On the way to church this morning, I turned on the radio and decided to turn on the CD player instead. The Gathering was in slot 6, and Mr. X gave me that on our first date, and it was right for the day, for my mood, for the level of energy.
My CDs in the car are stacked by their position in the player. #1 is on the bottom, #6 is on the top. I peek in the dashboard bin from time to time, to see what's where, to decide what to listen to if I need a change. As in most things, I'm not organized because I'm that good/efficient - there needs to be a place for everything so I can keep myself oriented. I'm that *bad*!
Today, apparently, I was badly organized. What was supposed to be The Gathering was instead Andy Deane slowly singing, low, "Once more, take my hand ..."
It wasn't "our" music. But the unexpected playlist suited me anyway. Bella Morte is a band I can imagine seeing with X - one of those hundred dreams he and I have, across the miles, across the time.
In six weeks, it will be ten years since I met him. The relationship is not conventional, never has been really - and this bends people out of shape. Sometimes, honestly, *far* out of shape. Sometimes, it's X and I who get bent. It's a funny thing, but I actually met Andy in April, and told him he was the most attractive man I'd seen in years. It was a hit-and-run, that compliment, but I had to give it. The frequency with which I actually find anyone attractive is vanishingly low.
Two weeks later, I had a period of frustration - went to church then, and gave it up - and instantaneously, X not only answered my plea to G-d, and we began planning the trip to see each other. I was beside him again, literally for the first time in *years*, within days. Something like that - some inspiration to abide - has come up every time I told G-d I would sincerely give up, if that is what I am supposed to do.
X does give up, but then he's more depressive than I. I'm like the late, great Sweet Siddy La - I am hope incarnate. We both have said, over the years, there is a balance between us. I don't so much staunch his melancholy. But maybe am an antidote.
"Once more, take my hand."
What I would give, just to touch X's fine, elegant fingers. Eight years profoundly apart. Ten years we have known each other.
It's a good thing the next song on the random shuffle turned out to be "Lights Flash In the Sky". It's probably my favorite track, AND it is a different tempo altogether.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Writerliness
I found this post in the Drafts file - one I thought I had published months ago. Since it saves as of the date you wrote it, but publishes in real time - please accept that this was written in April, but still says some relevant things (to my mind!).
Okay, Arianna Huffington on Colbert says "The Huffington Post is not about Right versus Left, it is about Right versus WRONG ..."
Oh, honey.
And I read HuffPo from time to time.
But THAT. Is writerliness. And this finally gets me off my bum to write that Writerly post I've been thinking and saying I was going to get to soon.
***
Okay.
Writerly writing goes past self-consciousness and ends up in self-satisfaction instead, skewing either twee or superior depending upon its point. And it always has a point, which itself is tiresome.
More often than not, the latter seasons of M*A*S*H represent for me the sins of writerliness - the didactic sentimentality, the heavily over-ground axes - but it is popular even in journalism. In fiction, it can get pretty thick. Fiction peopled with auto-characters, avatars for an author's self (or dreams of self) modeled into *ary *ues, cheap exposition working to be clever, would-be clever verbiage straining to teach.
The writerly writer can be heard finding their own work witty and charming. On television, Sorkin productions sometimes fluff a writerly writer. Sitcoms of course do it, see the old war horse referenced above. In the seventies, before irony, archness, and meta came along (we did not know of these concepts of course, the human race before Teh Intarwebs), earnestness was done to a scale which might appear ostentatious to the wiser eyes of today. (Is Diane being writerly? The world may never know. But as Mr. X knows, I was never suBtle.)
Cleverness and sincerity had a dangerously passionate relationship, and of course audiences had no critical eye for it. This stuff was ENT-ertaiment! (*Cue Lovitz doing his Thespian character.) Even the quiet writerly moment - *especially* the quiet writerly moment - was thick with portent. "Portent!" these moments cried, with their contrived intensity. "Portent ..." they whispered, with the profundity of Lesson.
Ahh. Writerly writing.
It's hardly gone the way of the dodo, since all us hayseed pre-'netters grew up and got iPhones. Even reality TV occasionally falls prey to writerliness, don't kid yourself. And reality serves us up intimate, powerful personal monologues by the multi-ton.
If only we could keep it out of "JOURNALISM" ... Whatever that even is, anymore. The best ones out there are Colbert and Stewart. What does that say about our supposed non-fiction writers??
Okay, Arianna Huffington on Colbert says "The Huffington Post is not about Right versus Left, it is about Right versus WRONG ..."
Oh, honey.
And I read HuffPo from time to time.
But THAT. Is writerliness. And this finally gets me off my bum to write that Writerly post I've been thinking and saying I was going to get to soon.
***
Okay.
Writerly writing goes past self-consciousness and ends up in self-satisfaction instead, skewing either twee or superior depending upon its point. And it always has a point, which itself is tiresome.
More often than not, the latter seasons of M*A*S*H represent for me the sins of writerliness - the didactic sentimentality, the heavily over-ground axes - but it is popular even in journalism. In fiction, it can get pretty thick. Fiction peopled with auto-characters, avatars for an author's self (or dreams of self) modeled into *ary *ues, cheap exposition working to be clever, would-be clever verbiage straining to teach.
The writerly writer can be heard finding their own work witty and charming. On television, Sorkin productions sometimes fluff a writerly writer. Sitcoms of course do it, see the old war horse referenced above. In the seventies, before irony, archness, and meta came along (we did not know of these concepts of course, the human race before Teh Intarwebs), earnestness was done to a scale which might appear ostentatious to the wiser eyes of today. (Is Diane being writerly? The world may never know. But as Mr. X knows, I was never suBtle.)
Cleverness and sincerity had a dangerously passionate relationship, and of course audiences had no critical eye for it. This stuff was ENT-ertaiment! (*Cue Lovitz doing his Thespian character.) Even the quiet writerly moment - *especially* the quiet writerly moment - was thick with portent. "Portent!" these moments cried, with their contrived intensity. "Portent ..." they whispered, with the profundity of Lesson.
Ahh. Writerly writing.
It's hardly gone the way of the dodo, since all us hayseed pre-'netters grew up and got iPhones. Even reality TV occasionally falls prey to writerliness, don't kid yourself. And reality serves us up intimate, powerful personal monologues by the multi-ton.
If only we could keep it out of "JOURNALISM" ... Whatever that even is, anymore. The best ones out there are Colbert and Stewart. What does that say about our supposed non-fiction writers??
PROCESS: Version Three
With some help from Leila, we have now come to this:
Yes: please leave feedback if you would like to!
Clovis I came to the throne at fifteen, yearning for more from his accession, and erupted to fame vanquishing Rome's power in Gaul. From a childhood under the shadow of a scandalous mother and profligate father, he launched his own reputation--his legend--with an act of revenge so spectacular the tale is told to this day. At last, he forged a dynasty by deceiving his allies and killing his own kin. Yet Clovis' power was balance on his faith in God ... and his religion was inspired by the love of the magnificent Queen Clotilde.
His parents' sins instilled in him a discipline which became ambition so wide he built from it the very foundation of the Frankish empire. His abiding love of the Catholic Clotilde led him to conversion, which set the course of politics and faith in Europe for a thousand years. With four sons and indomitable will, Clovis befan a dynasty and set forth the law. He was famed for piety and a bloodthirsty nature ... yet few can say who he truly was ...
The Ax and the Vase creates and recreates Clovis' story, his world, his fame--and his infamy. It is the product of fascination, years of research, and the urgent need to understand and to tell this great, gripping story.
Yes: please leave feedback if you would like to!
