away in the stiff breeze. I tongued the suit com. "Starling here. Carbon dioxide--stable, nitrogen--up 23%, argon--stable, oxygen--down 3%. We have a stiff breeze coming from the north, which could kick up some serious iron oxide dust problems if we aren't careful. Out."

I was at Aeolis Mensae along with Lieutenant Jay Parker (who was taking an inordinate amount of time getting out here, by the way) and Ensign Sten Falco to study the tectonic signatures in the area. There were also research teams over near Olympus Mons and Valles Marineris.

After we were done here, our team would head over to Cydonia to see the 'giant face' and pyramids and check for water. I couldn't wait. It'd be like a vacation. Falco never stopped yakking about it. He was sure it was alien architecture. I wondered how he got past the hoard of psychs to come on this little shindig.

I started off across the rubble-strewn plain, wondering how long the landscape has looked exactly like this. On earth you'd expect to see differences nearly every day, even in 'wilderness areas'. There are always animals or water or humans or other things to disturb the lay of the land. Here--just the wind--the ever-present scouring, howling gale.

I tongued the com again. "Parker, when are you haulin' your carcass out here anyway? I've already got half a click on you, man."

No answer.

I was starting to get a little antsy. Parker was normally right on top of things. Today I had yet to raise him. I tongued the com again. "Falco, do you read me?"
"I read you, Starling."
"What's Parker up to? Why won't he answer his com?"
"Not sure. I'll go check. Out."
I wondered idly why Falco didn't just look down at his array to pinpoint Parker instead of hunting him down.

I stepped around a huge boulder and found myself at the lip of a vast canyon. Somehow on our readouts it hadn't looked so deep. I kicked a pebble off the edge. It plunged, little clouds of scarlet dust marking the places where it hit the cliff wall. How glad I was that I hadn't come out here in the dark.

I turned to go back, and there was Parker, standing there silently. He'd been at my back and I hadn't even seen him come.
I tongued my com. "Crud, Parker. You scared me spit-less! Where'd you come from? Haven't you heard me calling you?"

No answer.

His face had a strange calmness to it as he nudged me backwards off the cliff.