Where did March go?

Seems like the month flew right on by.  Hopefully all the books sent domestically have made their way to their new owners by now, and if you haven't yet provided your address please feel free to make the update - it's not too late!  

I'm targeting the first chapter release of Peculiar Soul for patrons on April 7th, next Wednesday.  There are some minor revisions to the preview of the chapter posted earlier, and I'll be including a supplement along with it.  After that, I'm hoping to keep plugging along at one per week.  Getting close!

To keep you entertained, I thought I'd listen to a suggestion and link some short works I've posted on r/HFY over the years.  I'll include one in full-text below, but the rest are over at https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/wiki/authors/tmarkos if you're curious.

See you next Wednesday!

---

"I don't understand it."

Marie looked up at the Qevin ambassador with an exasperated grin.   "Delat, you've been in this gallery for nearly an hour now.  You've  stopped in front of a dozen paintings.  Each time, you stare at it for  several minutes.  Each time, you say the same thing."

"Because I don't understand," Delat replied.  "You seem to find this  amusing, but I'm failing at a primary purpose of my visit here.  It is  causing me considerable distress."

She looked at Delat's impassive, squishy face.  "Uh-huh," she said,  not sounding particularly convinced.  "All right, tell you what.  You  look at this painting and tell me what you see, then I'll do the same."

The folds of his face deepened in concentration as he leaned closer  to the paint-daubed canvas.  "It is a composition of colored paints on  cloth, primarily red.  The design does not appear to represent or depict  anything, nor does it adhere to any form of symmetry or geometric  patterning that I can discern.  Chaotic black and grey strokes provide  contrast."  Delat paused, looking at Marie.  "Is it the contrast?  Does  that hold the painting's appeal?"

Marie couldn't quite stifle her smile at the earnest question,  shaking her head gently.  "No, although it does help," she said.  She  walked over to the small plaque beside the painting.  "What does that  say?"

Delat examined the title card.  "Friday Evening," he muttered.  "I  had noticed it earlier, but the name did not seem to bear any  significance on the artwork.  I had considered the idea that it was  randomly chosen."

"Nothing in art is random, even the random elements," Marie said.   "Look at it again through the lens of the name.  The red, like a setting  sun outdoors, blending with the warm tones of streetlights.  The  strokes are big, slow.  They're taking their time, slowly fading into  the black.  The darker strokes are narrow, spiky - almost threatening.   They're encroaching on the fading red, waiting to take what's theirs.   There's a tension in the piece, dying light versus ascendent dark.  Can  you see it?"

Delat looked at the painting for a long, long moment.  "No," he said.

Marie sighed.  "Well, we gave it a try," she said.

"No, this was valuable," Delat insisted.  "Please, tell me what the  other paintings mean.  I will convey your words back to Qevi and we will  analyze them further."

"Wait, Del," Marie said, her eyes going wide.  "I might not have  explained it well.  What I told you isn't what the painting means.  It's  what the painting means to me."

Delat blinked, a complex operation for a Qevin.  "Is your  interpretation erroneous?" he asked.  "What is the consensus opinion,  then?"

She shook her head, pressing two fingers against the bridge of her  nose.  "There is no consensus," she sighed.  "You have to understand -  you could walk everyone in this room past this painting and get entirely  unique interpretations from every one.  Hell, there's probably a few of  them that would be closer to your view of it than mine."

"But this art is popular," Delat objected.

Marie nodded.  "Very."

"Even though no two of you agree on what it means, and a significant  portion fail to derive any meaning from it whatsoever," Delat said  flatly.

"That is likely part of the appeal," Marie confirmed, the hint of a smile rising to her lips once more.  "It's about being evocative,  Del.  Providing a direction for emotion and thought, a nucleation point  for ideas and feelings to take hold and expand in new directions you  might not have considered."

Delat blinked once more, then consulted his handpad.  After a moment,  he gave her an confused look.  "That is not the definition of art," he  said.

"The definition-" Marie sputtered, making an exasperated gesture.   "Del, there is no definition of art.  It's as nebulous as the meaning of  that painting, changing from person to person.  Many humans would say  this painting isn't art."