Friday, September 28, 2012
PROCESS: Version Two
Mojourner saw a structure in the first raw brain-dump, and said it could be refined with a repeated within-without tension. Small, expositive verb - big, muscular action. This is where that observation has taken me so far:
Yes: please leave feedback if you would like to!
Clovis I came to the throne at fifteen, and erupted to fame vanquishing Rome's power in Gaul. He lived in childhood under the shadows of the reputation of a scandalous mother and profligate father; and launched his reputation - his legend - with an act of revenge so spectacular, the tale is told to this day. At last, he forged a dynasty by deceiving his allies and killing his own kin. Yet Clovis’ power was balanced on his faith in God ... and his religion was inspired by the love of the magnificent Queen Clotilde.
Clovis yearned, from his accession, for more than his father’s small kingdom. His parents’ sins instilled in him a discipline which became an ambition so wide he built from it the very foundation of the Frankish empire. His abiding love of the Catholic Clotilde led him to conversion, which set the course of politics and faith in Europe for a thousand years. With four sons and indomitable will, Clovis began a dynasty and set forth the law. He was famed for his piety and a bloodthirsty nature ... yet few can say who he truly was ...
The Ax and the Vase creates and recreates Clovis’ story, his world, his fame - and his infamy. It is the product of fascination, years of research, and the urgent need to understand and to tell this great, gripping story.
Yes: please leave feedback if you would like to!
PROCESS: Version One
Clovis I came to the throne at fifteen, and came to fame vanquishing Rome’s power in Gaul. He created his reputation - perhaps his legend - with an act of revenge so spectacular, the tale is told to this day. At last, he built a dynasty by conquering even allies and killing his own kin. Yet Clovis’ power was balanced on his faith in God ... and his religion was inspired by the love of the magnificent Queen Clotilde.
Clovis yearned, from his accession, for more than his father’s small kingdom. His parents’ scandalous reputations had instilled in him both discipline and a deep desire for power, which became an ambition so great he would through battle, diplomacy, and deceit build what we now know as the nation of France. His love of the Catholic Clotilde led him to conversion, which set the course of Europe for a thousand years. With four sons and indomitable will, Clovis began a dynasty, he set forth the law; he was famed for his piety and a bloodthirsty nature ... yet few can say who he truly was ...
The Ax and the Vase creates and recreates Clovis’ story, his world, his fame - and his infamy. It is the product of fascination, years of research, and the urgent need to understand, and to tell this great and gripping story.
Yes: please leave feedback if you would like to!
Funniest Troi Line EVAR
Crusher: (Watching as Lt. Barclay walks away) He transformed into a spider, and now he has a disease named after him.
Troi: I think I'd better clear my calendar for the next few weeks.
Go on, Deanna. It took 'em six seasons, but they finally gave you a character to play. Bravo!
Troi: I think I'd better clear my calendar for the next few weeks.
Go on, Deanna. It took 'em six seasons, but they finally gave you a character to play. Bravo!
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Baked
Today I managed the United Way bake sale for my location. For the first three hours or so, only one volunteer worked with me, but she was great and we took care of everything fine. Sales were good, and we had a pretty huge variety of goodies to sell. By the end, we had sold all but a very few items, and the tally of donations was nothing I was ashamed to report for the event.
Cute Shoes helped out, too, and that was great. She would make a great carnival barker - hee. A hard sell, but friendly - and that's the way a charity bake sale should be run. She's also just good company, so during a lull or two we poked away on our laptops and were able to spend a little time organizing, being encouraging about the progress, and getting along.
My back's been low-grade irritating me for a couple of weeks now, but at the end of the sale I was putting a chair away and heard the meat-grinding sound of a bad twist. I couldn't stand back up straight for a few seconds, and was slow for the rest of the day (one of our security guards told me later she had seen me on the security cameras looking pretty bad - haha, thanks for the help!). The idea to leave somewhat early to go ice the injury didn't work out quite as planned, between a massive traffic pileup (source for which was impossible to perceive by the time I passed through at last) and an unfortunate necessity to stop for something for dinner (pineapple upside-down cake wasn't on, heh). But I'm here now, working on using up side 2 of the second large icepack in the freezer. Bedtime, I expect, will be early tonight - and tonight is the night I don't have to end at 6:00 a.m. either. So tomorrow, it's back to the office at last, for a normal Friday not to be spent waiting on a car, working from home. It'll be pretty nice to get back to an ordinary Friday's work.
In the meantime, having had a proper supper - that pineapple upside-down cake is not half bad.
Cute Shoes helped out, too, and that was great. She would make a great carnival barker - hee. A hard sell, but friendly - and that's the way a charity bake sale should be run. She's also just good company, so during a lull or two we poked away on our laptops and were able to spend a little time organizing, being encouraging about the progress, and getting along.
My back's been low-grade irritating me for a couple of weeks now, but at the end of the sale I was putting a chair away and heard the meat-grinding sound of a bad twist. I couldn't stand back up straight for a few seconds, and was slow for the rest of the day (one of our security guards told me later she had seen me on the security cameras looking pretty bad - haha, thanks for the help!). The idea to leave somewhat early to go ice the injury didn't work out quite as planned, between a massive traffic pileup (source for which was impossible to perceive by the time I passed through at last) and an unfortunate necessity to stop for something for dinner (pineapple upside-down cake wasn't on, heh). But I'm here now, working on using up side 2 of the second large icepack in the freezer. Bedtime, I expect, will be early tonight - and tonight is the night I don't have to end at 6:00 a.m. either. So tomorrow, it's back to the office at last, for a normal Friday not to be spent waiting on a car, working from home. It'll be pretty nice to get back to an ordinary Friday's work.
In the meantime, having had a proper supper - that pineapple upside-down cake is not half bad.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
A Bit More Cleanliness
Is it obvious that for the past few days I'm not up to much commentary on my links? So be it - but enjoy the links anyway. Wash day in the 18th/19th centuries ...
One Billion Rising
This video is NOT easy to watch.
That is why you should.
Wordless honesty, and some beauty (I don't mean the physical kind) in three minutes which made *me* weep.
Thanks to Soraya Chemaly for sharing it (... though is there any irony in the vid closing on the FB page for One Billion Rising - when the post I have linked exposes the misogyny and violence of FB's policies - and, indeed, its very creation ... ?).
That is why you should.
Wordless honesty, and some beauty (I don't mean the physical kind) in three minutes which made *me* weep.
Thanks to Soraya Chemaly for sharing it (... though is there any irony in the vid closing on the FB page for One Billion Rising - when the post I have linked exposes the misogyny and violence of FB's policies - and, indeed, its very creation ... ?).
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Medieval Air Museum?
Jeff Sypeck finds some of the most wonderful things, especially architectural. And here we have another place I need to visit some time ...
Values and *Values*
Science Nerding
Not the first article I've run across this week about warp drive, but the first one I've stopped, read, and wanted to share!
...
Deforestation to delta on the Danube. Thought environmental manipulation was a modern-era invention? Think again!
...
Deforestation to delta on the Danube. Thought environmental manipulation was a modern-era invention? Think again!
Me
What makes me I fight to keep.
And in any case: denial and pretense seem to me antithetical to the power of forgiveness. If one fakes something away, it takes no courage nor care to accept its void. Living with life, with no substitutions to compromise what must be done with it, is the real power. Denying it is submission.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Finished
At 9:40 p.m. EST, at 132,596 words (almost 2k shy of the *highest* limit I'd hoped to allow myself in the end!), revisions on The Ax and the Vase are complete. I have two small repairs to see to, one more scene I may yet delete, and one I think needs the *briefest* building - but the work is at ... satisfaction.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Woad You Blue
This is an engagingly discursive, informative, and rather poetic piece about: woad. A must-read if you are an ancient-Anglophile, if you are interested in the history of textile, self-decoration, botanical chemistry (or alchemy ...) and dyes. Or, for that matter - if you're just a science nerd, happen to like indulgent writing in service of a narrowly particular but interesting subject ... or love the color blue.
