One year ago today, my mother died after a long battle with ovarian cancer. She had dodged breast cancer bullets a couple of times … well, not really dodged so much as taken them in the chest. But this time the bullet was a shotgun shell to her abdomen full of twelve gauge tumor pellets. Her doctors performed surgery, but with so many tiny tumors the odds of getting all the cancer weren’t good.

After surgery, the chemotherapy made Mom’s life a waking nightmare of nausea and weakness and pain. This was her fourth round of chemo, and since it wasn’t working all that well — not buying her much time — she made the conscious choice to stop treatment.

We all knew that this decision meant her time was short, but we hoped that her quality of life would be higher during what remained. And she did have a few relatively ‘normal’ months before the deterioration overtook her.

I was not prepared for how heartbreaking it would be to see the shell of someone who had once been so vibrant and full of energy. But even so, I am grateful that I and the kids got the chance to see her several times at the end of her life, and to say goodbye.

Most healthy young people conceive of life as being constant until it ends abruptly. And sometimes it does, but sometimes a life withers away, and the older I get, the more I start thinking of how long I’ll be healthy enough to do the things I love.

I’ve started thinking of life in terms of quality time left, of how long I can stave off attrition. How long will I be able to play soccer? How many more times will I be able to go hiking with my kids? When will I lose my mental sharpness and become unable to write?

How much is three months of quality life worth? Or one month, or even a week?

I fully believe that Mom made the right decision. One year of vomiting isn’t better than three months of peace, but damn do I wish she’d had better choices.

Being Brave

Back in March of last year, Karawynn and the girls and I traveled to Yachats on the Oregon coast for Mom’s memorial service and the interment of her ashes. Even now, nearly a year later, I find it difficult to write about. I haven’t lost many people close to me, and I’m not sure I coped very well. But then again, does anyone?

In the days before the memorial service, we stayed in a beach-front rental house with my sister and her husband, my brother and his daughter. It was comforting to be surrounded by family.

The memorial ceremony itself was simple. It rained, but we crowded into the cemetery’s small shelter, above a picturesque graveyard that overlooks the ocean. “A tomb with a view,” we had joked earlier, but there was no joking on that day. I cried when my daughter Michaela sang “Into the West,” with my brother Jeff on guitar. I think most people did.

I have over the years become less communicative with distant friends and family. I can create fictional characters and give them deeply personal narratives, but I have a harder time sharing my own stories.

I understand some of the reasons for this. Every time I moved, I lost touch with friends or family. Setbacks in my career took a toll on my self-confidence. When my ex-wife and I separated, many of our friends disapproved and chose sides.

And near the end of Mom’s life, I gradually stopped talking to everyone except Karawynn and my girls. I closed in on myself.

Mom had supported me in everything I tried. She loved me even on the rare occasions when she didn’t agree with my life choices. And because she was my mom, I took that support and love for granted.

Mom would call me. Mom would email me. Mom would send gifts. She was always reaching out. And I responded; I could match her enthusiasm. But I rarely called or emailed her first. It was only after she couldn’t reach out, after she was so bedridden and brain-addled from cancer and drugs, that I began to initiate contact.

In December of 2010, knowing the end was near, we gave Mom a big party: a gathering of her friends and family to celebrate her life while she was still alive. Even on her deathbed, Mom provided the nexus around which we came together, as she had done for years.

And you know what? It was a warm and loving time despite the sadness. I had time alone with her, and she was lucid during some of it. I said my goodbyes. She told me that she loved me and to “be brave.”

As she was dying, Mom told me to be brave.

I am trying to take her words to heart. I have been making an effort to reach out to friends and family and share more of myself. That I am writing this journal now is, at least in part, because of her.

Thanks, Mom.

We didn’t have a large fortune when we launched Per Aspera back in 2003. We started with time and determination, but not much else. We funded our lives and our nascent press on credit cards and the belief that what we were doing was worthwhile. We wanted to publish books that were overlooked by traditional publishing for one reason or another, and prove that they could succeed both artistically and commercially.

We also maintained hope that one of our books would break out and float the whole operation.

By any objective analysis of our business back then, we failed. After releasing two books as print-on-demand trade paperbacks, we placed a huge bet by launching a line of cloth-bound editions, first with Singularity by Bill DeSmedt and later Steel Sky by Andrew C. Murphy. These were beautiful books with gorgeous interior design and great covers.

They sold well, but not well enough, and we had to close down. We laid off staff (some of whom were already working for free) and went into a state of torpor. That was in 2008.

Why Reboot?

