Welcome to dark comedy and twisted romance. The struggling band "The Lost Girls" and a rock star out of exile join forcesin a new band called "It Really IS Rocket Science". Join Blar, Tsika, Glycerin, Kpau, and a gang of other misfits as they ride the roller coaster of fame helping each other to cope along the way. Portland, Oregon may be home but the life of a band is on the road as they rumble through the Pacific Northwest and across the world. In this second volume of the series, the Rocket Science people go on retreat to write original music. Do they know enough about each other to be isolated in California's Big Sur for a month? Blar is smitten with Tsika but the dynamics of relationships with Glycerin and Kpau are complicated. What IS going on with Glycerin, their enigmatic malfunctioning guitarist? Are there creative ways to get through life for misfits who care about each other? Follow the band as they work the gigs, the festivals, head to the ski slopes, and get lost in rural twilight zones. It's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll.
About the Author: Brad Branham skipped away from a long career in engineering and software on NASA projects, defense contracting, and scientific pursuits. He enjoys writing slice-of-life adventures. The settings may be rock'n'roll, fantasy, science-fiction, or other unusual locales but people and their antics are what fundamentally make a story entertaining. In between writing spells, he spends his time on gaming, plinking bass guitar, random software contracts, reconfiguring computers and networks, and random shiny things that get his attention. Brad got his B.S. in electrical engineering at Rice University in 1981, knows just enough Japanese to get into serious trouble, and has some college Russian and high school German under his hood. He has had an eclectic career ranging from actual rocket science to neurological research support and even was the Network Wizard at the Oregon Museum of Science & Industry (OMSI) for a few years. "I get asked about my hair versus my career a lot. I've worn my hair pretty much this way since the late 1970s. Sometimes a bit shorter, sometimes longer. It never seemed to bother anyone at the Department of Defense or anyone who actually mattered. I was recently amused by some elderly uncivilized twit in a parking lot who called me a "hippie" after I said hello to his dog. He was the right age to be same type of guy who called me that in 1979. The hateful little sods never got over the improved freedom of society I guess - and they never figured out the difference between hippies and the descendents of Vikings and other marauders either. Turns out I'm nearly 70% Scandinavian by DNA (despite my name being Irish in scope), so my construction of chain-mail and ownership of swords, axes, shields, and helmets was my inner DNA talking;) "