Live Free or Undead

I’m the editor of New Hampshire Magazine which specializes in local non-fiction, but whether true to life or pure imagination, I love a good story.

Unfortunately, the short story, the basic unit of fiction, is in trouble. Many magazines that once published short fiction and inspired generations of new fans and writers have abandoned the form. Those specializing in such stories have grown rare.

But people who love to read and who enjoy a good novel can also remember the pleasure that comes from a crisp and curious collection of short stories. What other medium immerses readers in a three-dimensional world, strangely familiar or perhaps just strange, inhabited with living, breathing characters, and subjects them to outlandish twists of fate all in the course of an hour or less?

That experience will be revived in a series of anthologies under the banner New Hampshire Pulp Fiction, eventually covering all the classic topics of fiction in its most compelling form and with each story rooted in the familiar locales of our state. The first in the series will tackle the horror genre. Titled “Live Free or Undead: Thirteen Dark Tales from the Granite State,” the book will be produced by the excellent designers and printers of Plaidswede Publishing, my collaborators in creating in the New Hampshire Pulp Fiction series.

The book is scheduled for release in the fall of 2010, but I’m currently soliciting submissions for consideration. Stories submitted should be between 1,000 and 8,000 words. Longer manuscripts will be considered but please query first. Send completed works to the address below.

The horror genre is broad, encompassing everything from the headless Victorian ghosts of Gothic parlor tales to the bloody metaphysical terror of contemporary authors like Stephen King. Stories appearing in “Live Free or Undead” can reflect this same range. Tales can be set in the past or the future, the deep woods or the busy cities, but all must be established recognizably within the boundaries of New Hampshire. We’re looking for stories that offer a sense of place as well as a sense of fear.

Compete manuscripts are welcome and previously published works or adapted works will be considered. In this process we hope to provide an outlet for some of the region’s best writers, to discover new talent, and to create a book that will terrify and delight readers for years to come.

A contract specifying terms of agreement is available upon query. Contact me at nhpulpfiction@gmail.com for details.

I look forward to hearing from you.

-Rick Broussard

Out of Fuel

Out of Fuel, originally uploaded by Broussardish.

Fuel is an amazing little coffee shop in Mt. Vernon, Iowa. My daughter sent me a bag of their beans. It is gone. This makes me sad.

Still there's more...

After my most consistent week of running (18 miles) I ran my most challenging route so far this morning (above). Just 3.5 miles, but with a long uphill stretch on Ironworks Rd. I've been reading Brendan Manning's book "Ruthless Trust" as a morning devotional, and today I realized that, while my running has been increasing in quality and duration, I've never really dedicated a run to the Lord. I guess I'm so "cliche-averse" I miss out on lots of obvious opportunities like that. Anyway, I chose to do so this morning, and that's what inspired me to break off of my standard 3-mile neighborhood run. I didn't do anything too fancy, just kept thanking God for things along the way. This seemed to keep me focused on this "dedication" and somewhere along the way I found myself adapting Todd Rundgren's catchy song "International Feel" with new lyrics that expressed gratitude and amazement. His refrain "Still there's more..." lent itself nicely to my words (I'll have to jot them down later, although they aren't exactly poetry). The result of this bit of discipline, combined with the perfect running weather -- cool, damp and bright -- was a wonderfully visual experience with nature bursting into sight and drawing my eyes down long vistas and into green pockets I'd never noticed before. And over it all, the orb of the sky seemed to gaze down and take notice of the same details as I did, affirming them with extra light. People on my runs are always notable, like gravity wells to a passing asteroid. As I've taken to the same streets over and over, I've started to recognize a few other old shufflers like myself, some real runners and a number of dog walkers. We exchange that little flick of the fingers and a mumbled "namaste" (we actually say "morning" but the meaning is the same) that passes for a greeting when you are slightly winded. Anyway, just as I was nearing home and rounding the last curve from Sunset to Jordan Ave. I saw a man come out of his house with his schnauzer and his little plastic collection bag and he looked up and me and said, "Keep up the good work." I smiled and said thanks. Nothing like a little blessing to end a perfect run.