I enjoyed this piece a great deal, hope you will too. "Indican surrender" ... the writing is so very good. Evocative. The voice reminds me of my brother at his best.
I enjoyed this piece a great deal, hope you will too. "Indican surrender" ... the writing is so very good. Evocative. The voice reminds me of my brother at his best.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Getting Close
I'm so near the end of revisions it's impossible not to both dread restarting the querying process (and wishing I had kept even better records of the last run; though I do have a complete spreadsheet, it's high level and I won't remember some of the finer points which would enhance the process better) and get excited.
By accident of slowness and a lack of readers, and by design once I finally found my way without real help, the timing brings me to this point both almost exactly a year after the great response from Dream Agent and just weeks before the JRW Conference. This time of year does energize me, the event always lights a fire, and the first (re-)query come after a lot of *good* work is done and when my online platform has, I hope seen much improvement.
My dad *loved* this time of year, too. That always informs me, during these first, gorgeous autumnal weeks of change and one of the year's renewals, transitions. Before winter grows grey, dry, cold - it is rich, bracing, vibrant. And this year is magnificent so far. He was a teacher, so this time of year was a birth, a beginning. It is also the time of high holy days (for more than one religion - and for one I grew up so close to I was family).
As I hope and try to see the last of this summer's traumas and dramas, it is no accident I've set myself to a task with potential blessings.
By accident of slowness and a lack of readers, and by design once I finally found my way without real help, the timing brings me to this point both almost exactly a year after the great response from Dream Agent and just weeks before the JRW Conference. This time of year does energize me, the event always lights a fire, and the first (re-)query come after a lot of *good* work is done and when my online platform has, I hope seen much improvement.
My dad *loved* this time of year, too. That always informs me, during these first, gorgeous autumnal weeks of change and one of the year's renewals, transitions. Before winter grows grey, dry, cold - it is rich, bracing, vibrant. And this year is magnificent so far. He was a teacher, so this time of year was a birth, a beginning. It is also the time of high holy days (for more than one religion - and for one I grew up so close to I was family).
As I hope and try to see the last of this summer's traumas and dramas, it is no accident I've set myself to a task with potential blessings.
Cute Shoes
Okay, first off - I held off as long as I could, but HOLY CRUD is the new Blogger interface awful. And I don't just mean ugly - it's also glitchy as well.
Now that that's taken care of. A post.
One of my better friends at work, we're going to have to call her Cute Shoes (though I am *still* learning how much more there is to her - hee), and I were chatting (instant messaging) yesterday. After one too many Journey songs for me not to notice, we had this exchange.
I knew we were friends for other reasons than the shoes. It just goes to show you - Star Wars nerds and Star Trek nerds *can* find common ground and get along ...
Now that that's taken care of. A post.
One of my better friends at work, we're going to have to call her Cute Shoes (though I am *still* learning how much more there is to her - hee), and I were chatting (instant messaging) yesterday. After one too many Journey songs for me not to notice, we had this exchange.
D: It is apparently Journey day on my slacker radio today
CS: Only the Young would complain After All These Years that there is too much Journey. It's Too Late to change the station Feeling That Way you do. Where Were You earlier in the day when they were playing other bands. So you better Never Walk Away from slacker radio and listen with Open Arms and Don't Stop Believin' in Journey.
I knew we were friends for other reasons than the shoes. It just goes to show you - Star Wars nerds and Star Trek nerds *can* find common ground and get along ...
Monday, September 17, 2012
Summer's End
The day ran long today, and I realized as I stepped into the revolving door to walk outside, I had no idea whether to expect it to feel cool outside, or warm.
It being September here in the land between tidewater and piedmont, it was neither - and both, of course.
The humidity was enough to give a certain sensation of warmth - but also enough to keep heat from feeling penetrating. It was dank and muggy at once, and the overcast sky did nothing to make the day feel steamy, but its stillness did nothing to chill the damp.
It won't be long before the needle falls to "cool" and heat will be the function of sunshine, of an odd afternoon, and evenings will be consistently crisp. If we're more fortunate than last year, we will get cold - not just a little, but actual winter. That would be immensely reassuring - and I know that is only asking for a haywire climate to go wild with sleet, and blizzards, and ugliness. But 80-degree winters and 105-degree summers aren't natural around here. Even a mass of snow would seem almost normal, after last year's tropical un-winter.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Revision Work
It should have been possible to actually finish revision work this weekend, but last night I lay down for bed and the room began spinning around me. No, I was not having one Saturday night drink too many - not a one. It's probably high pressure in the weather, or just me not in tip-top shape.
Toaday, then, sitting nailed to this laptop has not been appealing. In fact, staying awake hasn't entirely occupied me either, and I took a good hour-and-a-half nap earlier. I could have taken more.
The house is clean. The laundry's done. It ain't much to say for a weekend.
But it was a *lot* of laundry ...
Toaday, then, sitting nailed to this laptop has not been appealing. In fact, staying awake hasn't entirely occupied me either, and I took a good hour-and-a-half nap earlier. I could have taken more.
The house is clean. The laundry's done. It ain't much to say for a weekend.
But it was a *lot* of laundry ...
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Recently Watched
I realized I haven't updated my little sidebar details in a while, when I posted this at Historical Fiction online. So here's a recap, some sort of mini-reviews (and a forecast on my actual work).
Netflix had sent me "The Virgin Spring" before my summer went completely haywire, and it sat for a couple of months unregarded. I just couldn't do that film for a while, but did watch it a week or so ago. It's good; I liked it better than the other Bergman I've seen, and very good histfic too.
Yesterday, watched "The Postman Always Rings Twice" - almost sure I've seen it before, but it may have been *many* years ago, so it was fairly fresh. A good film, though I'm never as persuaded by Lana Turner's performances as I am by her looks. Costume design (for her), of course, was pretty on-the-nose, but it's a good film even with the layers-of-reversals gimmick going on.
"Dark Shadows" (c. 1966) has been ideal background noise for the final stages of my revisions. I hope to complete this work this week! Will re-query the Dream Agent very soon, and begin the real process of querying at large before my annual writer's conference. I may burn off a couple years worth of episodes getting back into this!
Netflix had sent me "The Virgin Spring" before my summer went completely haywire, and it sat for a couple of months unregarded. I just couldn't do that film for a while, but did watch it a week or so ago. It's good; I liked it better than the other Bergman I've seen, and very good histfic too.
Yesterday, watched "The Postman Always Rings Twice" - almost sure I've seen it before, but it may have been *many* years ago, so it was fairly fresh. A good film, though I'm never as persuaded by Lana Turner's performances as I am by her looks. Costume design (for her), of course, was pretty on-the-nose, but it's a good film even with the layers-of-reversals gimmick going on.
"Dark Shadows" (c. 1966) has been ideal background noise for the final stages of my revisions. I hope to complete this work this week! Will re-query the Dream Agent very soon, and begin the real process of querying at large before my annual writer's conference. I may burn off a couple years worth of episodes getting back into this!
