It’s wet-cold here. Get yourself tea, stare at your tiny cactus plant a while to get you in a desert mindset (of course that won’t quite cut it, but you’ve got fiction coming to bring a booming, dragging heat to you). My intro to the piece:
This is an excerpt from a novel ms entitled Rambler. Rice writes with fine-tuned sensitivity to how natural landscapes shape identity. I’m watching the grey autumn rains fall here, but here’s the alchemy of fiction, the transmutation of senses: I can feel instead the desert heat, see the glints off a hot car chassis, the tall, looming cactus, and the colours and textures across a sandy, distant earth. The author describes the mechanics of her novel best:
Rambler, the story of a girl grown up on the road, circles through layers of childhood experience, ancestral legend and current time to find the family she left behind.
These girl lit chains and circles, constant movement of harsh and vivid life.