Transcript Gibberish

I needed a long interview transcribed, so I decided to run it through speech recognition software. I assumed it wouldn't be perfect, but at least I'd have a kind of baseline of the interview and I could correct the parts I wanted to use a lot more easily than typing the whole thing up -- or so I thought. The gibberish that resulted from the "transcription" was so alien to the actual speech that it was completely useless for my purposes, but it made a kind of weird poetry. Here's a "verbatim" paragraph:

[Speaker 0] he has to do that the students you can see the highlight of my way to Italy three I ran into me you think another thing about it the glass it was at the end the stories I can only announced Wednesday because that way well in my mind how security has been hit by one they called the hearing that is the Army with Jackson and Grant D Haren there's not a scary movie that is going to be their commercials are secure you know I think is so corrupt but I think the fact is there like if you treat it as going beyond that yes and bad with seventeen percent it's creepy a lot of them will be when you see it actually kind of oh it was pretty scared let me add one thing that yanked my inner light the once pristine and I know with my son yesterday an hour there is actually cheaper it's interesting which was a progression for me according to Cannon finally starting to laugh and scary movies because the technology is

P050809PS-0297

P050809PS-0297, originally uploaded by The Official White House Photostream.

OK, so I'm just posting this because my pirate loving, Ron Paul supporting daughter might find it amusing.

Record Store Day: April 18

http://www.recordstoreday.com/photo/418453:200
 
Wahoo. It's record store day. Born right here on our N.E. seacoast and now a national semi-phenom.
 
Buy music you can touch and it will touch you back.

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R.I.P. Squawk

Our adopted feral cat Squawk died, I think a few days ago, defending his attic stronghold from invading raccoons.

I just buried him under the Rising Star Clematis at the corner of the tractor shed.

His body was found tangled in the insulation over the den, pretty torn up, but still proudly wearing his reflective flea collar, a symbol of his citizenship in the Broussard family where his memory will be cherished.

Bye Squawk. You always knew you were more than just a barn cat, even if we wouldn't let you into the house

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Mallove reward poster

> Here's a reward poster for the murderers of a good friend of mine. > I'm not especially into retribution, but I hope they find whoever > did this and put them away.
>
> I knew Mallove from stories I did on future science and then on the > weird scientific underworld of Cold Fusion research. He was a great > guy, brutally murdered for apparently nothing more than a petty > robbery. The randomness of the universe sometimes just sucks.
>

Download now or preview on posterous

MalloveRewardAnnouncement.pdf (782 KB)

>

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feet

This is a photo montage I made as a Phone Extention Director for our receptionist at work. It was a birthday present. She revels in "punking" people on their birthdays. She also has a severe aversion to feet. This was offered in friendship as a little aversive therapy.

"Sak vide pa kanpe."

— Creole Proverb

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All Dressed Up for NHTA

Here's Daniel, his girlfriend Olivia, Jemi and me. We all got gussied up for New Hampshire Theatre Awards 7 on Feb. 6, 2009. It was probably the most successful awards night yet, at least in terms of crowds and energy and serendipity (sometimes melancholy). A frequent nominee of the event has been the famous and beloved James Whitmore, who performs just about every summer for the Peterborough Players. He died the day of the awards and we learned about it when the manager of the Players asked if he could say a few words before the annual memorial video, honoring those who has passed in the previous year. Whitmore made a number of other "appearances" through the night, including a couple of comic references to him in skits that had been filmed beforehand (one actor groused on camera, blaming him for making it impossible for anyone else to take home a Best Actor award), in a short clip from his last performance on the Peterborough stage this summer (as the Stage Manager in "Our Town"), and, most profoundly, in an acceptance speech. Academy Award writer Ernest Thompson received a Lifetime Achievement Award that night and after some other remarks, noted that he had spoken to Whitmore, a long-time friend, earlier that week. He had told Whitmore that it seemed like the Lifetime award should be going to him, instead: "because, you know, you're older," explained Thompson. He knew that Whitmore was ill (with cancer) and promised to dedicate the award to him. Naturally, he did, in the most emotional moment of the night.

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Bye Bye Birdie Logo

I created this for a Concord High School production of Bye Bye Birdie. It was never used. Nonetheless, I like it's contemporary sloppiness. Looks like an expensive T-shirt design to me. Maybe I should go into expensive T-shirt designing.

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Jorge Luis Borges Coin 1899-1999

Jorge Luis Borges Coin 1899-1999, originally uploaded by TheAlieness GiselaGiardino²³.