Friday, September 14, 2012
Viking Profiling
There are times I read articles speculating and postulating everything from the illnesses famous people died from in the dim mists of the past (Tutankhamen is a favorite; and I found another one of those just today - espousing a theory I know is not remotely a new one) to the psychological and social "realities" of sparsely sourced periods. A very interesting model of this dynamic is the "literature as primary source" method, in which clues - or, if you prefer, presumptions - about a wider world are gleaned from ancient works. I enjoy the heck out of stories outlining theories and conclusions born of these methods whether I am persuaded by them, or not, or choose to simply nod and stay neutral.
Like most of the links I choose to share here, please understand that my presentation of any article or piece isn't necessarily an endorsement, but is just born of the fascination with the science and process of studying history, archaeology, paleontology, and anthropology. These things are simply shared, not critically evaluated nor "recommended" (or not).
Here's a literary example - in which we conclude that Vikings were criminal profilers, and were clearly concerned about the markers of high testosterone ... Enjoy!
Like most of the links I choose to share here, please understand that my presentation of any article or piece isn't necessarily an endorsement, but is just born of the fascination with the science and process of studying history, archaeology, paleontology, and anthropology. These things are simply shared, not critically evaluated nor "recommended" (or not).
Here's a literary example - in which we conclude that Vikings were criminal profilers, and were clearly concerned about the markers of high testosterone ... Enjoy!
Headline, Forward Motion, Character: Your Book Blurb
Kim also has a VERY good post about the experience and the key points of writing her book blurb. Must-read!
Researching Online
Kim Rendfield and I have both written Frankish historical fiction, and it's funny - some of what she says about her research is what I have said myself - Wikipedia, scorned as it is for its own purposes, is a GREAT source for links to excellent material. I even spent a very long period, before I ever began writing The Ax and the Vase, reading the Catholic Encyclopedia online (New Advent, which she links in her post), learning an astonishing amount I'd never even considered before about the history of my own faith (Protestant). I've also had the experience of "did they have that then" myself - leading me into reading about brickmaking, pattern welding, textiles, even horse breeding.
In addition to this "oh neat" musing - the post itself is an interesting piece of clerical/clothing history. Have a peek!
It's appealing and entertaining to find the commonalities and divergences we have as authors. Have you ever run across an author's post about how they feel about, or how they do some specific part of their work you found very familiar indeed?
In addition to this "oh neat" musing - the post itself is an interesting piece of clerical/clothing history. Have a peek!
It's appealing and entertaining to find the commonalities and divergences we have as authors. Have you ever run across an author's post about how they feel about, or how they do some specific part of their work you found very familiar indeed?
Tee Talk
This t-shirt is almost up there with an old favorite of mine, "Feminist Chicks Dig Me". Amusingly, it's all about digging!
Making History Live and Clothing the Bones
The Tiniest Sound in the World
... is Gossy wheezing while dozing. He's so little he can't even snore.
Ahh now peaceful was the sound of my Siddy snoring. But this is hilariously cute, it must be said.
Ahh now peaceful was the sound of my Siddy snoring. But this is hilariously cute, it must be said.
Dream Kitty
Sitting here on the couch, working on revisions while I wait for my car to come out of some repairs, I have this heated, soft, heavy little body curving around my neck and shoulders. A pair of be-sneakered little white velvet forepaws reach out to my right - and, at the moment, no tail is flicking around my ear on the left. Heh.
He rolled up a little while ago, back curled against the back of my neck. Before that, he was sitting on and looking over my left shoulder.
Today I worked from home - since I have to tether to the one three-prong outlet in the room (yeah, I know - the house was built sixty-two years ago, and most of the time it works just fine for me!) and to the router, which is behind the TV, I end up with an incredibly uncomfortable workspace. It is worst when I am particularly busy, and today I was EXTREMELY busy. So my back, already bothering me this week, was pretty sore by the time I shut down. I lay down on the couch, and ...
... ahh, success. Goss curled up on my back.
I've been trying to get him to nap on my back since I got him - or at least since it's just been the two of us, when I took the other kitty back to the shelter. He just hasn't seemed to want to do it. But today he did. Warm, cuddly success!
When a cat grows to full size, particularly a good sized cat - which I have a feeling Gossy will be - their body on your back stretches the vertebrae and the weight just feels so good. Plus (in winter, at least): so warm!
Goss is in so many ways just my dream kitty-pet. He's snuggly as all get-out, and never protests at affection and play. I popped him inside my hoodie earlier, and instead of struggling, he hung out for a long time, perfectly happy and nested only his silly little head peeping out. Sometimes only his nose.
He's velvety soft - his paws, too, even his nose. His coat has a sweet smell. He's pretty cute, and silly and fun.
He doesn't claw the furniture; the only things I've ever seen him take a grab at are his clawing toy and a certain patch of the kitchen carpet (yeah, there's wall-to-wall in my kitchen, and it's hideous, and I don't like to talk about it ...).
He's super friendly, and socializes well. A HUGE boon, that, particularly when his grandma comes over to scoop him up. And a good sign, too, because ...
... I think he might well have a new friend within the next month or six weeks.
I think October will be the month for a new dog around these parts.
It would be the ten year anniversary of Siddy's adoption. It'll have been three months since she took her leave, my dear girl. It is the beginning of the season of commemorations, for me. And Gossamer is still kitten enough he'll adjust I think pretty well. So, yeah. October looks like dog days to me.
(Edited the next day to add this - this cat makes me laugh out loud every single day, multiple times. He just appeared from a short sojourn in the basement festooned with cobwebs. There shouldn't be anything especially funny about this, I suppose, but he's so boyish and wide-eyed and friendly some things just become funny because he's so darn sweet. Laughing with a live heartbeat is the very best thing.)
He rolled up a little while ago, back curled against the back of my neck. Before that, he was sitting on and looking over my left shoulder.
Today I worked from home - since I have to tether to the one three-prong outlet in the room (yeah, I know - the house was built sixty-two years ago, and most of the time it works just fine for me!) and to the router, which is behind the TV, I end up with an incredibly uncomfortable workspace. It is worst when I am particularly busy, and today I was EXTREMELY busy. So my back, already bothering me this week, was pretty sore by the time I shut down. I lay down on the couch, and ...
... ahh, success. Goss curled up on my back.
I've been trying to get him to nap on my back since I got him - or at least since it's just been the two of us, when I took the other kitty back to the shelter. He just hasn't seemed to want to do it. But today he did. Warm, cuddly success!
When a cat grows to full size, particularly a good sized cat - which I have a feeling Gossy will be - their body on your back stretches the vertebrae and the weight just feels so good. Plus (in winter, at least): so warm!
Goss is in so many ways just my dream kitty-pet. He's snuggly as all get-out, and never protests at affection and play. I popped him inside my hoodie earlier, and instead of struggling, he hung out for a long time, perfectly happy and nested only his silly little head peeping out. Sometimes only his nose.
He's velvety soft - his paws, too, even his nose. His coat has a sweet smell. He's pretty cute, and silly and fun.
He doesn't claw the furniture; the only things I've ever seen him take a grab at are his clawing toy and a certain patch of the kitchen carpet (yeah, there's wall-to-wall in my kitchen, and it's hideous, and I don't like to talk about it ...).
He's super friendly, and socializes well. A HUGE boon, that, particularly when his grandma comes over to scoop him up. And a good sign, too, because ...
... I think he might well have a new friend within the next month or six weeks.
I think October will be the month for a new dog around these parts.
It would be the ten year anniversary of Siddy's adoption. It'll have been three months since she took her leave, my dear girl. It is the beginning of the season of commemorations, for me. And Gossamer is still kitten enough he'll adjust I think pretty well. So, yeah. October looks like dog days to me.
