The point being that my ambitions are still generally as a novelist. I enjoy being in characters' heads for a good long while. Cowachunga is interesting and I will get back to it. I realize that I cannot really work on Kyle and Dylans' Big Adventure without being in Nevada. And doing some legwork in Australia.
Meanwhile, I have this idea of a novella that mirrors my quest for fabric. Set in Boracay during the changeable Habagat season, mirroring realizations I have had recently.
Continuing the adventures of David, Habagat is officially a piece of EVEN (as Arisugawa Park now turns out to be). Please have patience, this is a true first draft, it will change dramatically over the next couple years. I am not ashamed of the initial poetry that leads to half thought-out cadences, which are later strung into paragraphs, more detailed graspings at meaning.
By the way, click on the Soundcloud link to get the WIP concept album Chasing the Sun. Call it what you want, it is original and the reason is not all me. Which is how it should be.
Was this what had happened to Waikiki in one impactful decade, a thousand beach entrepreneurs taking root before it got out of control and planners were called in to create car-fed order? No, it had always been so… the Earth had been through worse, two World Wars. And yet... what if the trials of the 20th century had been but a prelude to the chaos of the 21st? When true scarcity gripped the Earth, washed through with the power of extreme need and envy––not Mad Max desperate, but close. Trump destined not to win, but a snake oil harbinger––as ISIS burned at the other end, fear working its inevitable dance of fragmentation, attrition.
David was here because he had turned nomad one of those years when he was grasping for a stationary place. If this was the frontline of development and he could afford to be here, living his allotted time on earth––then here he was. The perfect place to begin a win-win fight among those who cared and would be open to caring. Like Doc Ricketts setting up a marine conservation biological services lab, incognito among the clanking factories of Cannery Row––the Monterey Bay depopulated of its millions of sardines in 20 sad years, sacrificed to feed an army cloaked in patriotism, generating industrial growth even as it compelled the world to kill no more.
If fabric was to start it would have to start here he decided, in Boracay and other places where the scale was not too great, where the disease had not spread to the point where all decisions were made in high towers. The island was small enough and the beach sunset unique enough that the consequences of overdevelopment could not be avoided––no matter how much it might be in the local character to do so. It was the beginning of the stormy season, Habagat, and he was somewhere close to home.