The Journey of SILVER BROWN

Just Beyond a Gross of Cedars: A Visual Novella

Happy Canada Day weekend to all my country(wo)men reading this. If you’re into that sort of thing. Some folks have chosen to forgo celebrating the aforementioned holiday this year, in light of this, this and that, and the who knows how many more like those which haven’t (yet) made headlines. Others never celebrate it any year, because they’ve always seen Canada as an imaginary fantasy land that doesn’t exist outside the collective imagination of the white man. And you know what? It’s all good. Part of what I love about this country is that the practice of fetishizing the state has always been looked upon as weird. Unless hockey is involved in some way, jingoism is just not a part of our culture. Pay no attention to what our opposition leader said recently. A federal election could likely be around the corner, so he’s just peddling outrage and demagoguery in order to score cheap brownie points with the base. Because that’s what conservatives are into these days. Coming up with an actual platform is too hard.

The freedom to create a parodic re-interpretation of the national flag like this one without being labelled a traitor or being threatened with bodily injury by complete strangers is an actual thing in Canada.

Nestled somewhere in that imaginary fantasy land called Canada is a little hideyhole out in the wilderness where I went to get inspired for whatever it is I’m going to write next. It’s a short drive down a side road like this one. With only one lane. So if somebody else is leaving the hideyhole at the same time you arrive, you have to get a bit creative behind the wheel. But it’s well worth the risk.  


The chillest dog I’ve ever seen was there to greet me to the hideyhole. As chill as Canada herself. Wasn’t getting busy sniffing every crotch he could get his nose on. Like a lot of dogs would in a crowd of unfamiliar people. Just lying there, being all chill. Even after getting pet by multiple passersby. I wasn’t sure if he was naturally that chill or if his owner gave him Scooby Snacks an hour before coming to the beach. Didn’t bother to ask.  

Chill as fuck.
Somebody’s off to get more Scooby Snacks.

On the second level is an executive parking lot…

This ain’t my car.

…and when the moon is in the seventh house, the sand is pink…

I’m getting a hankerin’ for Baskin-Robbins for some strange reason.

Maybe it’s the same tidal forces that create that gnarly sand dune effect at the bottom of the lake…

The sun totally photobombed this pic.

…or maybe it was from whatever witchly magnetic energies are emanating from this thing…

…but somewhere along the way there, I ran over some huge industrial projectile that must’ve fallen of somebody’s truck, and ended up with this…

Fortunately some merrie elfin creature came out of the woods to lend me his tire compressor, so I could inflate the tire just enough to go back to wherever it is I’m hanging my hat at the moment. Which is somewhere down this road…


Flat tire aside, the only downside to this place is that if you suddenly have to drop the kids off at the pool, you have to do it like the bears do it, and I don’t mean the Charmin bears either…

…but the positives far outweigh the negatives, for sure. There’s a few literary ideas to come out of a stately-looking outhouse that nobody can actually use.

While floating in that exquisite emerald green water (which I would have taken a picture of if I wasn’t paranoid about dropping my phone in the lake) I saw a cloud formation that looked like a colossal larval entity with a face that vaguely resembled that of one of the minor characters from The Empire Strikes Back

This guy, specifically.

The Soundtrack of SILVER BROWN

Ring Out, Solstice Bells

When the current shitshorm passes, people will do even more feasting and orgying to mark the occasion of the solstice. So at least we’ve got that to look forward to.


The Journey of SILVER BROWN

I Title All My Chapters

This is a practice I’ve been doing almost since the beginning. Bestowing every chapter in a written work with its own title helps to give it some context, methinks. The few words that comprise it can be used to comment on the general vibe of the chapter or give supplementary information, in a way that doesn’t interrupt the flow of the narrative.


ColorfulVainIberianmidwifetoad-small


My chapters frequently go through several working titles before they settle on a definitive appellation. The chapter I’m editing now sees our heroes visit the top-secret lair of a powerful warlock on the island of ₪KLAVERIOS, who after several rewrites has evolved into someone vaguely like a hybrid of Morpheus (of The Matrix) and the character Q of James Bond fame, with maybe just a smattering of Glinda the Good Witch thrown in. This exhibition-heavy whopper of a chapter’s original working title was:

…AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT

After fully digesting this chapter’s innards and melding my consciousness with its innate atman throughout the editing process, the old title found itself abandoned like an outgrown shell. Replaced with the (somewhat) more cozy WHO IS THE TRAINER? It’s possible the original title might be claimed by another chapter down the road; it would probably fit the next chapter after this one like a glove.


image