(Edited the next day to add this - this cat makes me laugh out loud every single day, multiple times. He just appeared from a short sojourn in the basement festooned with cobwebs. There shouldn't be anything especially funny about this, I suppose, but he's so boyish and wide-eyed and friendly some things just become funny because he's so darn sweet. Laughing with a live heartbeat is the very best thing.)
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Richard - the Skeleton King Saga Continues?
It's going to be a little while before swabbing confirms or denies DNA on the car park king, but keep following the story with me here.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
News Release: The Conference!
NEWS RELEASE
James River Writers Conference Comes of Age with
Move to Greater Richmond Convention Center
JRW celebrates its 10th year with a larger venue, more literary luminaries
and the return of Tom Robbins.
For Immediate Release
Press Contact: Anne Westrick, 804-433-3790, anne@jamesriverwriters.org
Richmond, VA, Sept. 11, 2012 - As it enters its second decade, the James River Writers Conference is moving to the Greater Richmond Convention Center so a larger audience of aspiring and professional writers can participate.
The 10th annual event, held Oct. 20-21, 2012, will feature professional writers, editors and agents discussing the art and business of writing — from concept to creation to publication. Annual conference favorites include First Pages Critiques that show novices how to strengthen those all-important opening paragraphs and One-on-Ones that give attendees private time to chat about their writing projects with publishing pros. Back by popular demand, Pitchapalooza gives aspiring authors a stage and one minute to make an impression on a panel of judges — “American Idol”-style.
New this year, the conference includes The Library of Virginia’s annual Literary Luncheon on Oct. 20, featuring a keynote presentation by novelist Tom Robbins, recipient of the Library's 2012 lifetime-achievement award. Named one of the 100 best writers of the 20th century by Writers Digest, Robbins is the author of nine novels including “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues,” “Jitterbug Perfume” and “Still Life With Woodpecker.”
“We’re thrilled to have the legendary Tom Robbins back with us,” said JRW Board Chair Maya Payne Smart. “As the keynote speaker at our inaugural conference in 2003, he was the perfect choice to celebrate our 10th event.”
Other conference guests include:
- Eleanor Brown, author of the New York Times bestseller “The Weird Sisters.”
- Kelly Cherry, former poet laureate of Virginia.
- Jonathan Coleman, author of the New York Times bestseller “West by West: My Charmed, Tormented Life.”
- Nancy Redd, author of the New York Times bestsellers “Body Drama” and “Diet Drama.”
- Adam Ross, bestselling author of “Mr. Peanut.”
In addition to major presentations, break-out groups will explore a variety of writing genres as well as techniques for crafting dialogue and plot, shaping characters and pacing, and finding out how to get published.
The 2012 conference is supported by 10th Anniversary Sponsors BrownGreer and VCU Libraries. Hunton & Williams, Media General, Dominion, the Virginia Commission for the Arts, Communication Design, Philip Reese and Rawls McNelis + Mitchell provided additional support.
Registration for the weekend conference is $240, one-day passes are $170 and pre-conference workshops are $40. Visit JamesRiverWriters.org for details.
About James River Writers
Richmond-based James River Writers is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization of more than 300 members that builds community by connecting and inspiring writers and readers in central Virginia. JRW offers an annual writers’ conference, regular panels at The Writing Show, literacy improvement programs for young writers, and writing awards and contests. Since its founding in 2003 JRW has played a key role in expanding the region’s life-long literacy and in adding a vital dimension to Richmond, VA’s cultural offerings. For more information: JamesRiverWriters.org
About the Virginia Literary Festival
Taking place from Wednesday, October 17 through Saturday, Oct. 20 and anchored by the popular James Rivers Writers Conference and the elegant Library of Virginia Literary Awards Celebration, the 2012 Virginia Literary Festival celebrates Virginia’s rich literary resources with a series of events aimed at diverse literary audiences. The events are varied and include a writing workshop for teens, a movie screening and an evening exploring the relationship between poetry and the visual arts. For more information: LiteraryVA.com
--
Anne Westrick
Administrative Director
anne@jamesriverwriters.org
James River Writers
at ArtWorks
320 Hull Street, #136
Richmond, VA 23224
804.433.3790 phone
804.291.1466 fax
www.jamesriverwriters.org
Building community by connecting and inspiring writers and readers in Central Virginia.NEWS RELEASE
James River Writers Conference Comes of Age with
Move to Greater Richmond Convention Center
JRW celebrates its 10th year with a larger venue, more literary luminaries
and the return of Tom Robbins.
For Immediate Release
Press Contact: Anne Westrick, 804-433-3790, anne@jamesriverwriters.org
Richmond, VA, Sept. 11, 2012 - As it enters its second decade, the James River Writers Conference is moving to the Greater Richmond Convention Center so a larger audience of aspiring and professional writers can participate.
The 10th annual event, held Oct. 20-21, 2012, will feature professional writers, editors and agents discussing the art and business of writing — from concept to creation to publication. Annual conference favorites include First Pages Critiques that show novices how to strengthen those all-important opening paragraphs and One-on-Ones that give attendees private time to chat about their writing projects with publishing pros. Back by popular demand, Pitchapalooza gives aspiring authors a stage and one minute to make an impression on a panel of judges — “American Idol”-style.
New this year, the conference includes The Library of Virginia’s annual Literary Luncheon on Oct. 20, featuring a keynote presentation by novelist Tom Robbins, recipient of the Library's 2012 lifetime-achievement award. Named one of the 100 best writers of the 20th century by Writers Digest, Robbins is the author of nine novels including “Even Cowgirls Get the Blues,” “Jitterbug Perfume” and “Still Life With Woodpecker.”
“We’re thrilled to have the legendary Tom Robbins back with us,” said JRW Board Chair Maya Payne Smart. “As the keynote speaker at our inaugural conference in 2003, he was the perfect choice to celebrate our 10th event.”
Other conference guests include:
- Eleanor Brown, author of the New York Times bestseller “The Weird Sisters.”
- Kelly Cherry, former poet laureate of Virginia.
- Jonathan Coleman, author of the New York Times bestseller “West by West: My Charmed, Tormented Life.”
- Nancy Redd, author of the New York Times bestsellers “Body Drama” and “Diet Drama.”
- Adam Ross, bestselling author of “Mr. Peanut.”
In addition to major presentations, break-out groups will explore a variety of writing genres as well as techniques for crafting dialogue and plot, shaping characters and pacing, and finding out how to get published.
The 2012 conference is supported by 10th Anniversary Sponsors BrownGreer and VCU Libraries. Hunton & Williams, Media General, Dominion, the Virginia Commission for the Arts, Communication Design, Philip Reese and Rawls McNelis + Mitchell provided additional support.
Registration for the weekend conference is $240, one-day passes are $170 and pre-conference workshops are $40. Visit JamesRiverWriters.org for details.
About James River Writers
Richmond-based James River Writers is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization of more than 300 members that builds community by connecting and inspiring writers and readers in central Virginia. JRW offers an annual writers’ conference, regular panels at The Writing Show, literacy improvement programs for young writers, and writing awards and contests. Since its founding in 2003 JRW has played a key role in expanding the region’s life-long literacy and in adding a vital dimension to Richmond, VA’s cultural offerings. For more information: JamesRiverWriters.org
About the Virginia Literary Festival
Taking place from Wednesday, October 17 through Saturday, Oct. 20 and anchored by the popular James Rivers Writers Conference and the elegant Library of Virginia Literary Awards Celebration, the 2012 Virginia Literary Festival celebrates Virginia’s rich literary resources with a series of events aimed at diverse literary audiences. The events are varied and include a writing workshop for teens, a movie screening and an evening exploring the relationship between poetry and the visual arts. For more information: LiteraryVA.com
--
Anne Westrick
Administrative Director
anne@jamesriverwriters.org
James River Writers
at ArtWorks
320 Hull Street, #136
Richmond, VA 23224
804.433.3790 phone
804.291.1466 fax
www.jamesriverwriters.org
Building community by connecting and inspiring writers and readers in Central Virginia.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Background Noise
Being a vidiot and not even owning a functioning stereo of any kind anymore, I tend to use Netflix streaming to provide background while I am revising. Star Trek can be a safe bet, since I know most of the series so well - but it has a way of getting my attention.
