Something different

A new science fiction short-story
from acclaimed author Michael S. Nuckols

As I work on longer works, occasionally an idea will stick in my head that I have to get onto paper.  This was the case with my newest short story, Primitive. This work is a bit different from my previous writing as it falls firmly within the realm of speculative science fiction.  Primitive tells the story of a man living in a medical utopia in the distant future.  Years earlier, he agreed to live forever; the machines hold him to that promise.

As a thank you to my readers, I am giving Primitive away FREE from September 7th until September 11th.  Available only for Kindle download here.

A Beautiful Fall Day

Every day I am reminded of the sheer power of Alaska. I took this photo yesterday from my farm. A few days earlier, snow covered only the peaks of the mountains.  In a week, the leaves on the trees will be golden. We had our first frost Saturday and it killed everything tender in our garden. I spent yesterday digging potatoes and harvesting the remains of peas and beets.  Kale and cabbage grow sweet with frost - but these too will have to be harvested before hungry moose discover them. Snow is only weeks away.

Autumn is the time of the years that Alaskans rush to tuck everything in the yard away before everything disappears under a blanket of white. Winter arrives quickly in the Great Land and it is crucial to be prepared. Those who linger discover that chores left undone must wait until April when the ground thaws and the world hints at greeness again.

Wolves at 3 am

The other morning I awoke to a strange sound coming from outside my window.  Something large was walking back and forth on some tarps that I had folded up next to our garbage cans.  I looked out the window and, to my surprise, saw two large wolves trying to get at some soup bones buried deep in a metal trash can.  The light was dim - so I put on my glasses to see better.  The animals heard me as I did and ran away in seconds. I regret not having my cellphone camera handy. A friend tells me that wolves used to cross from the Granite Mountains down to the Clearwater River.  Maybe they're returning?

Incidents like these remind me that in spite of broadband internet, satellite television, and food delivered from around the world, Alaska is still a wild and vast place. Just beyond my window lies real danger.  I relish that thought.

Our state is one of extremes.  Many find these extremes too daunting to face and lash out at them unsuccessfully. The peace and quiet here can be overwhelming for some.  Even in the summer, when tourists are filling every roadway and locals scurry to finish painting or laying concrete before the ground freezes, this place reeks of isolation and quiet.  Alaska is best suited for introverts - people happy being by themselves - those who prefer to recharge with their own thoughts.  I am not surprised that Alaska has the highest suicide and sexual assault rates in the nation. Some people are simply not suited to the extreme light, dark, cold, and vast spaces. 

Alaska, however, is a perfect place for a writer.  Writers like to wrap ourselves in our minds for hours on end.  A quiet place to reflect is worth gold. Alaska offers that in multitudes.

Alaska also offers writers inspiration in droves. When I choose to be social, I can meet people from all over the world  on any given day. Our locals are colorful, to say the least. The Alaskan landscape itself is like a character in a novel.  She doesn't budge; Alaska has a will all her own - an angry spouse best appeased rather than ignored.  She certainly is a character in my latest novel, Frozen Highway. She doesn't care who wins in the end, only that she gets her way.

If I can capture even a handful of the stories and characters I've encountered here, I'll consider my time to be well spent. Alaska is a strange but powerful muse.

As the light returns to us, Alaska is once again seeing consistent temperatures above freezing.   While we may see a Chinook in December that pops the temperature up to 50F for a few hours, we don’t see any true progress towards summer until late March and early April.  Spring equinox brings the promise of more sunshine than night – and the slow disappearance of the many feet of snow on our landscape.  Even though things are still white, our thoughts turn to summer gardens, hikes into the hills, and salmon tugging at our lines.

When most of the country is already planting their gardens, we still look outside to see frozen ground and morning frost.  Here in the Interior, our typical last frost is the 1^st of June - though I have had plants nipped or killed by frost in every month of the summer.   Our first hard frost in the fall is around August 25th. Consequently, the interior gardening season barely reaches 90 days.  Our soils remain cold all summer.  I have dug post hole on June 15^th and hit frozen dirt at three foot.  In many cases, our gardens have to literally grow on ice.  The only saving grace for Alaskan gardeners is that the 23 hours of daily sunshine we will see by the Summer Solstice allows plants to grow virtually all day.  Nonetheless, Alaskans still have to employ many tricks to coax plants in fruiting before frosts strike.  Starting seeds indoors is essential.

