Personal Climate Change II: Florida's Nonhuman Inhabitants

More on the differences between Florida and Kentucky. I mentioned the differences in climate, but there are also differences in the creatures you find here.

The good part: Florida has an amazing variety of birds. Many birds pass through the Bluegrass on their way south, but guess where they're headed to? They join birds from all over the place, sort of like the mix of tourist nationalities at Disneyworld. 

Egrets are cheeky. You'll see them along the shoreline, but I've also seen them at busy street intersections miles from the beach. The arched neck gives them a certain dignity, and I've often pictured them as little old ladies waiting for their turn to cross.

One of our friends in Tarpon Springs.

Anhingas are beautiful. They look like cormorants, but smaller. Gwen and I see them when we walk the Howard Park Causeway. They sit on the rocks, looking for leaping fish or holding their wings out to dry them. 

We also enjoy seeing the sandpipers and the red-winged blackbirds, but could do without the gulls. They are exactly like the ones in Finding Nemo. People rarely take food to Howard Park Beach twice. The little bastards will swoop down and take a hot dog right out of a kid's hand. They'll chase you if you run, too.

Now for the not-so-good: you probably know the association between Florida and alligators. In the water, Florida grows some large amphibians. On land, though, the story is different. The trees and rocks are filled with incredibly cute little geckos and anoles. The reason they're so small is because the insects and rats eat them before they get bigger. I'm convinced of it.

When you go into a Wal-Mart, a Publix, or even the Dollar Tree in Florida, you'll find a great variety of plastic bags and containers. Those aren't for tourists planning to picnic at the beach (a bad plan for the reason I gave above). Those are for Floridians trying to protect their food and goods against the waves of local vermin.

Florida cockroaches are huge. The euphemistic term for them is 'palmetto bugs', but they're roaches. Even Orkin agrees. Regular cockroaches run away when you turn the kitchen light on. These guys blink up at you and wonder what you want.

I realized I was getting blasé about them when my brother visited and one crawled through the crack in the doorjamb. He became more and more disconcerted while I was speaking, and then pointed out the roach.

"What is that?"

"It's a roach. They're pretty big here."

"Oh, my God."

Our buddy crawled away. A few minutes later, we heard a screech and a thump from the other room. My sister-in-law squashed him with a book. She had to protect the dog.

Aren't you glad this isn't a picture
of what I'm talking about now?

Ants. Ants, ants, ants. All types, all sizes. Everywhere. In the sand outside, between the rocks, crawling into the house. We had a swarm in the living room last week, and I did the flamenco dance of death. Had to sweep the floor twice before Mother hosed the room with Raid.

The rats. What can I say about the rats? Rats in Kentucky gnaw holes in potatoes and bags of flour. The rats here ate through the plastic and rubber lines of Mom's dishwasher. Twice. They also ate the mattress in the sofa bed and left rat poop behind. They caused a major water leak behind the refrigerator; the ice maker hadn't worked for years, and we found out why.

They're smart, too. Gwen has set traps with bacon, peanut butter, cheese, and lunch meat. She even tried strawberries. Little shits learned how to get the food off the trap without getting caught. The feral cats outside are no help - I think they're afraid of them.

We're going to have to call an exterminator and see if he can do something about getting the rats out of the house. Then, my mother will have to have our handyman block and/or repair the entry points. Meanwhile, we're buying lots of Glad bags and plastic containers. And washing the dishes by hand.

---

A racial question

I’ve been messing around with an idea for a novel for a couple of years. At its core, it’s a thriller with paranormal elements. Think Dean Koontz, though, more than Stephanie Meyer. No vampires in this one, no young hunk (or heroine) as the lead.

From his inception, I’ve thought of the character as having a psychic talent... and as biracial (black* and white, in this case). He’s not John Aleron, if you’ve read that character’s stories. This is someone new.

Now, I’m starting to wonder if this is such a good idea. One reason: most of the paranormal and thriller readers I’ve met over the years have been white in overwhelming numbers. Would publishers even consider a story centering around a biracial male character? I’m not saying all white readers are horrible racists who hate blacks… but publishers might be afraid that the reader base might not 'connect' with the character.

A second reason: how many quirks should I give this character? My spouse tells me that a mistake she often sees are authors who make a character quirky in so many ways that getting a ‘handle’ on them is difficult for the reader. Is paranormal + male + biracial too much?

A third reason: I am neither black nor biracial. My character would be raised in a predominantly white environment for various reasons, including the income of his family. The more money your family has in the USA, the more likely you are to be living around white people. Would black readers find my writing this character offensive? I was exposed to the poorer segment of the black population when I was a kid, but there is a big difference between knowing black people and knowing what it’s like to 'be black'.

At Magna Cum Murder in 2008, I had the pleasure of meeting Austin Camacho. He sat on a panel that dealt with writing characters who are unlike oneself in many ways. Austin is African-American and male. The character he was discussing was female and Irish. I pointed out that this was a character who differed from him in gender, race, nationality, and possibly religion as well. She was also an ex-jewel thief, but I don’t know what Austin’s past hobbies may have been.