Dark Shadows, as it turns out, is the best choice for me. I'm not what you'd call riveted by this series, and because it moves as slowly as it does it's easy to semi-absorb it without actually paying much attention to it.
Dark Shadows, as it turns out, is the best choice for me. I'm not what you'd call riveted by this series, and because it moves as slowly as it does it's easy to semi-absorb it without actually paying much attention to it.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Too Intimate
It's always been hard for me to join and share, when it comes to reading and writing - but there is one way in which I will always, perhaps, remain quite stubbornly shy and backward. I've never been able to share what I read.
There's an extent to which this is connected to a fear of inadequacy ... but that extent isn't all that great. As it's hard to embarrass me for my trashy entertainments, it's also hard to make me genuinely measure myself by others' standards. Whatever failures I may perceive in myself as a reader tend to be fleeting ones. At bottom, I've always answered only to myself, and this isn't just a simple phrase.
Reading is, for me, such an intensely, profoundly intimate experience that to share it - to *discuss* it - has always baffled me. Book reports were assignments, for me, as a kid: never a chance to talk about books I loved. The idea of sharing reading with almost anyone else in the world bewilders and perplexes me in a fairly negative way. When I carry books in public, I turn the covers and spines away from prying eyes. To discuss them with strangers squicks me out badly.
Reading is for me the ultimate selfishness.
Reading is for me the absolute anathema to social experience. I joke about being a contrarian, but my refusal to read Potter, or Twi, or Grey, or ANY bestsellers, or whatever is popular now, or what I "should" read as an author within a certain genre and with certain expectations and hopes ... is because mass-sharing the experience of reading makes my stomach turn. When one of the people I am closest to in my life told me I should read Potter, back before it quite became A Thing, the idea of being interested in a little boy wizard rather irked me - but the idea of being told what I "should" read was what utterly turned me off. And it was suggested to me by someone who knew me almost as well as any person ever has. The suggestion was made in enthusiasm, in communion, in love. And it horrified me. I have literally had an easier time having *religion* suggested to me.
THAT. Is how intimate reading is for me.
To share that has been almost all but unthinkable in my life. I think my brother is the only person living who can give, or guess, good books for me. Even X once handed me a book, and when I didn't like it, he suffered some pretty serious perplexion of his own, I can tell you, at what he perceived as the vehemence of my rejection of the work. It didn't feel like a powerful repudiation to me.
But reading is just something I can't do socially. On the exceedingly rare occasion I've had a book given to me, with the exhortation that I must in turn give it to someone else, I've actually felt something akin to the guilt of promiscuity. For one, the artifact of a book is almost sacred to me. If I like it, I will write in it, read it again. To read something once, leave no mark in it, and hand it on ... is impossible for me to understand. To read something I really don't like is just as inexplicable. The idea of sitting in a group and discussing a book - kind of frankly freaks me out.
The experience of reading is the experience of a whisper, of a dream. It happens INSIDE me, it exists inside my brain and perhaps goes from there to my heart. Because it is a creation between me and the author, because it is for me a blessing no other reader can possibly experience exactly the same, its uniqueness is preserved only if I foster its privacy, its singularity.
I was once given a first edition hardback of one of the very best books I have ever loved. Because it was given to me by the wrong person - because it was not my brother, who first gave me that book, one cruelly lost by my own misplaced trust - I've never been able to so much as even open it. It sits on a shelf, a technically valuable artifact, but one without the ineffable preciousness of real book love. I've never even given it to my brother - who first gave me that book, and who gave it best - because of this compromised mojo, the wrongness of its route into our world, the source (he didn't like that particular boyfriend; and I wasn't all that far ahead of him esteeming the guy). Even selling it seems squicky and weird. And so, on it sits.
Reading. Is *that* intimate, for me ...
Reading is a piece of nakedness. I may be able to admit I have breasts, as it were. But I'm never going to pop them out for all to see.
There's an extent to which this is connected to a fear of inadequacy ... but that extent isn't all that great. As it's hard to embarrass me for my trashy entertainments, it's also hard to make me genuinely measure myself by others' standards. Whatever failures I may perceive in myself as a reader tend to be fleeting ones. At bottom, I've always answered only to myself, and this isn't just a simple phrase.
Reading is, for me, such an intensely, profoundly intimate experience that to share it - to *discuss* it - has always baffled me. Book reports were assignments, for me, as a kid: never a chance to talk about books I loved. The idea of sharing reading with almost anyone else in the world bewilders and perplexes me in a fairly negative way. When I carry books in public, I turn the covers and spines away from prying eyes. To discuss them with strangers squicks me out badly.
Reading is for me the ultimate selfishness.
Reading is for me the absolute anathema to social experience. I joke about being a contrarian, but my refusal to read Potter, or Twi, or Grey, or ANY bestsellers, or whatever is popular now, or what I "should" read as an author within a certain genre and with certain expectations and hopes ... is because mass-sharing the experience of reading makes my stomach turn. When one of the people I am closest to in my life told me I should read Potter, back before it quite became A Thing, the idea of being interested in a little boy wizard rather irked me - but the idea of being told what I "should" read was what utterly turned me off. And it was suggested to me by someone who knew me almost as well as any person ever has. The suggestion was made in enthusiasm, in communion, in love. And it horrified me. I have literally had an easier time having *religion* suggested to me.
THAT. Is how intimate reading is for me.
To share that has been almost all but unthinkable in my life. I think my brother is the only person living who can give, or guess, good books for me. Even X once handed me a book, and when I didn't like it, he suffered some pretty serious perplexion of his own, I can tell you, at what he perceived as the vehemence of my rejection of the work. It didn't feel like a powerful repudiation to me.
But reading is just something I can't do socially. On the exceedingly rare occasion I've had a book given to me, with the exhortation that I must in turn give it to someone else, I've actually felt something akin to the guilt of promiscuity. For one, the artifact of a book is almost sacred to me. If I like it, I will write in it, read it again. To read something once, leave no mark in it, and hand it on ... is impossible for me to understand. To read something I really don't like is just as inexplicable. The idea of sitting in a group and discussing a book - kind of frankly freaks me out.
The experience of reading is the experience of a whisper, of a dream. It happens INSIDE me, it exists inside my brain and perhaps goes from there to my heart. Because it is a creation between me and the author, because it is for me a blessing no other reader can possibly experience exactly the same, its uniqueness is preserved only if I foster its privacy, its singularity.
I was once given a first edition hardback of one of the very best books I have ever loved. Because it was given to me by the wrong person - because it was not my brother, who first gave me that book, one cruelly lost by my own misplaced trust - I've never been able to so much as even open it. It sits on a shelf, a technically valuable artifact, but one without the ineffable preciousness of real book love. I've never even given it to my brother - who first gave me that book, and who gave it best - because of this compromised mojo, the wrongness of its route into our world, the source (he didn't like that particular boyfriend; and I wasn't all that far ahead of him esteeming the guy). Even selling it seems squicky and weird. And so, on it sits.