Even though our books did not make enough to keep the business running, we did end up with some degree of creative and professional success. Singularity in particular was so well-received that I now believe all the effort and debt was worth publishing that one book. Several big-name hard SF writers gave it glowing blurbs. The novel garnered several awards, a number of ‘best-of’ mentions, and a whole slew of favorable reviews.

It’s still somewhat of a mystery why no larger publishers decided to buy Singularity. Thousands of mediocre books are published every year, and hundreds of good books are published that are not as good as Singularity and Steel Sky. They are published because enough of them sell. For the most part, publishing is a business and not an exercise in artistic integrity.

My intention when we shut down was always for the company to restart at some point when things were less busy and more financially stable. Karawynn and I were able to pay off the business debt a while ago, but the economy has been less than ideal and it’s emotionally hard to step back into a situation that has burned us in the past. No matter how much we loved doing it.

But the environment is different now. Publishing is changing. What was once a business quite hostile to small players is now one in which they can potentially thrive. A small press like ours might be able to sustain itself, and we might even have fun in the process.

Per Aspera Today

Christmas past

When I was growing up, Christmas was a big deal. It was an exciting and happy time for my siblings and myself. As a kid, I loved seeing the tree on Christmas morning with all the wrapped presents reflecting the tree lights. I liked making guesses about who they were for and what might be inside. I liked opening presents, and would be lying if I didn’t confess to being hyped about getting something awesome.

Our family exchanged gifts on a large scale — presents were both expensive and numerous. I’m not really sure why; our family wasn’t that well-off. My dad was a graduate student, then a post-doctoral researcher, then a rookie college professor. My mom had to work various service jobs to help support the family of five. We were lower-middle-class, I’d say.

My parents spent a lot of money, a lot of time, and a huge amount of effort on the celebration of Christmas. There was a fair amount of socializing (parties and dropping in on friends, or having them over), we went to midnight Mass, and had a big meal on Christmas day. But the main focus was on opening presents on Christmas morning.

Except for a few years in college when I was strapped for cash, I carried on this tradition as an adult, and loved it. Now however, while I still like to get gifts, my pleasure comes from feeling deep down that the giver was thinking about me and cares about me. What’s under the wrapping is not all that important. And I vastly prefer giving to getting.

Christmas present

And yet … I want Michaela and Claire to experience the wonder and joy of a Christmas morning with piles of wrapped gifts. Childhood is so fleeting, passing so quickly, that I want every experience for them to be as exciting or entertaining or heart-warming as possible. Logically, I know that not only is such a thing impossible, but that it’s likely not even advisable. Logically, I know that good parenting is as much about helping children learn the tools they’ll need when leaving the nest as it is about nurturing them while they’re in it.

Still, I want their childhood experiences to be at least as good as mine were, and better if possible. However, this year, we could not afford such a Christmas. We didn’t have the $500 or more that it would cost. Or more accurately: we made an assessment of the impact of such spending and decided that it would be risky and potentially damaging to our long-term finances. In years past, I’ve put a lot of the holiday cost on credit cards and paid it off over the course of the year. However, for the past few years we’ve made a vow to not incur credit card debt. We still use one card, but never carry a balance or spend more than we can immediately repay. Never.

Karawynn and I have a fairly strict budget, so we discussed things and decided to make some changes to how we celebrate this holiday. First of all, we opted to not buy a tree this year. I’ve always had a small ethical issue with killing a tree just to decorate the house, but the main reason was cost. Instead, we made our own wreaths from materials already in our house and with evergreen branches from our own yard. We also decorated our mantel with boughs and ornaments and lights.

The other thing we did was limit our spending on gifts. We bought relatively inexpensive gifts that we knew people wanted, and filled in the gaps with a few items from thrift stores. We managed to spend less than $40 total per person for the four people in our household. I made fudge as a holiday treat and to give away locally to friends, and for those people who weren’t local, I put together a web card with photos and a narrative of life events that happened over the year.

Karawynn and I had a good time, and I get the impression that the kids enjoyed the decorating and the gift exchange (however modest). I know they liked the fudge! We tried to temper expectations to minimize disappointment with the volume and caliber of the gifts, but an uncertain part of me can’t help but wonder if they just missed out on an irreplaceable childhood Christmas experience.

Christmas yet to come

Nobody complained. In fact, while the Christmas presents were less than epic, I think this will be a memorable holiday. Being forced into frugality by our current economic reality has resulted in positive changes. We did things (like make our own wreaths) we had never done before. We savored the gifts because there were fewer. Maybe I’m kidding myself, but I’d like to believe that Claire and Michaela took another step towards appreciating what they did get instead of lamenting what they didn’t.

