Donuts and werewolves

I just handed in a short story (at the moment, it’s called “The Apocalypse Before Christmas”) for the anthology about werewolves at Christmas time that’s being edited by Charlaine Harris and Toni Kelner. When I get done writing a fight scene, I feel tired and beat up. If I’ve been writing about food, I usually get hungry. When I get done writing a sex scene…well, you get the picture.

This time, I ended up craving donuts.

Donuts and werewolves aren’t traditionally associated in the literary canon. And food doesn’t figure largely in the story I wrote, but Salem, Massachusetts does. I put in a lot of local landmarks into the story, and that brought me back to when I lived and worked in Salem. Archaeology goes better with donuts and working with local contractors, I learned about Ziggy’s and Sons.

The thing that really fixed Ziggy’s in my heart and imagination happened very early one morning. I got there when they first opened and they had just started cooking donuts. The guy at the counter asked. “What do you want me to make for you?”

It was a question I should have been prepared for. If you, Homer Simpson, could have any donut in the world, what would it be? What is your fantasy donut?

It was just too big a question.

I stared at him, then stammered out a request for some chocolate and jelly-filled. And some plain (to me, the mark of a good donut place is how they do plain cake: the basics count). I can’t really say the guy gave me a scornful look, but I know I was shamed by my own lack of creativity.

Driving home, the smell of donuts warm from the deep fry almost sent me into a frenzy. I ate at least three before my friends woke up, and then I had another with them. Just to be sociable, I told myself. But the big white gap in the cardboard box spoke for itself.

I don’t really have a problem. I’ve got it all under control. I can stop any time I want.

I was determined that merely mentioning Ziggy’s in the story wasn’t going to drive me there, because contrary to what I wrote above, I don’t eat a lot of donuts. But apparently, just the fact that I kept mentioning Ziggy’s (and how I wasn’t going to go) proved too much for my husband and it suddenly became a mission. We popped by bright and early Saturday morning, braving a blisteringly cold Atlantic wind, and found, to our howling dismay, that Ziggy’s doesn’t open on Saturday. Donut interruptus. It was not to be, cheri.

Sunday morning, we went back, determined to score a jelly-filled or die trying. The trophies from the hunt can be seen, above, along with some Halloween gear (several gifts from Toni; they’re big on Halloween, chez Kelner). And yes, there is a little werewolf peeking from behind the stack of doomed donuts.

Having indulged, I can’t get donuts off my mind. It’s getting bad.

Apparently it is not the moon that wakes the beast in me.

Awooooo!

P.S. Karen Laubenstein, one of the Board Members of Sisters in Crime in Alaska, was kind enough to send me this picture of me with the Anthony for PBO. I had the chance to meet Karen in person in Anchorage, and really enjoyed talking with her. She took many of the great photos that adorned the daily B’con Newsletter. Thanks, Karen!