Reading. Is *that* intimate, for me ...
Reading is a piece of nakedness. I may be able to admit I have breasts, as it were. But I'm never going to pop them out for all to see.
Cross-Referencing Life
It started this morning, when on "Smallville" the egregious Lois gives Clark a speech about how the yet-unnamed, and yet-unknown-to-her hero (at this point in the series, cringingly referred to as The Blur) PROTECTS her by never revealing his identity. Oh, but it wasn't about to stop there.
Today is my dad's 75th birthday. He may not be with us to celebrate anymore, but to say "would have been" his birthday is dirty to me. The day still is. He just isn't the physical constant, with us, we once had.
I streamed up some Neil DeGrasse Tyson tonight - and the ep of Nova Science Now Netflix had on top of its stack, happens to be "Where Did We Come From?" An apt choice - we grew up on Nova, on PBS, on Sagan and James Burke and learn-y stuff and adventure-y stuff like Wild Kingdom and National Geographic. Not even all of it televised, either, kids.
Toward the end of this episode, we have a look at the science of memory, and a pretty good discussion about the nature of identity and humanity, in the context of memory making us who we are.
Some of the nastiest disagreements I have ever had in my life actually turned on the morality of this question. Specifically, disagreements with Mr. X. He's not, shall we say, the most self-satisfied person I ever met. On occasion, he has wished it were possible that I could be delivered of ever having known him. He thinks this is the height of morality - the desire to remove a stimulus or stressor which (from a certain, limited perspective) is a negative.
To my mind, of course, the loss of self that represents is unconscionable. It's all very cute for sci-fi or magic to provide "solutions" for perceived victims of evil, saving them from the memory of an event ... or a person. Superman thinks he's a great guy for PROTECTING (fostering the ignorance of) the inferior (female) Lois. The girl in Harry Potter like mind-wipes her parents, apparently quite the heroism (I seethingly care for no part of at all).
We all lie to save people. But to actually usurp from those around us ... *who they are* - by removing their experience of tragedy, betrayal, hatred, heartbreak - there is no standard by which this can be made whole, by which this can be made morally acceptable.
X has pointed out, as I should here, his impulse is never to actually DO this thing. Were there such a power (don't ask Dr. Fenton for the "help"), he knows it would be un-wieldable. And so it seems to him that to be a *theoretical* good, a desire for someone beloved not to have to experience pain.
This is how we misjudge ourselves. Life can't be conducted without pain - and life without the experience of X (as he knows) isn't worthy of the name. I don't mean that I would kill myself if I hadn't known X: I mean that what knowing him has given me (far apart from anything HE has, directly, given me by volition) is as important to me as what knowing my dearest, oldest friends, what knowing my family endowed me with. The aspects of the person I've become in the ten years since I met him are peerlessly valuable. The person I am now is not merely someone I would not give up, but is a self I would give my all to defend. The very idea of alteration, of loss, of all these past ten years have made of me is offensive beyond almost anything else I can conceive.
And I have a high threshold of offense. It takes a great deal to put me in the state.
Today is my dad's birthday, and even if I don't get to talk with him anymore, the woman I am is made and honed in tribute to My Father. I'm human, and flawed, and weak, and manipulative ... but I am proud of those parts of me beyond these things. Proud of the offering I have become - and unashamed that my offering is not just to my father, but made through every single day, in almost everything I do.
Today is my dad's 75th birthday. He may not be with us to celebrate anymore, but to say "would have been" his birthday is dirty to me. The day still is. He just isn't the physical constant, with us, we once had.
I streamed up some Neil DeGrasse Tyson tonight - and the ep of Nova Science Now Netflix had on top of its stack, happens to be "Where Did We Come From?" An apt choice - we grew up on Nova, on PBS, on Sagan and James Burke and learn-y stuff and adventure-y stuff like Wild Kingdom and National Geographic. Not even all of it televised, either, kids.
Toward the end of this episode, we have a look at the science of memory, and a pretty good discussion about the nature of identity and humanity, in the context of memory making us who we are.
"Imagine: you're an adult person, and you spent a lot of time accumulating an identity. You might not like that identity ... but the very notion that you could literally remove all of it--I don't know what you would be. I'm not sure you'd be human." --Andre Fenton
Some of the nastiest disagreements I have ever had in my life actually turned on the morality of this question. Specifically, disagreements with Mr. X. He's not, shall we say, the most self-satisfied person I ever met. On occasion, he has wished it were possible that I could be delivered of ever having known him. He thinks this is the height of morality - the desire to remove a stimulus or stressor which (from a certain, limited perspective) is a negative.
To my mind, of course, the loss of self that represents is unconscionable. It's all very cute for sci-fi or magic to provide "solutions" for perceived victims of evil, saving them from the memory of an event ... or a person. Superman thinks he's a great guy for PROTECTING (fostering the ignorance of) the inferior (female) Lois. The girl in Harry Potter like mind-wipes her parents, apparently quite the heroism (I seethingly care for no part of at all).
We all lie to save people. But to actually usurp from those around us ... *who they are* - by removing their experience of tragedy, betrayal, hatred, heartbreak - there is no standard by which this can be made whole, by which this can be made morally acceptable.
X has pointed out, as I should here, his impulse is never to actually DO this thing. Were there such a power (don't ask Dr. Fenton for the "help"), he knows it would be un-wieldable. And so it seems to him that to be a *theoretical* good, a desire for someone beloved not to have to experience pain.
This is how we misjudge ourselves. Life can't be conducted without pain - and life without the experience of X (as he knows) isn't worthy of the name. I don't mean that I would kill myself if I hadn't known X: I mean that what knowing him has given me (far apart from anything HE has, directly, given me by volition) is as important to me as what knowing my dearest, oldest friends, what knowing my family endowed me with. The aspects of the person I've become in the ten years since I met him are peerlessly valuable. The person I am now is not merely someone I would not give up, but is a self I would give my all to defend. The very idea of alteration, of loss, of all these past ten years have made of me is offensive beyond almost anything else I can conceive.
And I have a high threshold of offense. It takes a great deal to put me in the state.
Today is my dad's birthday, and even if I don't get to talk with him anymore, the woman I am is made and honed in tribute to My Father. I'm human, and flawed, and weak, and manipulative ... but I am proud of those parts of me beyond these things. Proud of the offering I have become - and unashamed that my offering is not just to my father, but made through every single day, in almost everything I do.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Historical Theory
Here's quite a one for you - gargoyles pulling their beards actually represent ... erm. Well. Pulling something else, shall we say. *Blink*
Thanks to Beyond the Pale dot org for collecting an astounding array of images.
Thanks to Beyond the Pale dot org for collecting an astounding array of images.
Great Line
Streaming up a little gem called Lady for a Day - it's nothing to do with Labor Day, but then I'm not especially prescriptive about themed entertainments. I'm enjoying it very much - Ned Sparks is hilariously funny, but probably the best line so far (and I've laughed out loud a number of times less than halfway into this film) comes at his character's expense, from a butler.
"If I had choice of weapons with you, sir - I'd choose grammar."
Osum.
The flick itself is one of those Depression era glowing comedies with just enough melodrama to be as close to a Chick Flick as I am capable of watching with enjoyment. It's fun, but you do care about Apple Annie, and Warren William is typically good/bad as a bit of a crook you tend to like anyway. It's a nice take on the Fairy Godmother role, and the film is charming to look at, too.
"If I had choice of weapons with you, sir - I'd choose grammar."
Osum.