I already have Spring fever.  My first seeds go into flats today.  Most everyone I know is busy planting rows and rows of flats for seedlings to be placed under lights, in warm southern windows, and anywhere else they can get them to grow.  Commercial greenhouses are humming with activity, filled with customers seeking a brief tropical oasis from the cold air outside even though they have little to sell.   Because we have so little sunshine in winter and heating costs are so high, most people shut their greenhouses down in September.  Once there is enough light and solar gain to provide a large fraction of the heat, owners slowly starting reopening them in about March or April.  In recent years, with increased heating costs, many owners significantly delay opening their greenhouses in spite of their customers, starting seeds in tiny flats under lights in a corner of their shop.  Only later are these small seeds are transplanted into their larger pots.  These tiny bits of green serve only to tease those of us ready for summer.

Still, in spite of the cold, the promise of rebirth strikes our landscape as strongly as it does our southern neighbors.  One of my favorite Easter pilgrimages is to drive high up in the mountains.  Here, the brief instances of warmth have polished the snow and ice into sculptures.  Frozen waterfalls glisten, hidden before by snow and night, reflecting deep blue at their core.  Ice becomes crystalline, taking on new and unexpected forms just before it disappears for the year.

For those of us who hunker inside all winter, we find a freedom that has been absent.   Temperatures around freezing are short sleeve weather for those of us accustomed to thirty below.   As a southern transplant, I still find it odd to see people wearing shorts and flip flops while there is still snow on the ground.  Bicycles, sport cars, and motorcycles make their first appearances.  People cook steaks on their grills, with beer iced in snowdrifts a few feet away.  In Fairbanks, the first geese and swans to arrive always make front page news.  While Alaskans brave the winter, in truth, we live for our glorious and brief summer.    As snow turns to slush and mud, we wait impatiently for the season to follow.

Battling the Cold

Growing up in Virginia, Jack London was my first introduction to the place that would ultimately be my home - rural Alaska.   Like most people, I’ve tried to forget that awkward period in my life that coincides with middle school – but I distinctly remember the first time I read London.  Mrs. Stone was my seventh grade English teacher, a gracious Southern belle with a huge smile.   She assigned us a story about a dog and unknowingly built a persistent fire within me for both reading and The Great Land.  Though I love animals, I remember thinking, How can you write an entire book about a dog? Little did I know!   The first words of that book still echo in my head, “Buck did not read the newspapers…”  The Call of the Wild remains one of my favorites. 

Since then, I’ve devoured all of London’s writing.  ToBuild a Fire is probably my favorite of his short stories.  It is a simple story - a man tries to start a fire so he doesn’t freeze to death – but it is filled with truth.  Now that I’ve experienced life in temperatures far below zero – as cold as minus 60 Fahrenheit –I’ve come to realize how well he captured the essence of survival in an arctic landscape.  Fire is truly life here.

In the winter in Alaska, even in our modern times, everything revolves around keeping warm. When you wake up in the morning, the first thing you do is check the woodstove, adding wood as necessary, or the thermostat to see if your heating system is doing its job.   Checking your outside thermometer is a very Alaskan morning ritual – as evidenced by dozens of Facebook postings from Alaskans showing thermometers on cold mornings.

Heating a house here is a constant concern.  A valid excuse not to show up at work is “My boiler isn’t working,” as it could mean frozen pipes and septic systems, exploding canned goods, and an irate spouse in a matter of hours.   Common office discussions focus on the relative merits of wood boilers, pellet stoves, oil burners, and the possibility of geothermal heat pumps in a place where the ground can freeze twenty feet deep.   Here in the Alaskan Interior, oil is burned for electricity – rendering electric heating illogical. Even though it requires a bit of mechanical know how and frequent cleaning, I’ve found my pellet boiler to be a cost-effective solution.

Chimney fires are a constant danger and claim dozens of Alaska houses every year.  My friend and neighbor just lost their dream home to one such fire, the dry logs of his home consumed in minutes.  At least he was able to save his aircraft, which he pulled from the basement garage just in time.