I've got to find me one of these.

The Money Shot

Just back from the family reunion in Shreveport. Well, with so many special moments in a week and a period of hanging out with the entire Broussard clan (minus one, sorry Heather), why does this photo define the experience? It was very late on the evening after visiting Vermillionville in Lafayette (with a 4-hour drive still ahead) and dropping in on the Ancelet cousins and exposing my wife and kids to serious Cajun reality via an evening of eating crawfish and dancing to the Louisiana Rhythm Devils and listening to deep BS storytelling (thanks Barry) and family history (thanks Mary Caroline) that we decided to visit the hamlet of Broussard, La. We drove through looking for something with the Broussard name on it to pose beside and I found a tourist kiosk near a Starbucks. I paused in the road and asked Biz to check it out for good signage. Cop-conscious Daniel noted that it was a bad idea to pause in the road. What harm could it do at such a late hour with no other cars on the road, asked I. Daniel remained nervous and sure enough, blue lights burst behind us. The cop emerged from his cruiser and I pulled out my license and prepared for the routine. The cop asked Elizabeth, who had returned from the kiosk, to stand "here" in the road while he "ran" my license. I explained what we were up to and he seemed to get it, but protocol took precedence. Finally he returned the license and told us to move along. Daniel piped up, "I told him to park out of the road." The cop said I should have listened to him (ironic?). Just as we were all about to leave I leaned out the window and said, "Hey, last time we were in Broussard the police chief invited us into the station and gave us a 'Town of Broussard' video (true story). Can we just take a photo by your car?" The cop frowned and said they discouraged that, since they didn't like such photos turning up on the Internet. Then, probably realizing he'd just rousted some harmless tourists, he added, "I'm doing a walk-through of that Starbucks. I'll just do my business and you do yours." He pulled into the Starbucks parking lot and walked up to the door. Some employee tried to head him off, saying that they were closing, but he insisted that he "walk through" the place. Jemi and I knew this was our window of opportunity and we told Eleanor, Biz and Daniel to quickly pose by the cop car. This is the photo that resulted. Charming and revealing on so many levels. The Broussards do Broussard, La.. A picture is indeed worth a thousand words.

tight shot

tight shot, originally uploaded by Broussardish.

We were visiting colleges in the Midwest (go figure) with Biz and at Carleton in Northfield, MN, we got to hang out with a couple of students we know. Famous Concord High drummer Pete Jones showed us a couple of places not on the student tour, like a stone labyrinth on a little island and a cool Japanese garden where we took this photo. Later on, we had Indian food with Hillary Adams, the lovely former stage manager of numerous Concord High plays (including Les Mis), at a little restaurant called the Kurry Kabab in a strip mall. This also, in a way, was a step outside the official tour, since the admissions guy, at the end of his presentation, mentioned this great Indian restaurant right down town that was supposed to be the best in the Minneapolis region. Hillary said that every tour gets that spiel and that there must be some kind of kick back because the Kurry Kabab is better. The Kabab was great and there was enough left over for us to send a large fragrant doggie bag back to Hillary's dorm. Both Carleton and Cornell College in central Iowa were pretty wonderful. The trip was pleasant although we spent a lot of it driving or cramped into airplanes.

The Brotherlode

BillCloseUp, originally uploaded by Broussardish.

My dear brother Billy (probably Bill to his friends, but I knew him when) just sent me a link to his Photobucket site where he has dozens of old family photos, including this one that my brother John took of him with Dad's old original Polaroid SX70. Billy looks to be maybe 11 or 12? That would make this photo from about 1969? Looking at old photos reminds me of an experience I had in a small airplane taking aerial photos. Looking down on a busy area from that perspective you realize how close together everything is. On the ground, having to drive around with limited visibility, you think of the time to get from point A to B as some kind of objective distance when often point B is just separated from point B by a couple of one way streets and single city block. This analogy probably makes little sense unless you've been up in a plane, but it's my blog, so I'm permitted to ramble. What I'm saying is that, from the perspective of my present age, having raised three kids to college age, I sometimes wonder how when we were kids ourselves, we packed so many changes into such a shot span of time. Anyway, Billy's gift of these photos will be something I'll spend a long time unwrapping. I'm hoping that all the Broussards will start opening up their individual troves of photo gold and share them via online means.