"But it is," Delat said.

"Yes, it is," Marie sighed.

Delat's facial folds deepened once more.  "So," he said slowly.   "Many of your people require additional education on the subject?"

"No!" Marie shouted, drawing some glares from the other gallery patrons.  "Oh, dammit, I'm explaining this all wrong."

"It seems to be a very complex subject," Delat said.  "I'm sure some  of the fault is mine, for not comprehending fully.  I will note in my  report that you made an exemplary effort."

Marie shook her head, running her fingers through her hair  frustratedly.  "It's not your fault, we're just kind of hard to  summarize sometimes," she said wryly.  "How about this - I'll put my  head together with a few folks from the consulate and we'll see if we  can't figure something out.  Keep a spot open on your calendar."  She  darted a sly look at the painting beside them.  "Let's say Friday evening."

Delat added an item to his handpad, then paused.  "Humor," he said,  looking up at her.  "That was a reference to a relevant but unexpected  contextual element.  It was humorous."

"Good job," Marie chuckled.  "We'll have you doing stand-up by next week."

"I am already standing," Delat noted.

"Hah, see?  You're a natural," she teased, moving towards the gallery exit.  "Friday, Del!  I'll be in touch!"

---

They had an early dinner on Friday before commandeering one of the  embassy's fliers to whisk them away towards a location farther south  down the coast.  Delat looked over at Marie, who was humming softly with  a slight smile on her face.

"You seem content," he observed.

She grinned at him, flashing her teeth.  "I have a good feeling about  this," she said.  "We did our research, tried to figure out what sort  of stimuli might resonate best with a Qevin.  The materials in your  intro packet said that your people lived in your planet's oceans for a  comparatively long period of time, right?  Safe from the stormy  weather?"

Delat inclined his head.  "That is correct," he said.  "We only  emerged in response to depleted hunting caused by a minor extinction  event, at which point our development proceeded on a route fairly close  to galactic norms."  He paused.  "This is relevant to art?" he said,  sounding as incredulous as a Qevin ever had.

"For us, art that addresses the primal is some of the most intense and appreciated," she said, then paused and cocked her head.

"You are about to qualify that statement," Delat said.  "You are  going to tell me that other humans do not value such art, nor do they  consider it art at all."

The descent chime went off, and Marie laughed.  "I won't tell you any  such thing," she said.  "But only because you've already figured it  out.  Come on, we're running late."

Delat allowed her to hurry him away from the flier and towards a  gigantic structure - one of their sporting arenas, if he remembered  correctly.  They joined a stream of people moving through one of the  many entrances and soon found themselves in the middle of a seething  mass of people.  Many shot curious looks their way - Delat was far from  the only nonhuman there, but few Qevin had visited Earth.  Yet.

Marie grabbed one of his primary arms and led him through the crowd.   The space opened up into a colossal partial enclosure ringed with  seats, presumably for watching the sporting events that were the  building's purpose.  Everyone present was on the flat center, however,  clustered before a smaller flat platform in the center with a variety of  electrical apparatus.  He turned to Marie in confusion.

"I don't understand," he said, noting the small quirk of her lips as he said it.  "Should we not be in the seats?"

"Are you kidding me?" she said, shouting over the noise of the crowd.  "You have to be down by the stage.  Trust me, you'll see."

Delat inclined his head.  "I will trust you," he said.

The two of them stood amid the sea of people in a tiny bubble of  space afforded to them by Delat's novelty and bulk.  The roof over the  arena loomed high and dark above them, and as the stage fell into shadow  some strangely-garbed men climbed the stairs to stand before the crowd.   There was a hum from the stage, and the odd taste of ozone.  The  lights went out, plunging them into darkness.  Amid the building  excitement from the audience, one of them held an instrument aloft - a  guitar, Delat recognized - and ran his fingers sharply over its strings.

A burst of lightning erupted from a tall silver pillar behind him,  sounding a low note that jarred Delat's very bones.  He flinched  backwards in utter shock, thinking the humans must be dead from such a  close impact - but the cheers only intensified, and as he composed  himself Delat saw that they were each wearing metal clothing designed to  shield them from the shock.  The man began to play the guitar, evoking  lightning from the pillar behind him that skirled up and down the  musical scale.