 As the temperature drops, folks here build their wood fires larger and burn them longer – sometimes for months at a time.   Creosote builds up faster in a cold chimney.  Our extreme weather makes keeping a chimney warm difficult, resulting in plugs of creosote and soot forming at the farthest points, choking the flue.   In mild weather, our huge stoves are often too big and have to be damped down, further promoting creosote buildup.  As a result, Alaskans have to clean our chimneys several times a winter otherwise we face a chimney fire – a daunting task when you consider our roofs are almost always covered with snow and ice.

Fighting a fire at -40F means freezing hoses and frostbit hands.  Our fire departments race on icy roads to get water to a scene before it freezes in the tank.  Most Alaskan fire departments are volunteers who leave their homes in the middle of the night to help a neighbor.  While they do their best, it is usually a losing proposition as the time it takes to get to the station, don gear, and then drive to a fire is typically greater than what is required for a structure to become completely engulfed.  Consequently, insurance rates are many times higher here than the rest of the United States.  

One fear is to wake up to a house fire in the night during the winter.  In this situation, you have to dress to go outside and hope you can do so before succumbing to smoke inhalation or becoming trapped.  Smart Alaskans stash warm clothes and boots in an outbuilding just in case. 

After ensuring your house is warm, your attention usually turns to warming up your vehicle for the morning commute.   At extreme cold temperatures, oil becomes thicker than molasses.   Plastics are brittle and metal parts contract, fitting together imprecisely.  Those without garages either trudge out in their pajamas, bedroom shoes, and a coat to turn the key or they point a remote control out the window to get the engine started.  Most people let their engines – and the cab - warm for at least fifteen minutes before driving away.   Here in Alaska, the engine and battery have electric heaters installed on them – explaining the electrical cords sticking out the front.  Many tourists or locals in a hurry forget their vehicles are plugged into an outlet and drive away– resulting Arctic blue extension cords trailing them down the highway.  Those without electricity have to get more creative starting their vehicles.  I’ve heard that people in the 1950s and 1960s would drain the oil out of their car in the evening, take it inside, warm it next to a woodstove, and then replace it in the morning.

Clothing is an obvious concern in the Northland.  Going outside requires donning layers of clothing, heavy coats, gloves, hats, and heavy boots.  This poses an interesting concern when driving or riding in a heated vehicle.  If you are in an accident and you aren’t wearing these items, you may get hypothermia waiting the hour for an ambulance to arrive.  On the other hand, if you wear these clothes, you’ll roast during your morning commute.   Ultimately, this requires an individual make a decision about risk.  Some folks wear their winter gear while driving and turn the heat down, riding in a cold cab.  Others take the chance and throw their gear in the back, hoping that they can put it on quickly enough in the event of an emergency.  As Alaska has grown more populated and traffic on the roads has increased, the chance of someone happening upon you and helping in an emergency has improved – but being incapacitated on a lone highway is always in the back of people’s heads.

These risks are at the heart of my next novel, The Winter Highway.  In it, an ex-Soldier becomes stranded on a lone Alaska Highway in the depths of winter only to find himself hunted by a delusional militia leader.   The Winter Highway is scheduled for release in late 2014.

A New Short Story on Amazon

Old Momma is an ornery moose who loves to eat cabbage.  Allen Grundig is a crotchety Alaskan who loves to eat moose.   Who will win?

Find out in this short story available for free April 4th and 5th on Amazon .

Child Abuse Prevention Month

April has been designated as Child Abuse Prevention Month.   From now until the end of April, I will be donating 10% of my proceeds from the "The Winter Calf" to child abuse nonprofits. 

Without giving away too many spoilers, child abuse is a central motif in the "The Winter Calf".   Too many children every year suffer needlessly from neglect, sexual abuse, physical abuse, or all three.  This problem is rife throughout our nation - and can only be solved by the continued persistence and perseverance of friends, neighbors, educators, coaches, family members, and anyone else that might cross paths with an abused child.  If you see a child who may be in need, please don't stand by idly or take a blind eye.  Do something.

______________________________________________________________

UPDATED:  On 1 May 2014, I was proud to make a donation to the National Children's Alliance.  Thanks to everyone who made this possible.