Austin explained that a character could be very unlike his or her author in some ways, but share experiences that the author was quite capable of describing and exploring. My character, being biracial and older (around fifty years of age), would have been confronted daily with the same situation I had while growing up: not fitting in. I was an intellectual living in a significantly illiterate state, a liberal among conservatives, a lesbian and a Pagan among fundamentalist Christians. My hero would have some of these social disadvantages as well, plus the additional difference of being biracial. Someone like me could hide personality differences  by keeping my mouth shut, but racial heritage is usually self-evident.

To me, the notion of a psychic who would not only feel the ‘usual’ emotions of the people around him, but also the attitudes towards his race, is very compelling. We have been educated to ‘not see race’ in this day and age, but when we meet someone of another race in real life we often stumble over the baggage of our upbringing. My hero would be aware of that stumbling on a regular basis. Is this patronizing on my part?

What do you think?

* I use the term 'black' instead of 'African-American' because the latter is a) long, and b) acknowledges that there are black people beside African-Americans. I refer to Austin as an African-American because I'm comparing him to an Irish jewel thief. 

--

Those Naughty, Naughty WIPs

The Writers Who Kill put a rather provocative post up yesterday: "I Hate My WIP". For those of you not familiar with writing jargon, WIP stands for "Work in Progress". I found a great relief in reading this article and realizing that I was not alone.

I hate my WIP up till the first draft is done. Then, it's: "OMG! I finished it! I did it! How wonderful! Yippee!" Dancing around.

Unfortunately, this is followed by revisions. Maternal adoration turns to diaperish (?) disgust. "There's a lot of crap in here! Yecch! PLEASE don't make me touch it! No! It's ugly! Ugly and full of crap! I can't send this ANYWHERE!"

Eventually (years later?) I have the WIP cleaned up and dressed nicely (i.e. I followed the submission guidelines). I send it out into the world, only to receive a note from the teacher: "Rejected." I search WIP/child for more crap; I know it's in there somewhere. That's the problem with babies, literary or physical.

After a few more rejects: WHAT'S WRONG WITH MY WIP? Isn't it cute enough? Maybe it should be blonde with a frilly dress. I don't think I can dress it like that, it would bite me. By the time I got it into that pink outfit, I'd need to update the technology in the story again (this has happened to me more than once). I detest my WIP; no one wants it. It's too gangly and funny-looking to be loved.

So, now, I have a freakish orphanage in my house (or, at least, my memory stick). My WIPs meep and chirp and drive me nuts. Periodically, though, one gets adopted. I send the lucky child off with relief and joy, but there's always that nagging feeling that I could have done better with it. Therein lies the true problem: the WIP stays a WIP until it's published. You will never be through with it.

So, once it becomes a true 'work', why do we want it back to make one last change?

Reunion Ruminations

This weekend, I will be attending my 30th high school reunion. I missed the 25th (not an accident), but a number of my old classmates discovered me on Facebook and it looks like I will have people to talk to. I find this very odd, since I barely remember some of them, but they seem to remember me.

Honestly, I'd hoped to have more trappings of success by this time. Oh, not a Lexus or a $500 outfit, but results of lifetime endeavors. A Master's, perhaps, or a Ph.D. The subject matter would be less important than the magical acronyms.

You see, I was one of those children cursed with being 'smart'. Usually, being smart makes my life easier. Most of my remarkably stupid decisions have been made based on emotions, not ignorance or an inability to draw conclusions. Most remarkably stupid decisions are made based on emotions, but I've saved myself from investing in silver or mixing Clorox and ammonia. Doing my day job is easier because I love information and learn new things quickly.

It's the expectations of being 'smart' that I must live down. When I graduated from high school, I visualized myself getting a degree in engineering and doing something cool like designing space shuttles. I would get a good-paying job and acquire the respect of my peers. Most importantly, I would write books. Lots of them. Probably science fiction, since that's where my experience would lie.

It didn't pan out that way. I realized, within a short time, that hard science drove me nuts. Not only was it hair-pulling difficult (even for someone who got a 33 in science on the ACT), I didn't find it especially interesting. I tried genetics for a while (thank you, X-Men), but came to the conclusion that I enjoyed reading science fiction more than doing actual science. Instead, I got a degree in journalism with a minor in psychology, since that was the subject I took more consistently than any other.

So... I just wrote lots of books then, correct? No. Despite the pressure from my internal sense of 'destiny', I avoided it like the plague. Writing is so important to my self-definition that I didn't seriously try fiction until I was nearly thirty. Writing fiction makes me want to Run Screaming Into the Night (tm). I edited two Pagan newsletters and was a credentialed blogger for the 2008 Democratic National Convention, so it's not expository writing that gives me trouble. It's fiction, my putative raison d'etre.

At least I have a manuscript now. I haven't sold it yet, but actually writing a book is a major victory in my... er, book. I have a few short story credits to my name.

I know I did better than some of my fellow grads. I'm employed, I have a house, and I've stayed out of prison. Right now, though, I feel like my biggest success was marrying well.