In fact, I had been feeling quite satisfied with our (non-traditional) celebration until after I’d been on a group call with my dad, sister, and brother. After the call, Karawynn pointed out that I was apologetic and embarrassed when I’d talked about what presents the kids had gotten, about what the gifts we had exchanged.

I realized that even though none of my family was critical or condescending, I had a deep-seated embarrassment over the “inadequacy” of the presents. That embarrassment was derived from the difference between my experience and those of my other family members as compared to our collective history.

Thing is: I didn’t even realize that I felt that way. Karawynn had to point it out. And now that I know this about myself, I will do my best to combat it. I really am satisfied and, yes, even proud of how much holiday cheer we had.

I do really believe that Michaela and Claire had an experience worth savoring and remembering. I just have some work to do to be okay with that in comparison to my past and to the cultural norm. Next year is likely to be another frugal one, so I’ll have another chance.

Welcome to my brand-spanking new website. Isn’t it gorgeous? And slick? Yeah, I think so, too.

How did this come to be? How did my simple little website transform into this aesthetic wonder and practical powerhouse?

In an effort of near-Sisyphean proportions, my partner and web guru extraordinaire—Karawynn Long—designed and coded it for me. Here’s the 100% complete and true story:

How I Got A New Website

(un-embellished version)

Me: I’m going to start blogging!

K: [snorts] Good one!

Me: No, I’m serious!

K: [stops laughing and gives me a skeptical look]

Me: Just because I’ve started blogging a half-dozen times before, doesn’t mean I’ll fail this time! This time I have a strategy.

K: Heh, I’m sure you do.

Me: I do! I’m going to write only about stuff that I’m passionate about.

K: But who’s going to read a blog that’s only about porn and soccer and crème brûlée?

Me: [pondering] Actually…

K: Don’t think about that too much.

Me: I meant topics like writing, editing, and publishing. About events in my life and their effect on me… about stoicism and sustainability.

K: Seriously, no crème brûlée?

Me: The problem is that my blog doesn’t match the rest of my site.

K: Yeah, that is a problem. I could fix that for you.

Me: I’d love that, but do you have the time?

K: [shrugs] Sure. I could use it as a portfolio piece.

Me: [who recognizes a good thing] Oh wow, that sounds… um… involved.

K: [after a few minutes of researching] Not a simple job, but I’ve got this. I’ll do a custom design for you. Might not be done by lunch though.

Me: Oh that’s okay. I can wait until dinner, no problem.

[Several days (and a couple hundred questions from K) later.]

K: Well, I’ve had to brush up on PHP, and there’s still a lot to do. [shows me a long list]

Me: Wow, it’s already orders of magnitude better. Should I make a post?

K: Not yet. See that? I have to style that in CSS. And this here? The AJAX functionality is broken currently.

Me: Well, yeah, I’d like that, but I don’t really need—

K: Shht! I said I was going to fix your site. It’s not done yet.

Me: Okay, okay…

[Some days later]

Me: [admiring the site] Oh, this is awesome! And this! Rock!

K: [pleased look] It’s ready for you to post now, I think.

Me: Cool. I really like it! Hmm, I wonder if it’s possible to do <cool thing like pull quotes or asides or tilted photos>

K: Um, what?

Me: Shit, did I say that with my outside voice?

K: Yes. So what do you want now?

Me: Nothing. This is great! I love it.

K: [suspicious look] What!?

Me: Um… well, I was just wondering if <cool thing 1 and/or awesome function 2> would be possible and easy to do.

K: Oh sure, <awesome function 2> is easy. [makes a few keystrokes] Refresh your browser.

Me: [checking it out] Sweet! You’re awesome!

K: [smiles] Yep. But <cool thing 1> is going to mean recoding the server OS in machine language.

Me: Is that hard?

K: Just shut up and bring me food and drink. Also, clean the house because I’m not going to be able to leave my desk until this is done!

Me: [meekly] So, no posting today, then?

K: [tired glare]

Me: [leaving to clean the kitchen] Thought not.

K: [days later, exhausted] I’m done.

Me: [Looking at the site, which is gorgeous and has all the bells and whistles I could ever hope for] I love it, sweetie! I really do.

K: So you can post now. And you will post in your journal regularly. [this is clearly not a question]

Me: [in my best storm trooper voice] So, I will post in my journal regularly.

K: [makes Jedi hand motion] Move along.

Me: Move along.

K: [taps foot]

Me: I’ll get started then.

K: Yes. Yes you will.