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!

Seward to Talkeetna--and everything in between

As promised, I’m wrapping up my description of my trip to Alaska. We started off in Anchorage, visiting friends, and checking out the Anchorage Museum of History and Art. This is a wonderful place, not to be missed. We walked all around the city, including along the water on the gorgeous Tony Knowles trail.

The next day, we drove down to Seward (above, left), through the Chugach National Forest. The Seward Highway is one of the most beautiful drives in the U.S., and even though it was often cloudy, it was pretty spectacular.

We were waiting in line for one of the six hour fjord tours around the Aialik Peninsula (right), when two women approached me and said, “We think we know who you are.”

This doesn’t happen all that often, but I gave my standard reply: “Archaeology or mystery?”

“Mystery. You’re here for Bouchercon, right?”

“Yes.” I knew what was coming next. Over the years I’ve been occasionally confused with SJ Rozan. We had the same hairstyle for a long time, share similar gestures, and occasionally, when excited, sound alike. So I was preparing to explain when they said

“You’re Dana Cameron, aren’t you?”

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I mean, I totally don’t mind being confused with SJ, and while I don’t imagine it happening where a conference wasn’t significantly adding to the local population, this was a first. We hung out, chatted about mysteries, saw awe-inspiring scenery and loads of critters: a pod of orcas, sea lions (left), dall porpoise, harbor seals, sea otters, bald eagles, a black bear, mountain goats, Arctic ravens… Doreene is an avid birder and when I was having trouble spotting some of the birds in the cliffs, she gave me advice that might be applied in many situations: “Follow the guano.”

The next day, Anita, Doreene, and I met up again at the Alaska Sealife Center (above, right), and eventually at Bouchercon. Visiting the Alaska Sealife Center, it was neat to be so close to the marine creatures (the little girl, right, yelled “tickle, tickle” to the sea lion as it passed her).

After that, Mr. G and I took off back north for Girdwood (left). More sage advice from the very dry ski lift operator: “If you have the urge to wander off the paths, please remember that you are on a mountain in the middle of Alaska.” And another of my favorite warnings (right).

Then we drove to Talkeetna where we were trying to get a flight-seeing, glacier-landing trip to see Denali (Mt. McKinley). The weather was so overcast that in three days, there was never a chance. The thing that gets me, is that the mountain is BIG: how do you hide something like that? We drove back to Anchorage a little early, and then spent the time before the conference visiting the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center. They take in animals who’ve been wounded and rehabilitate them with the funds from the entrance fee. While I didn’t get a chance to see loads of moose or bears while we were traveling, we got to see them close up here. And hear them up close: for example, the caribou were in season, and one of the bulls, rather pissed off about being kept from the cows, was bellowing up a storm.

I guess that’s the start of a good definition of a successful trip: sounds you haven’t heard before, tastes you haven’t tried, new sights, new friends.