A Pestilence Come For Old Ma Salt
Well, it’s here, my little fishes! A story, a story to reeeeead!
I wrote the first version of A Pestilence Come For Old Ma Salt at Clarion in 2015, the week Karen Joy Fowler* clasped us to her continent-sized heart. It was the perfect thing to take to class that week, as it’s probably the thing closest to Karen’s vibe that I’ll ever write.
Ma Salt is about things unsaid as days, years, decades pass, a deceptively plain and simple life that appears to mosey on but will choke out the future. I grew up in middle-of-nowhere Michigan-- lower peninsula, I’ll grant you, so not AS in-the-middle-of-nowhere as Michigan can get-- absorbing my grampa’s folksy, Depression Era turn-of-phrase. I really enjoy writing with it-- perhaps too much-- and so lately I’ve also taken to Queering up some weird west. . . but that’s for another time.
I love writing salty drunks with a call to serve their fellows, and this is where Ma comes in. Hope you enjoy the folks on Verity Mountain, and that you freak out the next time someone coughs.*
*This will only make sense after you read, but during class on my story’s day, someone choked on their drink, and Karen pre-emptively wailed, “I killed my parents!!” It’s the new Gesundheit. Tell your friends.