The Frozen Highway

Edit 8/13/2014:  I posted this when "Frozen Highway" was still in draft - but have left it up so people can see how the novel evolved as I continued writing it.

Alaska must have cast a spell on me. Once again, I am working on a novel that is set primarily in the winter during a blizzard. Isaac Henry is driving alone on the Alaska Highway in late November, trying to get home for Thanksgiving as a winter storm threatens. He witnesses a murder - and finds himself hunted on a lone stretch of highway by a strange tattooed man who claims "he's one of them."

"The Frozen Highway" is the story of a disillusioned Iraqi war veteran who was wounded overseas. Upon return, he and his family are the victims of inner city crime at their home in Georgia. Failing to find work and growing concerned about the world around him, Isaac makes the difficult decision to leave his extended family. They move to Alaska - ostensibly for freedom and security - but find themselves terrorized by a delusional militia leader looking to spark a revolution.

What began as a simple idea - a man freezing to death after an accident - has taken me to exciting places.  I never expected to write a novel exploring the dark underbelly of organized militias - but the pages now lay before me.

With a lot of hard work ahread of me, my plan is to publish "The Frozen Highway" by Christmas 2014.  Look here for a free download of the first chapters - Part I of the novel - in June.

The Winter Calf

My first novel, The Winter Calf, is now available in both hardcopy and on Kindle.  This book was literally 20 years in the making.   It is based on a short-story I first wrote in my fourth year of college, mined from memories of my relationship with my grandmother.  This past year, I sat down and re-read this story and realized how special it was, even if just to me.  I decided it not only could be - but should be - expanded into a longer work.


Why did I wait 20 years?  The original short story was well-received by the fiction writing class that it was written for.  Nonetheless, until recently, I had little confidence in my writing abilities.  I've always felt that people said my work was good to protect my feelings.  A few early failures kept me from any serious attempts at publishing.

As a result, my writing has languished unshared for many years -  seen by one or two people at most.  Like many writers, I was afraid of having my work read and criticized.  My own self-doubt prevented me from pursuing something I loved .  Writing remained a hobby only - something I did to clear my thoughts.  I focused my energies on my 40 hours a week behind a desk job - which has always paid the bills but left me mentally drained and spiritually unfulfilled.

As I've grown older, I've realized that trying and failing is okay.  In fact, I've finally come to realize that taking risks is the only way to grow.   Maybe releasing the "The Winter Calf" is part of some mid-life crisis as I look at what I've accomplished and question where I am going.  Nonetheless, releasing this book is a risk for me, as I share deep-rooted emotions about a different time in my life.

So far, readers have proven my own inner voice wrong.  The Winter Calf  has already received several five star reviews on Amazon.

The Winter Calf draws from many genres.  It is best described as Southern Gothic, reminiscent of Harper Lee and Flannery O'Connor.  The Winter Calf tells of a bitter recluse living away from society and of a family torn apart by child abuse.  The book can also be described as magical realism; it hints at a ghost story.  It draws heavily from Appalachian folklore -- the wise but misunderstood mountain witch who saves a troubled boy.  Some would describe The Winter Calf as a coming of age story -  the story of how two boys from very different worlds are changed when a strange woman enters their life.  Finally, like James Herriot's veterinary tales or Steinbeck's The Red Pony, The Winter Calf is a rural story about life on a farm - a boy dreaming about raising a calf. 

The story is set in the fictional town of Maple Gap, Virginia -- which astute readers will recognize as a loose interpretation of Monterey, Virginia, located in Highland County.  My father's parents are buried there; much of the imagery in the book emerged from a visit to their graves with my own parents one cold March day 20 years ago.  Nonetheless, Maple Gap exists solely in my mind - created from bits and pieces of life in the Shenandoah Valley - from Winchester in the North to Lynchburg in the South. 

The story focuses on three primary characters.  Iris Littleton is the old recluse on the hill that everyone says is a witch.   Henry Mayfield is the wide-eyed but stubborn boy who dreams of raising a calf for the county fair.  Jerome Bigman is the school bully and Henry's nemesis.  Henry comes to learn that Jerome is an abused child looking for the smallest bit of kindness.

I sincerely hope that you enjoy The Winter Calf as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks to everyone for their support.