Squash Delight

squash delight recipe, originally uploaded by Broussardish.

Ernesto commented on my post in which I mentioned an old family recipe that we finally revived on Thanksgiving this year. I think the formula should be visible in this photo of a cross stitching that Jemi did decades ago. It's a pretty simple recipe, but it was my mother's and grandmother's favorite way to eat squash. It's probably a Southern-style recipe, but it went over pretty well with the N.H. family when I recreated it. I substituted yogurt for the mayo, since mayonnaise has never appealed to me. (This aversion is due to some kind of childhood event. It's not clear but one of my earliest memories is of tasting a sandwich and coming to the conclusion that mayonnaise has a disgusting flavor. That opinion had grown less emphatic over the years, but I still avoid it.) The classic squash delight has water chestnuts in it, but I may try pecans when I make it for Christmas.

Farewell Dan Fogelberg

It's a bit late for a eulogy, but it's not often I read the morning paper, notice some famous person has died, and actually feel a personal loss. When I learned that Dan Fogelberg had died of prostate cancer at age 56 on Dec. 16, I actually let out a groan of sympathy. My daughter overheard and asked what was wrong. I told her and, naturally, she didn't know who he was.

He hasn't been much of a presence in recent years, and he was never a superstar, though he had a handful of "soft rock" hits like "Leader of the Band" and "The Power of Gold." I haven't really thought much about him and I had no idea he was sick. I also didn't realize that he was barely a year older than I. Coincidentally, just a few weeks ago, I was goofing with my old record player and I put on Fogelberg's "Netherlands" album. It's one of those albums that constituted a soundtrack to a period of my life. We used to keep it on rotation on The Farm stereo when that rural enclave was a social nexus to our strange extended family and to an orbiting collection of friends. The album has held up well as a heartbreakingly beautiful and passionate rock symphony. Dan was a musician who could play highly melodic and sentimental music and retain an artistic credibility. Even my old friend Stuart Murphy, a music industry insider who had a pretty critical ear, always liked him.

After The Farm began to disintegrate and my family split up, I found myself living in Baton Rouge with my dad. I'd been doing odd jobs, mostly printing, and I had even tried working in the Gulf as a galley hand on a drilling rig, but it's safe to say I was floundering. I'd settled on a job at a Kroger grocery store, stocking shelves at night, just when Fogelberg's New Years Eve opus "Same Old Lang Syne" was getting some airplay.

The lyrics tell the story of a chance encounter between the musician and an old flame in a supermarket. He's become famous. She's married with kids. They share a beer in the parking lot. She leaves. He stands there alone in the snow with only his thoughts.

During those long winter nights the song would play on the store's sound system in the wee hours and always took me to some place lonely and sad, but I could never resist the trip. I'd find myself looking forward to it each night. The haunting coda, "and the snow turned into rain" was my reminder that you can connect with the past, briefly, but you can't go back. That was pretty poignant for me in those "cusp" years between The Farm and the Sideshow Pizzeria and old long-time girlfriend Pam on the one hand and the totally alien future on the other.

Thanksgiving Reunion

Thanksgiving Day Family Shot 2, originally uploaded by Broussardish.

Weird to think we're already having an event that qualifies as an immediate family reunion, but when Daniel and Eleanor came home from their respective colleges for Thanksgiving, that's what it was. We had a great meal and, as we tend to do, we also celebrated Daniel's and Grandpa's birthdays (21! and 75!) since they both actually fall in the next week. In a fit of inspiration, I decided to make an old family recipe for something called Squash Delight. It was Grandmother's favorite vegetable recipe, and since she was practically a vegetarian, that was saying a lot. Mom used to make it as well, and it was one of the few dishes I'd ever eat that has mayo in it. In my version I substituted plain low fat yogurt. It was a hit with just about everyone who tried it (Jemi has a problem with green peppers, but she was polite). If anyone reads this and would like the recipe, leave a reply and I'll post it.

Rick Makes a Splash

Rick Makes a Splash, originally uploaded by Broussardish.

I was invited to make one of the first splashes on a Pollock-esque painting, a community participation art project at Holman Stadium in Nashua. This is the first of 17 coats of splatter that will go on the 8 by 48-foot "canvas." It was fun. Artist Ken Gidge, who oversaw the process, said I had a knack for the format.