Plus Ca Change

Got a new Raiding Party post up over at According to Hoyt, wherein I discuss just how short the public attention span is, and why this isn’t necessarily a Bad Thing(TM).

When I was a wee, young lad, my farthest horizons Down The Block To The Corner, and more distantly, The Annual 25-Hour Drive to Southern KCalifornia, I was confronted with the reality of, not only my personal mortality, but of the possibility – nay, the certainty of the extinction of humanity. No, not something as pedestrian as nuclear warfare. That, that actor who had the sheer, unmitigated gall to occupy the White House had seemed to put paid to the Gorby and the big, bad (but misunderstood, really, Officer Krupke) USSR.

No, we were all going to freeze to death as the planet chilled to a really, really, really cold temperature. Or starve. Or both, I expect. Now, I was four or five, but I’ve come to find out since that the drum of Teh Coming Ice-Age(TM) was being beaten for much longer than I knew about then. This was hard to understand – the whole freezing thing – as I started my life in sunny Pasadena. It became at least accessible once we’d moved to Spokane, and had this strange period called Winter, where the rain became this solid, oppressive, colorless thing that drifted on tiny wings of extinction. Or something.

About depascoe

David E. Pascoe is a ne’er-do-well of broad interests and little focus. He spent his childhood firmly ensconced in worlds of fantasy and science fiction with brief sorties into worlds of contemporary, horror and historical fiction of various stripes and inclinations. After rigorous intellectual training in theology and philosophy, he elected to enlist in the United States Navy, during which he used none of his skills to particularly good effect. Upon his separation from active duty, he dove back into speculative fiction, but this time as a content creator. He writes in several genre, and if you behave very well, dear reader, you may even get to sample some his efforts. David spends his time in relative isolation somewhere on the East Part of the North American continent. His time is devoured by his infant son, and caring for his wife. Writing has taken something of a back seat, a circumstance not David's liking, nor to that of the characters occupying his head. They seem to be organizing a strike . . .
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