Ask the Author: Nancy Carol Moody

The May issue marks Nancy Carol Moody’s second appearance in PANK. She talks with us about her mythical beast swagger, Captain Obvious’s appearance and more.

1. What would Captain Obvious look like? What would be his superpowers?

Captain Obvious is sort of like god, sans the Mack truck voice and the fleet of angels idling around in the drive. He defies profiling. A thousand witnesses paired with a thousand police artists would come up with a thousand different sketches. Think the invisible man made visible again, but only for the instant it takes him to flick a piece of broccoli from between his teeth. For my own police sketch I like to imagine that the leotard was invented with Cap’n O in mind, that he looks hot in his Clark Kent glasses which he is always sure to wear while on the superhero clock. He bathes regularly, does not apologize when he says Shit, has a weakness for kettle corn, and refuses to wear a Bluetooth device in his ear. If those aren’t superpowers enough, I’ll add this: He’s never lost when drawing to an inside straight. And he loves his guinea pig, whom he’s named Sestina.

2. Who would your superhero identity be? What powers would you have?

I’ve never fantasized myself into Superhero-dom, but now that you ask, I’ll say that Captain sounds nice. It suggests authority not burdened with the ivory-tower weight that Admiral (or General, for that matter) suggests. Did General Mills ever make it off flap of the cereal box? Could Admiral Halsey escape Paul McCartney’s groove? So I’ll stick with Captain. Captain What’s-Her-Name.

My powers would include the ability to get a person’s attention without having to shake them or slap them silly or poke them in the chest with my index finger. People would suddenly start owning what they say. Also, I would be able to zap oil from water, from marshes, from sea fur and feathers. I would put every pelican back on its eggs. And being a mortal superhero, I’d indulge myself with the ability to fly, to ride currents, to feel the lift of air beneath my arms. That one would be just for me. For the weekends and every other Thursday afternoon.

3. Stephanie Meyers, author of the Twilight saga, set the series in Oregon. Are there really a lot of sparkly vampires in your state? Is it because of the tax laws?

I’m sorry to have to correct you, but the tax laws in this state were put in place to encourage van pyres, not vampires. Your confusion is understandable. When NPR first ran the story on ritual bonfires fueled by aging VW vans, the audio stream hiccupped in just that spot, and the myth took off from there.

As for sparkly—everything sparkles in Oregon. Or at least this is what the travel brochures would have one believe, so it is a given that our vampires would be sparkly as well. But like anything sparkly, a little goes a long way, and the market has become oversaturated. This problem first became apparent a few years back, and the state was compelled to step in, enacting new laws which required our vampires (referred to in Oregon as the LICs (Liquid-Intake Challenged)) to purchase their sparkle, spangle, glitter and gloss over the counter at the pharmacy. The law was subsequently repealed on equal-access grounds when it became apparent that the LICs were not physically able to transact their business during the hours in which pharmacies traditionally operate.

4. What is your shoe size? What would you like your shoe size to be?

My shoe size runs a yawn-worthy 9, though there was a time back in the 80s when it crept up to 9 1/2 and then, most alarmingly, to 10. When I realized how easily this situation could get out of control, that I might one day awaken to find my toe-tips abraded from rubbing on the ceiling, I took control of the problem and entered a 12-step program, steps in this case being the obvious fit for a problem with shoe size. (See how easily Cap’n O insinuates himself?)

I have always maintained that I am not vain about my feet, that my sense of self worth is not a function of the size of my shoes. But now it appears that this is not entirely true. Thank you thank you thank you for helping me look deep within for the answer to this question. I asked myself, Would I be happy toddling along wearing the stumpy little booties designed for the foot of a Labrador retriever? Would I feel embarrassed shopping for my shoes at the closeout sale at the clown college clothing center? No. And yes. Apparently I do have my vanities after all. So what is my footsize sweet spot? I’ll choose my current tepid 9, if for no other reason than it will cost me a fortune to replace all of my steel-toed boots with the 5-inch custom stiletto heels.

5. What mythical beast is your swagger like?

I move like the Pacific graffiti-ing a cliff, a 747 through a bowling alley, a McDonald’s fry with a horseradish toupee.