"Frequency modulation?" Delat shouted, looking to Marie.

Marie turned to him with a giant grin, her eyes sparkling.  "You dork, just shut up and-"

A blast of low-frequency sound drowned out the rest of her sentence,  once again startling Delat backward.  The crowd around him roared back,  their voices a single titanic chant of approval.  Delat felt as if he  were immersed in an ocean of noise, muddy currents of sound pressing in  on him as the lightning strobed from the stage.  The performers began to  play in earnest, the lightning and the crowd thundering as one while  the bass pulsed deep and powerful over the masses.

The man with the guitar hopped up onto a raised platform and thrust  his fist skyward as he strummed with the other, catching the bolt of  lightning on his fingers.  The arcing electricity made a pure note that  skittered over the bass, pulsing, merging.  Lasers and strobes cut  brilliant lines through the air that shifted color with dizzying speed.

Delat was overwhelmed with the sensations that assaulted him from all  sides, the crowd surging like a living beast in response to the  musicians.  As the music reached a crescendo he felt the noise pull and  pull at him until he tilted his head back and roared a stentorian  bellow, raising his arms high.

There was a visible disturbance in the stadium as the concertgoers  reacted to Delat's impulsive call, and he immediately felt shame  crushing down upon him.  He turned to Marie to apologize, to ask that  they leave - but found her laughing delightedly.  On the stage, the  guitarist punched his fist into the air and the bass roared back in an  imitation of his call, rattling the audience even more thoroughly than  he had.

The crowd went mad, the lightning struck, and the show surged onward  with wild abandon.  Delat rode the sound in delirious, ecstatic waves  for so long that he lost all track of time, lost everything but the  lights, the pulse, the thunder-

And then it was over.  The band played their last thundering note  while lightning crackled and flames burst upward from the stage, sending  the crowd into hoarse, screaming fits that lasted well after the band  had waved their exhausted farewell.  Delat felt drained in ways he had  never felt before - but still alert, awake, full of energy.  He let  Marie lead him towards the exit, noting that several around them made  appreciative comments about his "singing" during the concert.

Finally, they were in the tunnel leading out towards the flyer pad,  the crowds departing by other exits.  The air was cooler - he hadn't  noticed how hot it had been by the stage, but now he relished the  refreshing breeze from outside as they walked.

"That was it, wasn't it?" he said, finding his voice surprisingly hoarse.  "That was art."

Marie grinned at him, although it seemed she hadn't stopped smiling  since they entered.  "Yep," she said proudly.  "That was art."

He shook his head, feeling oddly giddy as they neared the exit.  "So  strange," he said.  "And so different from what you showed me before.  I  wonder if humans simply find the visual medium more-"

Marie lost her grip on his arm as he stopped dead in his tracks.  She  looked back to find him slack-faced, staring out into the distance.   "Del?" she said, her smile at last fading into a concerned frown.  "Hey,  you all right?"

Delat looked out at the reddening sky, overcome.  Deep crimson and  orange wove through the clouds on the horizon, shading into purples  above and culiminating in a thin line of brilliant gold where the sun  had yet to release its hold on the heavens.  The silhouettes of trees  and buildings clawed their way into the sky, a thousand blackened  cutouts framing the brilliant palette above.  He was immobile, helpless.   The dinner, the flight, the concert, the assault of sensation and the  roar of the people, the feel of the space around him vibrating with the  noise, the excited energy of the crowd as it dispersed - and the cool  air on his face, washing it all away while the sky burned.  Friday Evening.

He would remember this night forever.

"Marie," he croaked.

"Yeah, Del?" she said, looking truly worried.  "Are you okay?  Was it too much?"

"The gallery," he said.  "How soon can we go back?  I need to - to see the painting."

She blinked, looking confused, then pivoted to follow his gaze.   "Oh," she said.  "Oh."  She turned back to him, smiling once more -  though, strangely, he saw tears marking the corners of her eyes.  "Get  in the flier," she laughed, her voice thick with emotion.  "You're the  ambassador.  For you, they're open now."