The flick itself is one of those Depression era glowing comedies with just enough melodrama to be as close to a Chick Flick as I am capable of watching with enjoyment. It's fun, but you do care about Apple Annie, and Warren William is typically good/bad as a bit of a crook you tend to like anyway. It's a nice take on the Fairy Godmother role, and the film is charming to look at, too.
Bad Author Moves
We read the occasional but pretty regular stories about ignorant unsigned authors who throw public tantrums regarding feedback on their works. It's a lot less usual for established authors to use thin veils to scarcely obscure fake identities, with which they then bestow silly praise upon themselves and heap scorn on their peers.
It is, however, quite a good way to earn even more scorn than those shrill, bitchy noobs bring on their own heads. So, congrats, R. J. Ellory, on a very bad idea indeed - and the contemptuous teasing, with your own identity showing regularly, over a course of four years. All class, all the way.
R. J. Ellory. The man who singlehandedly inspired the Crime Writers Association to introduce a code of ethics.
It is, however, quite a good way to earn even more scorn than those shrill, bitchy noobs bring on their own heads. So, congrats, R. J. Ellory, on a very bad idea indeed - and the contemptuous teasing, with your own identity showing regularly, over a course of four years. All class, all the way.
 |
| Author image from The Daily Mail |
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Enterprising
As the living room progresses, I've finally restarted the series "Enterprise" again. It's funny - this series clearly has great production values, and I remember liking it, but I have almost no memory of it really. I'm having to reacquaint myself with the characters, and recall little of the storylines.
It's fantastic looking - in some of the light feedback and the more dynamic camera positioning, it actually looks something like Abrams' Trek. Apart from T'Pol's insufferable lip pooch, it's a very fine looking show, and the design is just too cool. Even the opening credits - almost un-listenable thanks to Diane Warren, are visually perhaps the best of all the series. They used technological sophistication, on "Enterprise", to come up with good solutions to plot eventualities, and to create a more practical feel to the series as a whole than any of the others achieved. Yeah, and it's neato-whiz-bang eye candy.
Of course, I'll be interested to re-watch the women on this series. So far, T'Pol is still little more than Seven of Nine redux, and Hoshi is somewhat the Dainty Female Supporting Role, but there is room for hope.
I have a lot of goodwill for Bakula, and liked him as I recall; certainly, a dog-lover can't fault the presence of the adorable Porthos the Beagle on a starship. He never barks (not *entirely* realistic, this cool-looking series! heh), but he has a bigger role than Data's cat, Spot, ever got, and he works it. Nice little boy.
Edited to add this: turns out, that un-listenable theme song supposedly "polarized" fans. I can only assume this is a new usage of this word, meaning unanimous disgust, rather than my previous understanding of the term polarized as causing some to feel one way and others to feel another. If there has ever been so much as one single Trek fan who liked that song (my ex boyfriend from before Mr. X does not count in any way whatsoever - no man at all should *like* Diane Warren for gosh sakes), I certainly have never heard of them.
And the ultimate indictment of this theme song? It was originally meant to be the theme song for "Patch Adams" (one of the most execrably manipulative Robin Williams vehicles, which is saying something profound). And it was originally meant to be sung by Rod Stewart. I rest my case as regards this Warrenalia. Ugh.
It's fantastic looking - in some of the light feedback and the more dynamic camera positioning, it actually looks something like Abrams' Trek. Apart from T'Pol's insufferable lip pooch, it's a very fine looking show, and the design is just too cool. Even the opening credits - almost un-listenable thanks to Diane Warren, are visually perhaps the best of all the series. They used technological sophistication, on "Enterprise", to come up with good solutions to plot eventualities, and to create a more practical feel to the series as a whole than any of the others achieved. Yeah, and it's neato-whiz-bang eye candy.
Of course, I'll be interested to re-watch the women on this series. So far, T'Pol is still little more than Seven of Nine redux, and Hoshi is somewhat the Dainty Female Supporting Role, but there is room for hope.
I have a lot of goodwill for Bakula, and liked him as I recall; certainly, a dog-lover can't fault the presence of the adorable Porthos the Beagle on a starship. He never barks (not *entirely* realistic, this cool-looking series! heh), but he has a bigger role than Data's cat, Spot, ever got, and he works it. Nice little boy.
Edited to add this: turns out, that un-listenable theme song supposedly "polarized" fans. I can only assume this is a new usage of this word, meaning unanimous disgust, rather than my previous understanding of the term polarized as causing some to feel one way and others to feel another. If there has ever been so much as one single Trek fan who liked that song (my ex boyfriend from before Mr. X does not count in any way whatsoever - no man at all should *like* Diane Warren for gosh sakes), I certainly have never heard of them.
And the ultimate indictment of this theme song? It was originally meant to be the theme song for "Patch Adams" (one of the most execrably manipulative Robin Williams vehicles, which is saying something profound). And it was originally meant to be sung by Rod Stewart. I rest my case as regards this Warrenalia. Ugh.
Still Looking for Richard
The car park seems to have become a city park - but the search for Richard III's remains continues. This week's development: medieval walls!
G-d bless Historical Fiction Online, for keeping me in so many of these articles worth sharing.
*On history-geek tenterhooks*
G-d bless Historical Fiction Online, for keeping me in so many of these articles worth sharing.
*On history-geek tenterhooks*
The *Living* Room
About ten years ago - maybe even longer (I've been here eleven and some change) - my sister-in-law and I spent a couple days together here, painting my living room. She and I have never been prone to doing lots of things together, but we had a good time bringing this house forward thirty years or so, brightening up its last paint job.
A decade later, the light, crisp blue has grown dingy and old, been dinged, and simply come to get on my nerves. Once upon a time, it reminded me of my grandmother's walls. But blue never has been my color.
Today, the sample of dark, warm terracotta is making promises, spread across a little bit of each wall. Yesterday, a bright day, it was warm but not overwhelming. Today, under overcast skies, it is dark, but not dim; reassuring, cozy, ready for winter, and ready to balance with a hint of cool - clay - too, for summer.
I've cleared the fireplace wall. Moved the furniture, shifted all the knickknacks, cleared the decor. I'll roll up the only rug in here right now, and make a trip to the store soon. This is such a rich change; I am excited to see it.
It's not dark, but it's grey, and a grey Saturday, lately, is so beautiful. Off to buy the paint - then home again, for my grungy painting clothes, for the beginning of the project.
A decade later, the light, crisp blue has grown dingy and old, been dinged, and simply come to get on my nerves. Once upon a time, it reminded me of my grandmother's walls. But blue never has been my color.
Today, the sample of dark, warm terracotta is making promises, spread across a little bit of each wall. Yesterday, a bright day, it was warm but not overwhelming. Today, under overcast skies, it is dark, but not dim; reassuring, cozy, ready for winter, and ready to balance with a hint of cool - clay - too, for summer.
I've cleared the fireplace wall. Moved the furniture, shifted all the knickknacks, cleared the decor. I'll roll up the only rug in here right now, and make a trip to the store soon. This is such a rich change; I am excited to see it.
It's not dark, but it's grey, and a grey Saturday, lately, is so beautiful. Off to buy the paint - then home again, for my grungy painting clothes, for the beginning of the project.
Cat-ness
Friend of mine and her daughter, talking about my having a cat recently:
Daughter: Diane *can't* have a cat! She's a dog person!
Friend: It's okay. She's bi.
Diane, a few days later - *Gigglesnort*
Daughter: Diane *can't* have a cat! She's a dog person!
Friend: It's okay. She's bi.
Diane, a few days later - *Gigglesnort*
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